Eyes of the Predator: The Pickham County Murders (The Hunters)

by Glenn Trust

  Looking over at the girl turned from him, and huddled as far away as possible, he marveled that she sensed how to prolong what little was left of her short life. He had thought, momentarily, to squeeze it from her when they had taken their pit stop earlier. Normally, he would have and left the fragile shell of her body in the pinewoods for the loggers to find or the raccoons, or both. But her feeble effort at resistance had caused him to pause and think of the pleasure it would bring to break her shell of resistance away piece by piece and watch it fall as her fear rose. The girl the night before had been good, but this one would be extraordinary. He would savor her in every way.

  Reaching out his hand, Lylee felt the muscles in her thigh tense. The grin plastered itself across his face.

  Although she saw only her own dim reflection in the window glass of the passenger door, Lyn knew that the sick grin was there. She fought to control the quivering muscles in her leg.

  The miles riding in the dark had been numbing. She was aware that they had left the interstate, although she had no idea in what direction they were traveling. The car had passed through some small towns and around one larger one, and then they had entered a world that was black on the other side of the window. The light from a farmhouse or country store would flicker by occasionally, and then the darkness would wrap itself around the car again.

  She was relieved that he had not touched her or spoken to her since leaving the convenience store in Columbia. In the silence, she had drifted away. She did not know where she had drifted to, just somewhere away from here. Away from the car, away from her father, away from Pickham. Somewhere away, that was all. It was dark there and quiet. There was no sensation and no awareness. Maybe she had slept. She didn’t know. But as she fought back the revulsion at his touch, she tried to force herself back to that someplace, away.

  68. Taste of the Kill

  The door clattered open again and Clay looked up from his chair to the newcomer entering the room. Thickly built but lean, he appeared to be in his early forties. He wore a short jacket, jeans, and boots. He looked like a tradesman or trucker. There was a vague familiarity about him that Clay could not quite place.

  Trooper Collins looked up curiously and the newcomer spoke.

  “George Mackey, deputy from down in Pickham County. Supposed to meet Shaklee and Price here.”

  “Oh. Right. First door to the right down that hall,” Collins said, motioning with his head towards the door that Sharon Price had entered a few minutes before.

  George looked down and exchanged a mutually curious glance with Clay as he walked by. He noted that the look from the young man was not nervous or anxious.

  As the door closed behind, Shaklee and Price looked up from the table.

  “Glad you could make it, George,” Shaklee said with a slight smile.

  “Got here as quick as I could.” He looked at Price, knowing that she would have been the one to do the initial interview. “So what do you think?”

  “I think he’s telling the truth,” Price replied with a shrug. “Held out his hand and shook. Hand was dry and the grip was normal. Gentle like most men shake hands with a girl. But not nervous.”

  “That it?”

  “No. He is anxious about the girl. Met her earlier in the day and offered her a ride, but she was hitchhiking, so they dropped her at the AcrossAmerica Truck Stop outside Savannah. Not sure if they have a relationship, but there’s something there.”

  For the next several minutes, Sharon Price recounted Clay’s story of the day, including the voice mail and the information Clay had obtained at the truck stop.

  Playing the voice mail for them, she was stunned by a look that could only be described as pain that played across George Mackey’s thick face. After replaying the voice mail for them three times, she flipped the phone shut.

  Shaklee and Price watched George closely as he struggled visibly to compose himself.

  Finally, Sharon Price spoke. “You okay, George?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay,” the deputy managed softly. “Just didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect to hear that voice. She sounded young. She could have been the girl…”

  “She wasn’t, George,” Price interjected abruptly. “That was not the girl found in the weeds on Ridley Road. You understand that, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. But maybe if I had done something last night she wouldn’t be…”

  “There are no maybe’s, George. You know that.” Bob Shaklee leaned forward and looked in the deputy’s eyes. “No maybe’s. Understand. What matters is now, what happens now. We need you on this case with us and you need to get past whatever baggage you are carrying around. Push it down, George. You want to help her? Then focus!”

  The sharpness of Shaklee’s words had a sobering effect and caused George visibly to square his shoulders.

  “You’re right.” And the deep breath he took seemed to clear away the guilt, at least for the moment. “So what now? The boy isn’t involved, so where do we go from here?”

  They sat quietly, each staring at the table thinking until Bob Shaklee spoke.

  “All right. We have a bit more in the way of a description of the perp. And we know that he has another possible victim with him.”

  Mackey and Price both started to speak, but Price was first.

  “Not a possible victim, Bob. That girl will be the next victim, if she isn’t already. You know it as well as we do.”

  “Okay, right, he has another definite victim.” He thought for a moment before continuing. “So what will he do? How long do we have before he kills the girl? Where will he go?”

  There was silence again for several seconds as they considered those three important questions. This time George spoke first.

  “I think she is probably still alive…for now.”

  “Why is that, George?” Price asked.

  “Well, I’m not sure he intended to kill the old man, Mr. Sims. He had the girl with him, and Sims just happened to come along. He enjoyed it, killing him. Took pleasure in making it as painful as possible, but it was a fluke, a chance thing. He was there in the dark at the church with the girl to do to her whatever it was he was going to do.”

  “Right. So…?”

  “Well, then he takes her to the StarLite and during the night, he does kill her.”

  “We know all of this, George. What are you getting at?” Shaklee said trying to urge him on and hoping he would hurry.

  George sensed the impatience and looked up. “Let me walk this through my head as we go here, Bob.” He looked towards the dark window, took a breath, and continued. “So he leaves the StarLite, and now he is leaving two bodies behind in Pickham County. That would concern him. Any animal will try to avoid danger, and that’s what he did. We know he headed north on the interstate, putting distance quickly between him and Pickham County. But then he got sidetracked…”

  George paused to think through this part of the scenario. Price picked up the thread and spoke.

  “So he stops at the truck stop, fuels up, gets into a fight with a trucker…”

  “Over the girl,” George added. “He fought over the girl…his girl. He saw her there, and she became his. His prey.”

  “Okay. He gets into a fight over the girl and then leaves with the girl,” Shaklee interjected. “Seems a little rash doesn’t it? Considering what he had done just a few hours earlier?”

  “He’s arrogant. Confident and thinks he’s smarter than the rest of us,” Price contributed to the picture they were sketching.

  George nodded slowly and then continued, speaking deliberately as if he were explaining the puzzle to himself. “Yes, and something else. He’s got the taste.” The others looked at him questioningly and he continued, “The taste of the kill. Like a cougar that leaves the swamp and kills one dog in the backyard, and then kills the others just because he has the taste and they are there, and he is pumped up on the rush of the kill. He can’t control himself. He needs it. Yes, he is arrogant and confident, but most
of all he needs it. The taste of the kill.”

  They sat contemplating this for a moment before Shaklee spoke.

  “So, this other girl, Lyn, is probably dead. That what you are thinking, George?”

  George shook his head. “No. Not yet. He has her. That keeps the rush and the hunt alive for him, but he knows he can’t expect to leave a third body this close and get away. I think he wants to put some distance between us and him,” George said with certainty, and then added a little less certainly, “And the girl is with him until he feels safe enough to dump another body.”

  Price spoke up with urgency. “Okay, so the girl is alive with this asshole. How do we find her? We do not have a lot of time.”

  “Well, he’s trying to put distance between himself and Pickham County. That means north or west, and the fastest way is on the interstate.”

  “Right, north or west,” George agreed. “And I think he will get off of the interstate when he can.”

  “Why?” Price asked.

  “I don’t know really.” George shrugged. “It’s what I would do. More options if I have to run. Small towns, country roads, dirt lanes. Not as confined as the lanes of the interstate heading in one direction. Just seems like what I would do if I had to get away.”

  “Okay,” Shaklee spoke, summing up. “The asshole is trying to put some distance between himself and us. He is probably heading north or west. We don’t know which direction, however. And he probably still has his latest victim, the girl named Lyn, with him, but there is no telling how long she will be alive. That about it?”

  Price and Mackey nodded their agreement with Shaklee’s summation.

  “Okay. I propose that we split up and position ourselves in the general direction of his probable routes of escape. We may not be close, but we’ll be closer than we are now. And if we catch a break, we can be on him a lot quicker than just sitting here.”

  The others nodded agreement.

  All right. I’ll go west along I-20 and hold up at the Alabama line. Sharon, you and George head north.” He turned towards George. “Any particular route you want to take since you think he might be off of the interstate system?”

  George stood up and crossed the room to a map of Georgia and surrounding states covering one wall. He traced his finger along the map for a minute and poked it.

  “Right about here, I’d say.”

  Price walked over to the map peering at the highway and area where George’s finger lay. He had traced a route north along U.S. 80 and the adjoining state highways leading from Statesboro and then into the network of interstates and country roads spread across northeast Georgia and the South Carolina state line. His finger came to rest at Toccoa, not too far west of I-85 before it crossed from Georgia into South Carolina.

  “Looks about right to me,” Price agreed.

  “Good,” Shaklee said. “We have a plan…sort of.”

  “We have a plan,” Price said. “What we need now is a break. We need some trooper or deputy to get lucky and spot the car.”

  “A break is definitely what we need and what the girl needs.” Bob looked at the others before continuing. “We can only stay on the hunt for another day or so unless we catch that break and someone spots him. After that, the trail will be too cold, and the girl…” He stopped in midsentence, not wanting to say what they all knew. “Well after that, we will have to assume that we will probably not be able to save the girl and will have to get back to following up on all of the leads we have. Go to Texas. Check sex offender files. Cases in adjacent states. All the usual paths of investigation. It won’t be a hunt and rescue anymore, just plain slogging investigative work.” He stopped speaking and looked at the others to make sure they understood his meaning. They had another day to save the girl, no more.

  Sharon Price nodded solemnly in understanding as she offered a silent prayer for that break.

  George was quiet. The hunter in him knew that patience was far more important than luck in bringing down big game, and this was the biggest game there was. A beast in the form of a man. He pushed the memory of the girl’s voice deep down inside. He had to have control. Patience. It was likely they would only get one chance to save the girl, if that.

  69. Cy Would be Pissed

  Clay looked up from his seat when the big deputy and two GBI agents walked from the office. They crossed the room to the front door with purpose and Clay started to rise. The female agent, Price, stopped and faced him.

  “I want to thank you for your help, Clay,” she said with the patient smile of someone with something else to do. “Trooper Collins there will give you a receipt for your phone. Not sure when you can have it back, but we’ll do our best to get it to you.” She paused clearly not knowing what else to say but knowing what he wanted to hear. “I have to be honest with you; we don’t know what is going to happen. You know this isn’t good.”

  Clay nodded.

  “Well, we have every trooper and deputy in the state looking for her, for Lyn. You know I won’t lie to you and promise anything. You know I can’t do that.”

  He could only nod again.

  “Well then…” she paused not knowing what else to say to the young man, but wishing there was something she could say, something positive.

  “You did good, son.” George Mackey spoke up in his slow, south Georgia drawl. “You’re from down in Pickham aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well near as I can tell, this girl is lucky she ran into you.”

  “My brother, Cy, too. He was there.”

  “Right, you and your brother. Best thing you can do now is head home and wait. We’ll let you know what happens. We have your number.”

  “You have my phone.”

  “I’m from down in Pickham, I’ll find you. Besides, the trooper has your home contact information in the report. Right?” George looked over at Trooper Collins who nodded. “So go home now.” George paused. Like Price, he had no idea what to say next, so he said what he could. “We’ll do what we can.”

  With that, the three walked out of the door and into the dark early morning. Clay stood looking at the door for a few seconds, then Trooper Collins spoke.

  “Here’s the receipt for your phone.” He held up a slip of paper. “Do what the deputy said, Clay. Go home. Go find your brother.”

  Taking the slip of paper, Clay mumbled a thanks and stepped through the door. The early morning air was dark and damp from the earlier rain. The tires of the two vehicles hissed on the wet pavement as they pulled from the lot onto the highway.

  He watched the taillights of the state car and the deputy’s pickup disappear in the mist. When they were gone, he climbed into his truck, turned the engine over, and backed carefully away from the state patrol building. Pulling onto the highway, he turned north and increased speed until the taillights of the Pickham County deputy’s pickup were just visible through the mist. Matching speed with the vehicle, he settled in. He didn’t know where they were going, but he was going there too. As he drove, the seeds of a plan started to form in his brain.

  He would follow them until daylight when he would have to back off. They would know his truck immediately, and he knew if they looked in the mirror and saw him, they would send him packing, with an escort if necessary. But they would be getting to Augusta about daylight and once they got there, he would see if he could make his plan work.

  Doubt started to settle in for a moment, but he shook it off. He didn’t have his phone, but he had a very clear memory of the girl’s confused and lonely voice in the message. He was committed now. He would follow until he knew what had happened to her. He felt somehow that he owed that to her.

  For the hundredth time that day he thought, ‘Cy will be really pissed’. He pushed that one away for now.

  70. Soon

  The settlement of Crichton was in the Appalachian foothills. It had taken the old Chevy less than a minute to pass from one end of the village to the other and then back out into the predawn glo
om of the forest canopy, split narrowly by the two lane road. The north Georgia mountains were dotted with little crossroads settlements hidden among the forests and hills.

  Lylee knew that it was time to get off the road for a while. With the bloodlust rising in him, he had taken chances that he would normally have avoided after a kill. Now it was time to rest. Once again, his hand reached out for the girl’s thigh. Stroking it, he felt the hunger rise in him.

  Practiced eyes scanned the roadside in the dark. A few miles north of Crichton, he found what he was looking for.

  The sign made from rough cut logs said “Creek Side Cabins”. Lylee slowed at the entrance and peered down the gravel drive into the dark. A small building surrounded by pines was visible in the headlight beams at the end of the drive. The creek side cabins were not in view. Good. They would, no doubt and as the name suggested, be nestled cozily beside some small mountain creek surrounded by the thick mountain trees. A picture postcard scene that would be lost on the two in the Chevy. One had plans that would turn the rustic setting into a very unpleasant place. The other just wanted to stay alive.

  The car bumped heavily as it turned sharply onto the rough drive. Lyn could not suppress a gasp of surprise. Headlight beams illuminated a narrow tunnel of green through the trees. Lyn fought down the fear and the urge to scream. It was an overwhelming urge that nearly boiled the scream from her. But that was what he wanted. She knew.

  She also knew that the turn down this dark road meant that there would be more reasons to scream. Soon. She did not think she would be able to stop those screams.

  71. Getting Lucky

  Arriving in Augusta, George guided the Pickham County sheriff’s pickup through unfamiliar territory until they were on Washington Road. Passing Augusta National Country Club, home of the Masters Golf Tournament, George slowed a little as they both turned their heads and tried to peek up Magnolia Lane. Not much was visible in the early dawn light.