Justified

by C. M. Sutter

  “Why?”

  “Because you already asked me if I was Ray, remember?”

  She covered her face with her hands. “Oh yeah, it says Ray’s Transport on the door.”

  He chuckled. “You were testing me, weren’t you? I’ll admit, you’re smart for such a young girl.”

  “No, really I—”

  He cut her off mid-sentence. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s eat. We can set everything on the console. There’s plenty of room. How much time do you get for your lunch break, Jane?”

  “Forty-five minutes. I placed the food order early so I wouldn’t have to wait for it.”

  He nodded. “Like I said, you’re a smart girl. How old are you?”

  “I turned nineteen a few weeks back.”

  “Well, happy belated birthday. I’ll have to come up with something special for you. When we’re done eating, I’ll show you how cool the bunk is.”

  She played with the melted cheese and stretched it between the sandwich and her mouth then wrapped it around her index finger.

  “You seem playful. You like games?”

  “Sure, who doesn’t?”

  John grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I like the way you think. Finish your sandwich. I have an awesome game we can play.”

  “I have to keep my eye on the time. If I’m late getting back, I’ll be written up.”

  “I’ll set the alarm on my phone for thirty-five minutes from now. That should give us plenty of time.”

  She balled up the sandwich wrappers and tossed them back into the brown bag. “Okay, what’s the game?”

  “It’s in the back.” He pulled the curtain open. “Climb in. I’ll show you.”

  She turned around in the seat and climbed into the bunk. John followed.

  “Wow, it’s huge back here. I like it.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Whose pink jacket is that?” She looked over her shoulder at him.

  It took but a split second for him to scrunch his fist into a tight ball and slam her in the right eye. Jane’s head bounced off the seatback, and she slumped against the wall. He pulled up the mattress and grabbed the ropes then secured them around her wrists and ankles. It only took a minute, and she was firmly bound and unable to move. John pulled a dirty sock out of his pack and stuffed it into her mouth. She was good to go, and the games would soon begin. He cocked his head and gave her a long, thorough stare then climbed back into the driver’s seat and shifted into gear. The open road was calling, and now he had a playmate to keep him company.

  Chapter 17

  By one thirty in the afternoon, calls started trickling in from as far away as Indianapolis. The local TV stations showed the segment about our mystery man on the news at noon, and I assumed other news stations followed suit, depending on their own time zone. I was pretty certain SSA Spelling had a hand in spreading the word.

  For the most part tip line calls weren’t credible, but we still had to document every call that came in and take down the information. Truck stops in the Midwest had already been alerted, but unless someone rather tall walked in and raised suspicion, most of those diners and fuel stops were too busy to notice. We depended on deputies to make frequent parking lot rounds and watch for anything that seemed out of the norm.

  J.T. answered a call while I was on another line. We stationed ourselves in the bull pen along with several detectives that helped answer tip line calls. Lieutenant Taft kept in touch with the Osage Beach PD and updated them regularly. Everyone pitched in, but at this point our hands were tied until a viable lead surfaced.

  “This could be related,” J.T. said as soon as he set the receiver down on the base.

  My ears perked up. “What have you got?”

  “That was the sheriff’s department in Effingham, Illinois.”

  I was already typing that name into my cell phone as he spoke. “And?”

  “And a guy driving north on Highway 45 in a pickup truck saw a blanket lying in a ditch a few miles outside the city limits. He was curious enough to pull over and check it out. Let’s just say, he probably regretted doing that once he saw a dead man under it. He called the sheriff, and they investigated and found a dead woman farther back in the brush.”

  “Holy shit. Two bodies?”

  “Yep, afraid so.”

  “Manner of death?”

  “They said it looked like knife wounds. Apparently, there’s a Pilot Fuel Stop right up the road from there. They have detectives asking around at that location.”

  I checked the distance between Osage Beach and Effingham, Illinois, while J.T. rattled off more details. From city to city, it was a four-hour drive. The killer could have caught a ride with a trucker along Highway 54 after Doc Wilson dropped him off.

  I stared at the map on my phone. “Highway 54 intersects with Interstate 70, which goes through St. Louis. Effingham is an hour and a half northeast of there. He veered off the interstate and decided on a smaller highway.”

  “Yeah, so he could ditch the bodies. There’s too much traffic on the interstate.”

  “It looks like he’s on either 45 or 57. They run parallel to each other and he’s headed north for some reason.”

  J.T. huffed. “Or for no reason at all. He could have turned back and continued east on the interstate.”

  “We need to know how long that man and woman have been dead and if there’s any connection between them. Maybe he hijacked a husband and wife’s car somewhere along the way. Damn it. He could be in a semi or any other kind of vehicle, and we have no idea where he’s going next.”

  “The man found them a half hour ago, and the coroner just arrived. The tip line is doing its job, Jade. They knew to contact us. They’re going to call us back as soon as the ME finishes his initial field exam. I think we ought to wrap things up here with Lieutenant Taft and the Osage Beach PD, check out of the hotel, and hit the road.”

  “I’ll call Spelling and run this by him.”

  The phone rang on SSA Spelling’s end as I watched J.T. knock on the lieutenant’s door and enter his office.

  Spelling picked up on the third ring. “Jade, got something new?”

  “Yes, boss. Apparently two bodies, a man and a woman, were found along Highway 45, just north of Effingham, Illinois. They were discovered about a half hour ago, the ME is at the scene, and they’re going to get back to us as soon as he comes up with an estimated TOD. Upon initial exam, we were told both bodies looked to have stab wounds.”

  “Husband and wife?”

  “We don’t have information on that yet. Highway 45 is just off Interstate 70, a well-traveled route for cross-country big rigs. We were told there’s a truck stop right up the road from where the bodies were found. Local deputies are there now. Should we move on this?”

  I heard Spelling groan, and I knew what he was thinking. We were dealing with the worst kind of criminal—a ghost. We had no idea where he went or what kind of vehicle he drove because we didn’t know who he was. The only way we knew where he had been was by the bodies he had left in his wake.

  “Pack it up and head to Effingham. We’ll transfer the tip lines to the field office and keep you posted with every update. I’ll touch base with the sheriff’s department in Effingham and let them know you and J.T. are on your way.”

  “You got it. We’ll be heading out within a half hour.” I hung up and crossed the bull pen to the lieutenant’s office. He waved me in.

  “Sounds like you two are heading to Illinois.”

  “Yes, sir, and our boss agreed that the killer has likely moved out of the area. We’ll be checking out of the hotel and leaving for Effingham in just a few minutes.”

  The lieutenant pushed back his chair and stood. “I wish we could give the families closure, but until this killer is apprehended, we don’t have anything more than offering our condolences.”

  J.T. shook the lieutenant’s hand and gave him his card. “We’ll keep you updated, sir, and it was a pleasure mee
ting you, even under these terrible circumstances.”

  I shook the lieutenant’s hand too, and we left. We headed back to Osage Beach to check out of the hotel and stop by the car rental agency. We needed to swap out the Jeep for a sedan.

  Forty-five minutes later, on Highway 54, J.T. sat behind the wheel of a roomy Kia Optima. We’d arrive in Effingham, Illinois, later that evening and make our way to the county sheriff’s department.

  Chapter 18

  I watched as the blur of countryside and billboards zoomed past my side window. J.T. cruised north on Highway 54, and we had been on the road for two hours when my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of the cup holder and took a look. I turned toward J.T. “It’s Spelling.” I pressed the green telephone icon and answered. “Hi, boss. Have an update for us? I’m putting you on speakerphone.”

  “I sure do. It turns out the man in the ditch is an independent trucker by the name of Ray Moore. His wife filled out a missing persons report after thirty hours of his cell phone going directly to voicemail. She told the sheriff’s department he’d left home about three a.m. Saturday morning and was heading to Detroit.”

  “How was it determined that the man in the ditch was Ray?”

  “The wife gave her local sheriff’s department a thorough description, which was entered in the missing persons database right away. She also said he had a four-leaf clover tattoo on his left wrist. The body did too.”

  “That means the dead woman wasn’t his wife after all.”

  “According to the description of the way she was dressed, she could have been a lady of the night. That leads me to think she was picked up at a truck stop after our killer had control of the vehicle.”

  “J.T. wants to add his two cents, boss.”

  “What are you thinking, J.T.?”

  J.T. clicked the blinker and merged onto I-70 East. “If the killer apprehended the woman at a truck stop and Ray was already dead, that means his body must have been hidden in the sleeper when the killer picked up the woman.”

  “Yep, it would appear so.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “That guy is truly sadistic. Has the wife given you the plate number and description of the truck?”

  “That’s the good news. She has. Every state patrol unit in Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Wisconsin has that information. We’re closing in on him.”

  “Right, as long as he doesn’t ditch the semi like he did with Fred West’s truck after he ran out of fuel.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true, and we’re only guessing on the direction he’s heading. Meanwhile, check in with the sheriff’s department in Effingham when you get there, find out if the detectives got any leads from the Pilot Fuel Stop, and call me back. We need to know who the dead woman is too and where she came from.”

  “Will do, boss.” I clicked off and returned my phone to the cup holder. We had already passed the halfway point to Effingham.

  “We’re going to be hitting St. Louis traffic soon. Want to grab a coffee once we get through the madness?”

  “Sure, why not.” I sat back and stared out the window and wondered what Ray Moore was thinking when he picked up that ominous hitchhiker in the middle of the night. Ray’s good deed had led to his death and likely the death of that unknown woman.

  J.T. clicked the blinker and scooted over a few lanes. We exited the ramp on the outskirts of St. Louis and found a nearby gas station-quick mart. Back in the car after a bathroom break, a bit of stretching, and a hot cup of coffee, we had an hour to go before we reached the city limits of Effingham, Illinois. According to the city-data information on my phone, Effingham was triple the size of Osage Beach. With a deep sigh, I checked the time—a little after five p.m. I reclined my seat and watched as the sun dropped in the sky.

  “We’re here, Jade.”

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and sat up straight. “What?”

  “We’re pulling into Effingham. I didn’t think you’d want to walk into the sheriff’s department with sleep in your eyes.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I thought coffee was supposed to perk me up, not knock me out.”

  “But relaxing car rides do. Pull up your phone map and see exactly where the sheriff’s department is, please.”

  “Sure thing.” I spoke into the phone’s microphone and asked to see the location of the Effingham, Illinois Sheriff’s Department. “Here we go. Highway 45 turns into South Banker Street as we get closer to downtown.”

  J.T. craned his neck out the window and looked up at the street sign when we crossed an intersection. “Yep, we’re on it.”

  “Good. The sheriff’s department is on South Fourth Street. Go a few blocks east on West Fayette, and we should see South Fourth Street on our left. The sheriff’s department is a block north of there. I think we’re pretty close.”

  A few minutes later, J.T. pulled into the parking lot of the four-story brown brick building that took up most of the block. Turn-of-the-century buildings lined both sides of the street, giving the downtown area a quaint and welcoming appearance. I smiled at its charm and thought about visiting another time when I wasn’t on a case. A large Victorian building placed in the middle of a parklike setting stood directly across the street from the sheriff’s department. I was sure it was the original courthouse from back in the late 1800s. Something about it, including the still-working clock tower, reminded me of the movie Back to the Future. It was a shame that such a lovely town had to be marred by the double homicide.

  We exited the car and entered the building through the glass vestibule doors at the back. Beyond those doors, hallways going left, right, and straight ahead stood before us. An arrow on the wall directed us to the left and took us to the sheriff’s department at the end of that corridor. We entered, explained who we were, and showed our credentials. The woman behind the counter made a quick phone call and asked us to take a seat. By the time I lifted a magazine from the rack, a somber looking man headed our way and introduced himself as Detective Sam Kindelay. We shook his hand and stated our names then followed him to their bull pen, where the captain had been informed of our arrival. After we passed through the security door, a man pushed back his chair and approached us.

  “Agents, I’m Captain Bill Fox, and I have to tell you how upset the residents of Effingham are.”

  “Captain.” I stretched out my hand to shake his. “I’m Special Agent Jade Monroe. This is my partner, Special Agent J.T. Harper. We’re here to learn whatever we can in order to apprehend this dangerous killer as quickly as possible.”

  “Please, have a seat, agents. Coffee?”

  I nodded. “Appreciate it, sir.”

  The captain motioned for the detective that we had met earlier and another man to join us in a small conference room that was attached to his office. There was just enough space around the table for the five of us. Captain Fox introduced the second man, another detective, Todd Jennings. Both detectives were the men that had conducted the interviews at the Pilot Fuel Stop just north of town.

  “Detectives, what can you tell us?”

  Todd Jennings spoke up. “Nothing related to the victim’s truck. We had hoped to find the killer filling the tank and going inside for a bite to eat, but we came up empty. A tall trucker with a burgundy semi and the words Ray’s Transport in white lettering didn’t ring a bell with anyone. Keep in mind, agents, that the employees in those truck stops are usually very busy, and the truckers?” He huffed and rubbed his chin. “They’re either feeding their faces, sleeping, showering to wake up, or engaging in some other extracurricular activity to stay alert, if you get my drift.”

  Detective Kindelay added his two cents. “We watched the surveillance tapes that covered the fuel pumps and the diner going back to yesterday afternoon and got nothing.”

  “What was the official TOD, Captain Fox?”

  “According to the ME, when the bodies were discovered, Ray had been deceased for about twenty hours, the unidentified woman, about sixteen.”

  J.T. raised
his brows. “That scenario crossed my mind. The trucker was dead and hidden in the sleeper when the killer picked up the woman. The clothing she wore was described as something, excuse the expression, a lady of the night would wear?”

  “It appears so, Agent Harper,” the captain said. “When found, she had on one six-inch platform heel, a short spandex leopard-print skirt, and a see-through black peasant top.”

  I frowned. “No jacket? This time of year it’s unlikely to get above forty degrees at night.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but still and all, no jacket was found at the dump site.”

  J.T. glanced my way. “It’s probably still in the truck.”

  The captain opened a manila folder that lay in front of him and slid copies of the forensic photographs across the table for J.T. and me to view.

  “Here’s how the dump site looked when we arrived. Pretty gruesome stuff, and I’ll admit, this is a small community. I’ve never personally witnessed anything like this in my life. The tape on the woman’s eyes was especially disturbing.”

  “Tape?”

  “Yes, Agent Monroe, take a look.”

  The captain didn’t need to know that I had seen far too many crime scenes in my career, and I was sure J.T. had too. Both bodies were riddled with wounds. The female’s forehead was sliced, she had gashes in her skull, and her torso was carved like a Halloween jack-o-lantern. A victim with eyelids taped open was new for me. Her eyeballs were glazed over with a dry, hazy film.

  “What’s that on her shoulder?”

  “On her shoulder?” The captain raised a questioning brow.

  I pointed at the third photo of the woman. “Right there, under the peasant top on her left shoulder. It looks like some type of tattoo.”

  J.T. leaned in and took a closer look. “Yep, it’s definitely a tattoo.”

  The captain jerked his head toward the door. “Todd, call the ME and find out what that is.”

  “Right away, Captain.”

  “So what’s the deal with this guy, anyway?” Captain Fox asked as we waited for Todd to return.

  I summarized our thoughts. “As far as we know, his killing spree started in Arkansas, but that’s just our theory. There may be other victims that haven’t been found yet. We don’t have enough information on him to know if there was a trigger or if he kills for the simple pleasure of it. My best guess? He’s doing it because he likes to. He has a backpack with him that is probably filled with his favorite killing tools.” I noticed J.T. rubbing his brow. “What are you thinking?”