Justified

by C. M. Sutter

  “Since our victims were dumped prior to the Pilot Fuel Stop, that’s telling us he picked up the girl and killed her before he reached Effingham. He probably found a truck stop, fueled up, had a late dinner, and found a woman that could satisfy his needs at that time. How many truck stops are along I-70 from the Illinois border to here?”

  The captain appeared to be mentally adding them up. “Only two with direct access to the interstate, but they aren’t in our county.”

  “They need to be checked out. Somebody must have seen something. Those kind of girls watch each other’s backs.” When my phone rang, I stood and excused myself.

  The captain stood too. “I’ll call the state police right away.”

  I walked out to the hallway and answered. “Hi, boss. We were having a sit-down with the captain of the sheriff’s department and a few of his detectives. They checked out the Pilot Fuel Stop. No luck there.”

  “I have a new lead, Jade, that’s worth checking out.”

  “One second, I’m going back in so I can write this down.” I entered the conference room at the same time Todd returned. I took a seat and pulled my notepad out of my purse. “Boss, I’m going to put you on speakerphone so I can write. J.T., Captain Fox, and detectives Jennings and Kindelay are here with me.”

  “Okay, people, here’s the latest as of twenty minutes ago. A call came in from the supervisor at Petro Fuel and Food, a truck stop twenty miles south of Champaign, Illinois, on Interstate 57.”

  “Location sounds right,” J.T. said.

  “Around noon today, a cashier named Jane Weeks went to lunch and never returned when her break was over. The supervisor assumed she’d left and replaced her with a different cashier. He tried calling her several times, but the phone always went to voicemail. He admitted being too busy to worry about it but had all intentions of writing her up tomorrow. Twenty minutes ago when his shift was over, he walked out to get into his car. That’s when he noticed her car was still parked in the lot. He remembered hearing about the alerts on the radio and had the tip line number written down. We just got the call.”

  “And what is the supervisor’s name, boss?”

  “It’s Doug Kaiser.”

  I wrote that down. “They must have cameras in the parking lot. They’d see if the employee climbed into somebody’s truck, wouldn’t they?”

  “Absolutely, and I want you, Jade, and J.T. to head there now. I’ve already checked, and it’s just an hour from Effingham.”

  “What about the unidentified girl with Ray?” I asked.

  Captain Fox spoke up. “SSA Spelling?”

  “Yes, Captain Fox?”

  “I think between the sheriff’s departments and the state police, they can get an ID on her. There are two truck stops along Interstate 70 west of Effingham that they can check out tonight.”

  “Great idea, and we appreciate your help. Okay, agents, head out.”

  I hung up and looked at Todd. “What did you find out?”

  “The ME said it’s a tattoo of a bridge.”

  “That’s a new one. Any bridge in particular?” J.T. asked.

  “He wasn’t sure, but he said it’s an ornate rendition of a suspension bridge.”

  “You’re going to need a close-up photo of that tattoo,” I said. “It’s going to help considerably in the interviews at those truck stops. I guarantee that if she worked at either of those places along I-70, somebody is going to recognize that tattoo and know her name. Make sure to get photos of it to the state police and the county sheriff’s department too.”

  Chapter 19

  Darkness had taken over the highway, and only the cars zooming by and the constant glare of headlights kept John awake. He needed to pull over and take another break. He was itching to get in the sleeper, but he’d have to deal with Jane first. Several hours had passed since he found that out-of-the-way place to park and spend a bit of quality time with her. He didn’t want to end things too quickly, but now her constant moaning from behind the closed curtains had begun to grate on his nerves. She needed to be silenced for good.

  John turned the radio up a few clicks louder and rubbed a balled-up fist over his twitching left eye as he continued north on Interstate 57 toward Chicago. The background drone of the radio went from music to the current news. He reached for the channel selector but stopped when the segment caught his attention. State troopers were patrolling the interstates and state highways for a burgundy semi-tractor that had Ray’s Transport written on the doors in white lettering. They had asked the public to be watchful as they took to the freeways that night and to call in any sightings to the 1-800 tip line.

  Damn it, they found the bodies already and somehow know what I’m driving.

  John slammed his open hand against the steering wheel. He couldn’t make any quick moves. It might attract attention to the truck. He had to get off that busy freeway and fast, then find a side road to drive on. The semi had to be abandoned, but he needed another vehicle first. He cursed as he watched for a sign that showed how far the next exit was. He pulled into the far right lane and drove the speed limit. In that lane, only one door would be visible, plus he could scoot off the highway at the next ramp.

  The green freeway sign overhead showed an exit for Thomasboro three miles ahead. John didn’t know anything about the area, only that he needed to get off the interstate. Driving on a less-traveled road was more important. He clicked his blinker and rode the ramp to the stop sign, then looked right and left, and decided left looked a bit darker and less populated. He turned the steering wheel on the big rig and drove slowly down the road. With his neck craned at every crossroad, he looked for a place to pull over and park the truck out of sight.

  A dirt road caught his eye. He had no idea where it led, but if parked deep enough in, the truck would be well hidden, and he didn’t need a lot of time. He remembered seeing an all-night gas station and quick mart when he exited the highway. He’d jog back there, steal a car, and return to the truck for his supplies and Jane.

  John cranked the wheel sharply to squeeze onto that narrow road. The area looked deserted as if that dirt road was there purely by accident. It would do just fine. Several hundred feet in, he shifted into Park then pulled open the curtain to check on Jane. He pulled the string on the ceiling light.

  “Man, you look like hell, all bloody and shit.”

  Her eyes bulged at the sight of him, and panic took over. She squirmed and moaned.

  “Shut the hell up. I have to leave for a few minutes, but I’ll be right back. I don’t have time to deal with you now.” He checked her restraints and noticed that the sock had nearly fallen out of her mouth. “Think you’re smart, don’t you?” He shoved it back, deeper the second time, then taped her mouth closed. “There, now try to spit it out.”

  John reached in his bag and pulled out the blood-stained skinning knife then stuffed it in his jacket pocket, turned off the light, closed the curtain, and shut down the truck. He climbed out and locked the semi behind him. With the zipper pulled to the top of his thin jacket and the collar lifted, he headed out. The night was cloaked in a brisk chill, but the jog would warm him up. That gas station stood on the corner about a mile back at the highway exit. He reached the intersection ten minutes later, panting and nearly out of breath. At the ramp, he crossed the road and ran to the back of the building, where he waited out of the glare of the brightly lit entrance. The six vehicles parked out front told him patrons were inside. He needed to be careful. Two empty cars sat at the pumps where they had been filled with gas. That made at least eight customers inside. A movement thirty feet to his left caught John’s eye. A man knelt at the front passenger tire of his car. The long air hose in his hand preoccupied him. The machine was located at the side of the building, away from other cars, and only one dimly lit bulb above the side door illuminated that space.

  It was John’s best and only option. He crept closer until he was directly behind the man then grabbed the hose and twisted it around his n
eck. John pulled the double loop tightly and cut off the man’s airways before his thrashing attracted attention. He dropped the hose, grabbed the man’s head, and snapped his neck. The man fell silent and limp. With the man’s jacket bunched up in his hands, John dragged him behind the row of dumpsters. He waited and watched until the coast was clear. He crossed the pavement to the car and nonchalantly filled all the tires with air, neatly wound the hose, placed it back on the machine, then drove away. He glanced at the fuel tank and chuckled.

  Way to go, man. You must have filled up the car just before I arrived. That should hold me over for a while.

  From start to finish, John was gone less than an hour. He pulled ahead of the truck and parked. He had only a few minutes—he couldn’t be caught lingering. He climbed the two steps, unlocked the door, and got in. He needed only his backpack, the blankets, food, the plastic bag containing Ray’s belongings, and Jane. All the supplies were placed inside the car, then he went back for the girl. John knew he’d have to subdue her, or moving her to the car would take too long. He climbed into the bunk and grabbed her by the head then pinched her nose closed until she passed out. He had far better plans to share with her when they had more time. He untied her, pulled her out of the truck, and then threw her in the trunk of the car. He hog-tied her hands and legs together with the duct tape, slammed the trunk lid, and drove to a spot where he could turn around. With a final look at the truck, he drove by slowly and backtracked to the highway. He continued his route north on Interstate 57 with Jane secured in the trunk.

  Chapter 20

  It was after eight o’clock when J.T. and I pulled into the Petro Fuel and Food and parked the rental car by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall near the entrance. We were told by Spelling that he had set up a meeting for us to interview the supervisor, Doug Kaiser. He had agreed to return to the station and meet us there.

  J.T. made a quick call to Spelling before we exited the car. “Hey, boss, just wanted to let you know we’re here and ready to go inside.”

  “Okay, conduct the interview and call me back. We’ll make a decision for the next step after I hear how the interview went. Make sure you check the footage from every camera that faces the truck lot.”

  “Got it. You’ll hear back from us soon.”

  J.T. and I walked inside the all-night diner. A man paced the ten-foot area behind the counter with his shoulders slumped and his hands buried in his pockets. He apparently didn’t see us enter. The hostess seated guests while the cashier settled the bills. I assumed the man pacing was Doug Kaiser.

  “Mr. Kaiser?”

  He turned abruptly and looked, wide-eyed, from me to J.T. “Yes, that’s me. You must be the FBI agents.”

  “We are, sir. Is there a private place we can talk?”

  “The employee lunchroom should be empty. Right this way.”

  We followed Mr. Kaiser down a short hallway, past the kitchen, then turned left. Lockers lined the wall that opened up to a living room–sized lunchroom.

  “Is this okay? The night supervisor is in the office I normally use during the day.”

  “It’s fine. May we?” I pointed at a square table with four chairs in the far corner.

  “Yes, please.”

  We took our seats, and I pulled out my notepad. J.T. would ask the questions this time around.

  “We know you spoke to Supervisory Special Agent Spelling a few hours back. Can you give us a brief recap of that conversation for our records?”

  Doug Kaiser wrung his hands. “Sure.”

  We waited.

  “Sir?”

  “Oh, sorry, I’m just beside myself with worry. I feel guilty, you know.”

  “Guilty? Why?” J.T. asked.

  “I’ve been pissed all day at Jane, thinking she was irresponsible and took off. Now it comes to light that she may be the victim of a horrible crime. I can’t let go of it.”

  “Sir,” J.T. said, “it’s our job to do what we can to find her. With your help, that may be possible. Let’s just focus on what you know for sure.”

  Doug nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, yeah. Jane started her shift at eight o’clock. She was scheduled to work until five. Her lunch break is usually at eleven forty-five, unless she’s waiting on a customer, but generally around that time.”

  “And her lunch break is how long?”

  “Forty-five minutes.”

  “Where does she normally eat lunch?”

  “Right there.” Doug pointed at a long table across the room. “She sits in the same spot every day.”

  “Do you know for sure that she didn’t eat there today?”

  “No. The only thing I know for sure is that she didn’t go home. I tried the house number multiple times, and nobody answered. She mentioned a few days back that her parents were out of town visiting family. I have no idea how to reach them or where they went. Jane’s car is outside, and I bet her purse is still in her locker.”

  J.T. shot me a raised eyebrow. “So, we’re the only officers that have been here, and her car is still in the lot? Did you touch it?”

  “I didn’t touch anything, but I could see the lock buttons were down. I called that tip line immediately, and someone connected me with your boss.”

  I wrote everything down as he talked. “Go ahead, Doug.”

  “I came back in the building and talked to a few of the employees when I saw her car parked outside. Nobody knew anything about her plans to leave, but our daytime cook, Joe, took a lunch order for her. Jane never does that. Most of the time she brings food from home.”

  “Is Joe still here?”

  “No, but Jane’s order slip is in the kitchen with all the others for the day.”

  “Can you get that ticket for us?”

  “Sure.” Doug stood to leave the lunchroom.

  “What about surveillance in the lot?” J.T. asked.

  “Yeah, we have six cameras, mostly because of the women strolling about, if you know what I mean.”

  I nodded. “Go ahead and grab that ticket, Doug, then we’ll need to see those tapes.” I waited until Doug left the room before speaking openly to J.T. “Do you think she may have gone somewhere with a boyfriend since her folks are out of town, anyway?”

  “The fastest way to narrow things down is by checking her locker, then the lunch slip, then the videotapes. Let’s proceed in that order.”

  We rose from the table, crossed the lunchroom, and entered the hallway when we heard footsteps. Doug was returning.

  I pointed at the lockers. “Which one is Jane’s?”

  “Number seven.”

  J.T. pulled on the combination lock. It was secure. He turned to Doug, who was already shaking his head.

  “No, I don’t know the combination. The employees bring their own locks.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting things to be that easy. We’ll need someone out here right away to snap that lock. Let’s take a look at that lunch slip.”

  Doug handed the order slip to J.T. and made the quick call to a local locksmith.

  J.T. read the slip aloud. “Two grilled cheese sandwiches and two bags of chips. It’s pretty apparent she was ordering for someone else too. Does Jane have a boyfriend or an acquaintance that stops in to visit her often?”

  “Nope. The employees don’t have time for that, anyway. This place is hopping day and night. They get their lunch break, then it’s back to work.”

  “Okay, this ticket will help. We’ll need to see every parking lot tape between eleven and one o’clock.”

  “Sure, right this way.”

  We followed Doug down a different hallway. A closed door stood before us with a plaque attached at eye level with the word PRIVATE written on it. He unlocked the door, and we entered a bedroom-sized area with three computer monitors on a long table against the wall. The remainder of the room held two desks stacked with paperwork, calculators, cups filled with pens, and landline telephones. A large, heavy looking safe filled the corner of the room. Several misma
tched guest chairs stood against the opposite wall.

  “This is where most everything important takes place. Only the supervisors are allowed back here, and the door is always locked. Our regular offices are behind the kitchen. Anyway, here are the computers that are connected to the surveillance cameras. Each one has a split screen of the parking lot areas.”

  “Can you set them up for us?” I asked.

  “No problem. I’ll just need a few minutes to backtrack the footage to the lunch hour.”

  Doug had the first computer set up quickly. “Shall we eliminate them one by one?”

  “Makes sense.” J.T. grabbed a chair from along the wall and scooted it in close to the computer. I already had the seat at the table.

  “Okay, this monitor covers cameras one and two. The time is set to go. You can speed it up and slow it down with the scrubber bar. Hit Stop to pause the tape. I’ll get the next one ready.”

  J.T. began rolling the tape. We watched the uneventful scene play out in front of us. People walked in and out of the building from the parking lot or the gas pumps.

  I rolled my neck and stared at the time stamp on the screen. Cameras one and two didn’t show us anything unusual, and they had already passed the time Jane would have exited the building. “Is there an employee entrance, or do they always use the front door?”

  “They come in and out however they want, but she may have gone out the back door by the kitchen. That’s cameras three and four. Those cameras cover more of the outer lot too.”

  “Yeah, let’s move on to the next one,” J.T. said.

  That computer was ready to go. We scooted our chairs over and began watching from eleven o’clock on. In the distance we saw a row of twelve semis lined up next to each other. A few of the truckers stepped out, smoked cigarettes, and talked to women. Others went inside the diner. I glanced at the time stamp—11:40. Jane’s lunch break was about to start.