by Glenn Trust
“Now let me speak frankly to you…Dick.” Klineman’s face turned a deeper more purple shade of red, almost maroon, Shaklee thought. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your reelection. An old man and young woman have been brutally murdered in your county. You might want to consider the effect on the good citizens of Pickham County and your political future if those crimes go unsolved.”
“I won’t tolerate…”
Shaklee cut him off. “You will tolerate it Sheriff.” He smiled at the sheriff and spoke calmly as if reasoning with a petulant child. “You have no choice. We have the resources and you don’t. We can make things very uncomfortable for you in the press should there be a lack of…shall we call it, mutual aid.”
Klineman could do nothing more than blink. It was clear by the expression on his face that he was trying to absorb the fact that Shaklee had just threatened him.
“But I will give you this promise,” Shaklee continued, looking around the room for the recording device he suspected was activated. He raised his voice a couple of decibels to make sure that what he said was picked up by any unseen microphone. “I give you my word Sheriff that when this case is solved, and I believe it will be, you will personally receive full credit. If the investigation is a dead end, the GBI, meaning I, will take the hit for it in the press. There will be no fallout for you.”
“I don’t understand.” And the look on Klineman’s face showed that he truly could not grasp the reality of what he had just heard. Honesty and accountability were foreign concepts to him.
“Understand this,” Sharon Price threw at him. “We will give you full credit for solving the case. If we fail, we will take all of the blame. I know that’s hard for you to comprehend, but there it is.”
“One other thing,” Shaklee continued smilingly. “In the spirit of mutual aid, we would like to have one of your staff assigned to work with us on the investigation. As you have pointed out, there are a number of investigative avenues to pursue. We could use the help.”
Trying to recover some of his dignity, Klineman squared his shoulders and cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, I think having one of my staff assigned as part of our mutual aid agreement in this investigation is important.” The pomposity was back in his voice, and it was amusingly clear to the others at the table that you just can’t keep a good politician down for long. “In light of the seriousness of the matter, I am inclined to have my most seasoned and experienced deputy work with you.” He turned towards Kupman continuing, “Chief Deputy please remove yourself from your normal responsibilities and begin working exclusively with Agents Shaklee and Price.”
As the sheriff concluded and awaited acknowledgment from Kupman, Bob Shaklee clarified their request.
“Sorry Sheriff, I don’t think I made myself clear. While we appreciate the offer of Chief Deputy Kupman’s services, we would like to have George Mackey assigned to work with us.”
“He’s right. George has done some good work on the case and has the continuity with both crime scenes,” Ronnie Kupman added. “It’s the right move, Sheriff.” Kupman refrained from using Klineman’s first name again figuring that there was no reason to rub his nose in the dirt any more this day.
“Well, as I said earlier…”
“We know, we know,” Sharon Price interrupted. Her temper was on a short fuse, getting shorter all the time. “Mackey is a ‘marginal deputy with marginal skills’. That may be so, and if you are right, we will take the blame. If he works out, you get the credit. It’s a win win for you, so for god’s sake, let’s just move on.”
“Yes, well…”
This time Shaklee interrupted, tiring of the word games. “It’s a done deal. We will take Mackey on the assignment.” Then to help enlighten the sheriff and remove the puzzled look from his face he added, “This is not a negotiation Sheriff. We will take Mackey. My promise to you still holds, but taking Mackey is part of the deal.”
“I see…”
This time, Ronnie Kupman interrupted. “Good. It’s a deal then.” Standing up from the conference table, he looked at the GBI investigators. “We better get you checked into a hotel here in Everett. Pretty sure you’re gonna have an early start tomorrow. Gotta let George know too. Want him bright eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning.”
Kupman strode to the door followed by the GBI agents. Sheriff Richard Klineman sat looking at his hands still clasped on the table. The pinhole camera and microphone in the center of the plaque behind his desk whirred softly, recording nothing more than the sheriff’s profile for several minutes.
57. Just His Day
The old pickup came to a rocking halt in the gravel outside the truck stop store. Clay let the door bang shut loudly behind as he walked quickly into the building. They had left Lyn in the cafe. He went there first.
It was a quick walk around, waving the waitress off when she wanted to seat him. Checking all the tables and counter with no results, he went back through the store and crossed to the driver’s lounge. The sign on the door said ‘Professional Drivers Only’. Clay ignored it and walked in. It wasn’t much of a lounge. There were doors to the restrooms on one wall, a large television with some padded chairs scattered around it and an old sofa directly in front. Tables and more chairs were scattered along the other walls and throughout the room. A few drivers were at the tables, playing cards or eating snack foods from the store. There wasn’t much of a crowd there this time of day. Mostly truckers waiting for a load somewhere or letting some hours go by so that their driver’s log wouldn’t show too many road hours without down time if they were stopped by the police.
Clay recognized one of the room’s occupants, sitting alone at a table in the corner. Henry had his left arm wrapped in a makeshift sling and a bandage covered his left temple. His face looked swollen. It was a mass of scratches and scrapes with dried blood. A large knot on his cheekbone was plainly visible even through the heavy flesh of Henry’s face.
Clay walked over to the table. Pulling a chair back with his booted foot, he sat down across from Henry.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Henry just sat there and looked at Clay. He cradled his left arm with his right.
“None of your goddam business, I reckon. Who the hell are you?” he said after a few seconds of trying to stare Clay down. The attempt at intimidation was not successful. Clay knew Henry for what he was, a bully.
Clay smiled slightly, “Fair enough,” he said. “None of my business. I seen you at the diner this morning out on I-95. Remember? My brother and me were having breakfast. Seen you there a few times before too.”
“Oh?” Henry said in mock surprise, and then added sharply, “So the fuck what? You can get your ass up and move on.”
Clay looked calmly back at the big blowhard.
“For a fella that seems to have gotten the shit kicked out of him, you have an awful surly attitude,” he said with a smile, making it clear that he had no intention of moving.
“I didn’t get no shit kicked out of me. I fell,” Henry said.
“You fell? What the hell did you fall off of?”
“Slipped getting out of my truck and hit the ground. Now get the hell outta here.”
“Slipped my ass!” a big woman at the next table laughed loudly. Her hair was pulled back in a long gray ponytail. She looked like she could have been an aging member of some seventies rock band who had lived a very hard life. She was playing cards with another woman. Both wore blue jeans, men’s work shirts and heavy boots. They were drivers.
Clay turned towards the woman as she continued.
“Old Henry here got his ass whipped by some guy, about your size.”
“Shut up!” Henry managed to hiss through clenched teeth and swollen lips. He would have gotten up to walk away, if he could have.
“Shut up, yourself,” the woman said. “If I was you, I’d rather say I got beat in a fight than say I fell outta my truck like some dumbass rookie.”
Clay smiled and
nodded. “Yep, that does sound more…manly.” He turned towards the two women and continued, “What I was going to ask was if Henry or you have seen a girl. She’s about eighteen or so, thin with dark brown hair. I come to pick her up. She called me,” he added, as the women’s faces hardened and their eyes narrowed with looks of suspicion. “Have ya’ll seen her around. Left her here this morning and said I’d come back for her if she wanted. Can’t seem to find her.”
They regarded him sternly for a few seconds more, the suspicion clearly lingering. They may have been drivers, but they were also women, and they knew what could happen to vulnerable young girls alone in the rough environment of over-the-road trucking.
The one that had been quiet to this point spoke. “You left her here, huh?” She had bright red hair and a cigarette hanging from her lower lip. Laying her cards on the table, she stared at Clay.
“Yeah. Told her we’d come back for her later.”
“Well why would you do a thing like that? She working the truck stop for you?”
Clay realized suddenly that the women thought he might have been pimping Lyn and answered quickly. “No, no. Nothing like that. We gave her a ride here. She was leaving home and going north. We didn’t like leaving her…”
“We? Who is we?” Red asked, her suspicions not dispelled by his explanation.
“My brother and me. We dropped her off cause that’s what she wanted, but we were worried about her and told her we would come back and get her. Hell, we tried to get her to go with us and stay with our mama.” He finished his explanation with a look of embarrassment.
The two women looked steadily at him for a moment, studying him and weighing his words. Finally, Red said, still looking him hard in the face. “I guess you might be all right.” Old Gray nodded at her companion. “Yeah, we’ve seen her wandering around some today. At least there was a little girl that looked like the one you describe. Saw her a while ago sitting at the counter in the cafe with another fella. They talked for a while, then he got up and she followed him out.”
Clay felt his stomach sink.
Red saw the look on his face and added, “I don’t know what they were doing. She didn’t look threatened or anything.”
Old Gray added, with a tinge of guilt, “She just kind of walked out behind him. Couldn’t even tell if they were still together. Didn’t see where they went.”
“No, couldn’t tell where they were headed,” Red added.
It was clear that they had put away their initial suspicions about Clay’s motives and were now feeling embarrassed about not having intervened for the girl.
Red gave a hard look in Henry’s direction and leaned towards Clay. “But there is something you ought to know.”
“You sure?” Old Gray leaned closer to her companion, speaking in low tones. “We don’t need any trouble here.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She looked at Clay, “Henry’s had his hands on my ass too many times for me not to know that if I were a little thing like that girl, he would have tried to have his way with me too.”
Clay’s face turned dark and threatening as his head swiveled towards Henry. The injured man just sat looking at the table wishing this would all just go away. It was clear he did not want his ass kicked a second time that day.
Clay turned back to Red, thunder on his face. “What happened?” His voice was almost inaudible as he tried to control the rage he felt building inside.
Red went on, “Well it seems he got the little girl to go out to his truck with him. Got her up in the cab, but then this other fella came along and dragged him out and whipped his ass.” She paused, watching Clay’s fist clench and unclench on the table. After a few seconds, she continued, “Might have been the guy she sat at the counter with. I don’t know that. I never saw the guy who beat up Henry, but it might have been him at the counter. Bunch of us was sitting there talking just a couple of seats away, and we had the idea that he was the guy.”
Clay looked at her, unclenched his fist and asked, “How’d you know all this? About Henry and the fight and all if you didn’t see? Henry didn’t tell you did he?”
She laughed, “No, no not Henry. It was Bob and Big Leon. That’s a couple of truckers. They kind of took the girl under their wing. Leon told us what happened before he left .” With a pained look on her face she added, “We should have looked out for her when they left. Just didn’t think to. There’s always a lot of girls hanging around truck stops. After a while, you don’t even think about it and why they might be here. It’s a tough place. Anyway, sorry we didn’t do something for her.”
Clay looked at her, “No need. You didn’t know. I appreciate the information.” He took a deep breath then asked, “So you don’t know if she left or not?”
“No,” Gray said. “Couldn’t tell you. She kind of wandered around here all morning. Haven’t seen her in a while though.” She looked down at her cards. The two women clearly felt badly about the situation.
“It’s okay, I’ll find her.”
He stood up suddenly, pushing the table forward as he did so that it sank into Henry’s fat belly. Leaning across the table, he moved in close to the fat man’s face. “If you weren’t already crippled, you and me would step outside you piece of shit.”
Clay turned and walked through the door that connected the driver’s lounge to the store. Henry pushed the table away out of his stomach but did not look up. He definitely wanted this day to be over.
Entering the store, Clay looked around. There was no one at the counter, so he walked to the clerk. He noted the name tag that said ‘Todd’ pinned to a dirty white shirt covering Todd’s huge gut. Well, maybe Todd had seen something.
Clay started talking without any preliminaries. “I’m looking for someone.”
Todd started to give him his annoyed ‘why the fuck are you bothering me’ look, but saw the look on Clay’s face and thought better of it.
“Yeah, who would that be?” Todd asked.
“A girl, about eighteen, thin, dark brown hair, pretty.”
Who isn’t looking for that, Todd thought, but only said, “Yeah, I saw a girl like that around here today. She was hanging around, going back and forth all day.”
“Where is she now?”
“Don’t know,” Todd said simply and without interest.
Clay took a deep breath, “Look, did you see her leave?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“When and who with?” Clay was losing patience. “Tell me everything you saw.”
Todd realized he should just say it and get this guy away from him. “I went out front to take a smoke break. I saw her in a car. It was like an old Chevy or something, kind of beat up looking, but seemed to run pretty good.
“Who was driving.”
I don’t know. Some guy that had been in here earlier.”
“Tell me. What did he look like?”
“Guy about your size. Thin. Light brown hair. I could see through the car pretty good. It looked like the girl on the passenger side.”
“Was she all right?” Clay asked, desperate for some real information about her.
“Yea, I guess. She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t look hurt. Had her head down. Maybe she was crying or something.”
“Crying?” Clay’s voice rose. “Didn’t look hurt, but she was crying? You didn’t do anything?”
“I said crying, maybe…I don’t know…seemed that way. What was I supposed to do?”
“Yeah,” Clay said walking away in disgust. Pushing through the door, he jogged across the lot to his pickup.
Cranking the engine, he sat for a minute pondering the situation before spinning the pickup’s tires in the gravel as he turned through the lot to the exit. He would have to call Cy and let him know he probably wouldn’t make it back for work tomorrow.
The pickup accelerated quickly down the ramp to the interstate. Seventy-five and then eighty miles an hour. Clay wasn’t sure what to do, or where he was going. Things seemed to be spinning and
not clear the way they had been before today. He was going to go try to find a girl he didn’t even know, and he didn’t even know why. Not the smartest decision he had ever made, he knew that much.
Cy would be pissed. Hell, he would be pissed if the shoe was on the other foot. Trying to understand what he was doing and why, the best he could come up with was that there were days when things changed. This was just his day.
58. The Hunt Begins
The whining of tires on asphalt raised George Mackey’s eyes from the cold beer can slowly dripping condensed water onto his knee. A cone of light from the approaching car’s headlights lit up the pine trees along the side of the road. A few seconds later, the lights turned into Fel Tobin’s driveway and the tire whine was replaced by the crunch of gravel. George squinted into the glare as the car approached the front porch where he was firmly seated in one of Fel’s old kitchen chairs.
From the other side of the cooler between them Fel asked, “Who you reckon that is?”
“Don’t know.” George took a pull from the can and studied the car making its way up the drive.
It rocked to a halt in front of the porch and the headlights blinked off. It was Ronnie Kupman’s county car.
“Hey, George.” Ronnie called exiting the vehicle.
“Ronnie. What’s up?” George noted Bob Shaklee and Sharon Price coming out of the car’s passenger side and nodded at them. “Everybody. What’s up?”
“Evenin’, Mr. Tobin,” Ronnie said walking up to the porch and nodding to Fel.
“Evenin’ Deputy,” Fell nodded back. “Come on up and have a beer.”
“Sorry. Can’t. Gotta get home. Thanks anyway.” Ronnie put one booted foot up on the first step and leaned against the railing along the steps, lighting up a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he turned his head skyward looking into the early night sky. A tinge of red still lingered dimly on the western horizon. The two GBI agents came up to the porch and stood to his right at the foot of the steps. The two on the porch watched patiently, sipping their beer until Ronnie figured it was time to get to the point of his visit.
