by C. M. Sutter
“Only three more facial traits, Doc, and then we’ll be ready to put everything together. How about his face shape?”
“Um, I guess it would be considered kind of square. It wasn’t slender or oblong. He had a short beard, remember? I couldn’t tell you what kind of chin he had.”
“Understood.” She set the facial shape card with the others. “Okay, thick lips, average, or thin?”
“I’d say average, even though his top lip was covered with the short mustache.”
“Good. Now finally, high cheekbones or nothing noticeable, and dimples or no dimples?”
“No dimples that I noticed. Of course he didn’t grin, so I wouldn’t know for sure. And cheekbones? They weren’t high and bony, so I guess that means they were average.”
“There, we’re all done. I’m going to put these pictures together kind of like a jigsaw puzzle. I’ll draw a sketch of the composite, and then I’ll fill in anything that doesn’t look right to you with the pencil.”
Doc let out a deep breath. “I guess that wasn’t so bad.”
Connie pieced together the cardboard facial pictures and had him study the composite face. “What do you think?”
“The eyes seem too close to his nose from what I remember.”
“I can change that.” She reached for a few different sets and placed them, one by one, in the opening on the face. “Tell me when to stop.”
He tapped on the second set. “I think these might work.”
She set the rest aside. “Lean back a few feet and look at the overall picture. Is it better?”
“Yeah, we’re getting close.”
When his phone rang, the lieutenant excused himself. I glanced up and watched as he walked down the hallway until he was out of sight.
“How long will this take, Connie?” I asked.
“We should be done in thirty to forty-five minutes.”
The lieutenant returned and opened the door. “Jade, J.T., I need a word with you.”
“Excuse us. We’ll be back soon.” We pushed back our chairs and walked out of the room.
“What have you got, Lieutenant?” J.T. asked.
“Several things just came to light. First off, Baxter County Sheriff’s Department called and said they have a guy on video leaving Bull Shoals-White River State Park on foot. It was the early morning hours as well, before the park actually opened for visitors, so nobody was at the guard shack, but the camera caught him. It was light enough to see him better than on our video.”
“That’s perfect. Does the description fit our guy?”
“Yep, down to the large, dark-colored backpack. What really stands out, though, is that baseball cap. We can read the logo and the town. It’s from Conway, Arkansas, and the image is of the side of a semitrailer. It has Millstead Trucking written across it. The interesting thing is according to the map, it’s nearly a straight shot from Conway to Bull Shoals on State Highway 65.”
I slapped my hands together. The noose was tightening around the killer’s neck. “Bingo! We’re closing in on this dirtbag.”
“Not so fast, Jade,” the lieutenant said. “Why is he on foot if he’s a trucker?”
J.T. agreed. “Good point, Lieutenant. Are they emailing you that video?”
“They sure are.” The lieutenant pulled up his sleeve to check the time. “And it’s probably already sitting in my in-box.”
“I’ll check on Connie’s progress.” I turned to leave.
“Jade, I need to know if anyone other than Doc uses his truck. Forensics needs a rough idea of how many sets of prints they’re dealing with.”
“Got it. I’ll ask him and call your cell.”
J.T. tipped his head toward the lieutenant. “I’ll go with him.”
I reentered the small conference room where Connie and Doc Wilson worked together. “How’s it going?”
Connie set the pencil down. “What do you think, Doc? Is there anything else you can recall, and does this composite look like the guy?”
“You drew what I saw. Unfortunately, that baseball cap hides everything from the bridge of his nose up, including his hair, but yeah, that’s him.”
“We certainly appreciate your help, Dr. Wilson. May I?” Connie handed the pencil sketch to me. I thanked her and stared at the composite. I sat down, studied it, and held my side. “This guy—”
“Something wrong, Agent Monroe?” Connie asked.
I let out a slow breath. “No, I’m fine. I had a sharp pain in my stomach for a second. I wish the man didn’t have on that cap, but I suppose that’s deliberate on his part.” I gave the sketch back to her.
“I’ll run off a dozen copies for you, Agent Monroe.”
I turned toward Doc Wilson. “The lieutenant asked if anyone else ever uses or handles your truck.”
“Nope, just me. The wife has her own car.”
“Okay, I’ll let him know, and I’ll be back in a few minutes. It shouldn’t be much longer with your truck.” I followed the hallway to the lieutenant’s office while I rubbed my stomach. I knew it couldn’t be the food from Roy’s—it was too delicious.
J.T. sat on a guest chair next to the lieutenant’s desk. They were both staring at the computer screen when I walked in.
“Doc Wilson says he’s the only one that uses the truck.”
“Okay, hold on.” The lieutenant called the evidence garage, where the forensic team was going over the truck. “Hey, John, it’s Lieutenant Taft. According to Agent Monroe, Doc’s fingerprints should be the only ones on the truck. There could be random ones here and there, I suppose, but he’s the only person that uses the vehicle.” The lieutenant listened for a few seconds, gave an affirmative response, and hung up. “They should be done with the truck in twenty minutes.”
I rounded the lieutenant’s desk and peered over their shoulders at the computer screen. “Looks like you have him dead to rights.”
J.T. responded. “Yeah, but with the camera mounted overhead, we don’t see his face. We do have a good lock on that baseball cap, though. It’s as clear as day. Looking at the guy, I’d put him at six three, maybe six four, and over two hundred fifty pounds. Wouldn’t you agree, Lieutenant?”
“That sounds about right. So we have the same cap, backpack, and dark windbreaker. The guy on both videos is one and the same, and he’s coming out of parks in two different states where similar killings took place. I’d say he’s definitely our man. What worries me the most,” Taft said, “is wondering what kind of diabolical killing tools he’s got hidden in that backpack.”
Chapter 11
Now with two dead bodies in the sleeper, John needed to dispose of them before they began to stink. He thought about Brooklyn and how he’d taken his time killing her. That was what he enjoyed most—the slow, methodical pain he inflicted on his victims. He liked seeing their eyelashes flutter in the last few moments and how their breathing became erratic just before they died. They would pant, then nothing, then release all their breath until the inhaling stopped. Their stiffened bodies would relax, and then silence would take over as their lives slipped away. John liked that control, that power, and it fueled his desire to pick up another woman soon. First, he’d need to get off the interstate, dump the bodies, then carry on deeper into Illinois.
He watched for the Effingham exits. He was sure he’d find a quiet road with a wide shoulder and a deep ditch somewhere nearby. That was all he needed for the night. He’d toss out Ray’s bloody blanket too, get back on the interstate, and head north toward Champaign.
John saw an exit sign for Highway 45, which ran parallel to Interstate 57. That would work, and disposing of the bodies wouldn’t take but a few minutes. He’d be back in the truck and driving north in no time. He’d call it a night, rearrange the bunk, and plan the next few days.
The right-hand blinker clicked his intentions. He had three lanes to cross on 57 to get to the exit ramp for Highway 45, and that big rig needed room. John reached the ramp, downshifted, and came to a stop a quar
ter mile farther, where the flashing red lights were. He cranked the wheel and made a wide left turn. A mile out, the streetlights, gas stations, and fast food restaurants gave way to rural country roads. He didn’t need to go far, just far enough to be out of sight for five minutes. He decided to play it safe and continue on for a few more miles before he pulled over and clicked on the hazard lights. If anyone stopped, he’d say he was taking a leak by the ditch. The night was so dark that nobody would even notice two bodies lying several feet away among the weeds.
One spot looks as good as the next.
John engaged the air brakes and downshifted until the truck bounced to a halt. He checked the mirrors before climbing out. Behind him was darkness, and no headlights were coming his way. He quickly took off his jacket and shirt then pulled Brooklyn toward the passenger seat. Her blood hadn’t dried yet, and John didn’t want to ruin his clothes. He leaned in and reached across the sleeper and grabbed Ray by his stiffened arms then dragged him across the bunk. He checked the mirrors again then jumped out of the truck and rounded the front to the passenger side. He stepped up, pulled the door open, and grabbed Brooklyn. She was a lightweight and easy to carry. John walked her down the ditch then gave her a good, hard toss. Ray would be heavier. John scaled the ditch, stood on the doorsteps, and reached in. With both hands, he pulled Ray by the wrists and yanked him out. The man fell to the ground with a thud. John grabbed a leg, dragged him into the ditch, double-checked that all of his pockets were empty, and then went back for the dark green wool blanket. He threw that over Ray and returned to the truck. Back inside, he took a deep breath, shifted into gear, and cranked the wheel. He headed back to Interstate 57, where he’d enjoy a hot meal and a good night’s sleep at a truck stop somewhere near Champaign.
Chapter 12
I checked the time. It was too late to put together a news bulletin for any TV stations. There wouldn’t be an open slot to run on the ten o’clock news. We still hadn’t received word from the evidence garage whether they had finished with Doc’s truck, and it was nearing nine p.m.
We had been on the go all day long, and I was fading. I needed coffee. “Anyone want coffee besides me? I’m footing the bill, so speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“A fair warning, Jade, that vending machine coffee is terrible. There’s a cabinet in our cafeteria with coffee makings and a pot on the counter. I’d definitely take a cup or two if you want to go for it.”
“J.T.? Do you want coffee too?”
“I’d love a gallon of coffee.”
“Okay, I’ll make a twelve cupper. Why don’t we sit with Doc and Connie in the conference room?” I returned to the small office I had left twenty minutes earlier, where Connie was packing up her gear. “Leaving? I was about to make coffee for everyone.”
She gave me a thoughtful smile. “If I’m not needed anymore, I’d rather head home.”
“Yeah, it is getting late. Doc, it shouldn’t be much longer. Want a cup of coffee?”
“That sounds good, thanks.”
J.T. and Taft met me in the hallway, and I pointed over my shoulder. “Connie is packing up. I’ll start the coffee.”
Fifteen minutes later as the four of us sat around the table, John Keys, the forensic lead, entered the room and took a seat across from me.
“Sorry that took so long, but we wanted to be thorough. We found several sets of prints, mainly on the tailgate. Inside the truck and around the dash were just yours, Dr. Wilson. Other than your prints, because you’re a veterinarian and in the system, we didn’t match the other prints to any in the database.”
“Damn it.” I almost continued with my rant when I remembered we had a civilian in the room. “Okay, I guess you can go, Doc. We really appreciate everything you’ve done tonight.” I pulled a contact card out of my pocket and slid it across the table for him. “Call us anytime if you think of something else.”
“I’ll take you to your truck,” John said.
Dr. Wilson stood, shook our hands, and walked out with John Keys.
“We need to organize what we have and create a profile for this killer, but first we have to find out if he worked at Millstead Trucking in Conway. I called earlier, and the dispatcher is the only person on duty at this time of night. The rest are the truckers out on the road. She said she wasn’t at liberty to talk to anyone about anything without the owner’s consent,” J.T. said. “I’ll call Faulkner County Sheriff’s Department and have them send a couple of deputies out there in the morning. According to Millstead Trucking’s website, they only have about twenty trucks, so this can’t be too big of an operation. We need the roster of truck drivers before we put anything on the air.”
Lieutenant Taft nodded. “Let’s call it a night, guys. We’ve been at this all day. Get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll meet back here at eight o’clock. The trucking company will be open, and I’ll make sure Faulkner County has a few deputies waiting at their door.”
J.T. and I walked out with the lieutenant, said our good nights, and left for the Ozark Inn. I couldn’t wait for my head to hit that pillow, but I needed to call Amber first. Calling my little sister and checking on her was something I did every night before turning in.
J.T. stood with me as I unlocked my door. “You know the drill, right, partner?” He gave me a tired grin.
“You mean the banging on my door then putting your finger over the peephole drill?”
“That’s the one. I’ll be ready to go by seven o’clock. That will give us enough time to have a decent breakfast at Roy’s. See you in the morning, Jade.”
I turned the key in the doorknob and pushed the door open. “Night, J.T.”
Inside, I hung my purse over the chair back, pulled the lanyard with my badge over my head, and placed that and my shoulder holster on the table. My suitcase still sat on the bed, zipped and packed. I opened it, pulled out my sleepwear and toiletries, and then headed to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, with the pillows plumped behind my head, I checked the time—10:04—then tapped the telephone icon next to Amber’s name.
“Hey, Jade.”
“Hi, hon, you were still up, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, Spaz and I are snuggling on the couch. I’m going to watch the news then hit the sack. Anything new on the park investigation?”
“Other than a gruesome scene, not much. We are getting a few leads, but the killer’s prints don’t seem to be in the database. We may have something tomorrow morning, though. We’re going to have deputies stationed at a trucking company in Arkansas. Without getting into too much detail, we’re going to need their roster of drivers.”
“Somebody is going to give you that information on a Sunday?”
“That’s why we’re going in with deputies. I’m sure the dispatch operator will get the owner on the phone quickly, or there in person. We don’t have time to screw around with warrants if we don’t have to. Time is of the essence. Anyway, how are you and the menagerie?”
She chuckled through the phone lines. “You just left this morning, Jade.”
“Really? It seems like days ago. I guess I’m beat.”
“We’re all fine, so get some sleep. Kate is joining me for brunch with Mom and Bruce tomorrow at eleven.”
“Sounds nice. Where are you guys going?”
“To the Copper Kettle on Bark Lake. I’ll give you the minute-by-minute playback tomorrow night.”
“Okay, tell everyone hi for me and kiss the kids. Night, hon.”
“Night, Jade.”
Chapter 13
“I got this one,” I said to J.T. as I popped the last piece of bacon in my mouth, wiped my face with the napkin, and walked to the counter to pay for breakfast. We needed to be at the sheriff’s department by eight a.m.
We both took a coffee to go and climbed into the Jeep. J.T. drove while I sat back and read through the pages of notes I had jotted down since yesterday morning.
“You know, it doesn’t make sense.”
J.T. glanced my wa
y. “What doesn’t?”
“Why would a trucker waste his time with killing people in state parks? He’d have to stash his truck somewhere, go in on foot, and do the deeds. Don’t truckers have to stick to delivery schedules? Plus, you’d think he’d have ample opportunity just by picking up hitchhikers or hookers along his route.”
“You do have a point. I think most cross-country trucks have tracking devices on them too. The drivers are only allowed to put in a certain amount of hours a day behind the wheel, and dispatch needs to know where they are at all times. It’s for the safety of the driver and the cargo.”
“I guess we have to determine who that man is and find out his route and where his next stop is supposed to be. We’ll be one step ahead of him and waiting to pick him up.”
J.T. smirked. “If only things were that easy in the real world.”
“This is the real world, and why wouldn’t it go down exactly like that?”
“Wait and see. I have a few more years under my belt than you do. Nothing ever goes according to plan.”
J.T. pulled into the parking lot at the sheriff’s department, and we went inside. We met again in the same office we had used yesterday. Lieutenant Taft was talking on the phone when we entered, and he motioned for us to take a seat then pointed at the carafe of coffee and cups at the center of the table.
We sat, filled our cups, and waited until his phone call had ended. Moments later, the lieutenant hung up, and we got an earful.
“This isn’t good, not good at all. The owner of Millstead Trucking talked to the deputies about a half hour ago. He said their trucks and drivers had always been accounted for and on schedule until early last week. When one of their drivers went off course and never called in on Tuesday, they tracked the truck to the Bull Shoals-White River State Park area. Actually the truck was found out of fuel and parked behind Pine Lodge, less than a mile from the park. Nobody has spoken to or seen the driver since.”
“What did they do with the semi?”
