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

by Glenn Trust

  “Humph,” George said increasing speed again. “Lived in Georgia all my life, and this is the first time I’ve been here.”

  “Yeah. Me too,” Price said studying the map on her. “Been to Augusta a few times passing through. Never to visit and sure never to go to any golf tournament.”

  George nodded his concurrence with a smile.

  “Yeah. Golf isn’t real big in the part of Georgia I come from. Bankers and lawyers play, and the sheriff. That’s about it.” George bumped the speed up again. Washington Road was taking them north, out of the city. “Which way we headed?”

  Sharon Price looked up from the map. “About like we are now. We can take the state highways to the northwest. Little slower than the interstate, but a lot more direct. We’ll cross back and forth across the state line into South Carolina a few times following the Savannah River, but we’ll end up where we said, around I-85 in north Georgia, the Toccoa area. Who knows…,” her voice trailed off in uncertainty.

  George looked over at the GBI agent. “I know it’s a long shot. We don’t have any idea where this animal is headed.”

  Price cut him off. “No need to explain, George. It may be a long shot, but it’s the only shot we have. And something else.” George’s head turned with interest towards her before she continued. “He’s due to make a mistake, and we’re due to get lucky.”

  He nodded slowly. The hunter in him knew that this last was true. You could plan, arm yourself, stalk, and make all necessary preparations for the hunt, but in the end, after patience, it helped to have a little good luck. He had known plenty of experienced hunters, himself included, who spent days in the field without a kill, while the rookie stumbles noisily upon a trophy buck standing in the trail and is able to get off a shot. He would take that, he thought. A lucky shot would be just fine, and they could end this now. End it before he was too late…again.

  The speed limit increased to sixty-five as they distanced themselves from the environs of Augusta, and George pushed the accelerator until the speedometer read seventy. Plowed fields and stands of woods flashed by in the graying dawn. There was little traffic at this hour but they examined every vehicle that came into sight, hoping to get lucky.

  72. “Honey, we’re home.”

  Lyn watched him climb the steps made from logs cut flat on one side. The building was a small cabin also made of logs. It looked like something from an old western movie to her, only nicer. A dim light was visible through a window that had red plaid curtains hanging and pulled back at the bottoms. There were flowers planted in barrels on each side of the door. To Lyn, it looked like something from a magazine. Pretty and picturesque; a far cry from the bare, gray walls of her room in the shack they had called home.

  The sound of running water splashing on rocks made its way into the car from somewhere not too distant. Lyn looked around as far as she could turn with her hand bound to the frame of the seat. They seemed to be in the middle of the woods. The country around that was visible in the early morning light was hilly and rose up sharply all around.

  Sounds from the porch caused her to turn her head. An old man in a flannel shirt opened the door with a smile.

  “Mornin’. You’re out pretty early, even for us old-timers.”

  Lylee smiled back his ‘charming’ smile and added a bit of ‘good ole boy’ to win over the old man’s trust.

  “Sorry about that, sir. My wife and I are headed up to Sliwell, Kentucky. Driving all night, thought we might could stop and spend a day or two in one of your cabins.”

  The old man regarded the stranger quietly for a moment. Craning his head to one side he looked past the thin man to the old Chevrolet parked at the end of the walk. He was unable to make out more than just a silhouette of someone in the car.

  “Well, we do most of our business by reservation, but just so happens we haven’t started our busy season yet, and we do have a few cabins open. In fact, they’re all open.” He pulled the door wider and stepped aside as an invitation for the stranger to enter. “If you’re only staying for a couple of days, that is. Got most of the cabins rented out this weekend to leaf watchers wanting to see the colors turn on the trees. They come up from Atlanta on Friday and leave Sunday afternoon.”

  “Not a problem,” Lylee said, smiling more broadly. “We’ll be gone by then. Just want to rest up and enjoy the scenery for a day or two. Then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Gannet, step out of the way and let the boy in.” An old woman who had clearly heard their conversation came from a room off to the right, pinning her gray hair back as she walked. “Let’s get you signed up and settled in.” She motioned with her head to the door. “Gannet, go outside and ask the young lady to come in. I’ll fix up some breakfast for us. Not much going on now, until the weekend. You’d be welcome company.”

  Lylee held his place in the doorway and said, still smiling, ‘No, ma’am. Can’t do that.” He smiled again at the old woman’s raised eyebrow and added, “Sarah, that’s my wife, is sleeping. She’s pretty exhausted. We got some food in the car. What we are really needing right now is some sleep in a good bed instead of the front seat of that old beater.” He jerked his head towards the car outside. “Besides, she’s not very presentable, traveling and all. She’d be annoyed that I didn’t let her get herself tidied up a bit. You know how you ladies are.” He smiled in his appreciation of the ways of her gender.

  The old woman smiled back, nodding her understanding. “Well, let’s get you settled in then. You want a creek side or tree side view?”

  “Creek side,” Lylee said without having to think. The noise of the flowing water would dampen any sounds that might come from the cabin. He followed her to the desk and signed a card, entering a false Texas home address to go with the stolen Texas plates on the car.

  “We’ll put you someplace quiet, all the way in the back at the end of the property. You should be able to get some sleep there without being troubled by traffic on the highway.”

  “That’d be perfect, ma’am.”

  The woman picked up the card, peering at it through the bottoms of the her glasses. “Texas, huh? Thought that accent didn’t sound like Kentucky.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m from Texas. All my life. My wife’s from Kentucky. We’re going to visit her family.”

  “Must not be in any hurry to get there,” the old man chimed in.

  “Is anyone ever in a hurry to visit the in-laws?” Lylee said, grinning like an experienced married man.

  “You got that right, boy. You got that right,” Gannet said, avoiding the sharp look the old woman gave him. “So, let me show you in and help you with the bags.” He added changing the subject quickly.

  “No need. Just point me in the right direction, and we’ll find it. Besides, Sarah would be upset if I let anyone see her right now. I’d never hear the end of it.”

  Old Gannet nodded with a smile—the way men do who are experienced with their women. He held the key out for Lylee. “Just take the drive all the way to the end, then right along the creek. Your cabin’s the last one on the end.”

  “Thanks a lot. Really appreciate it,” Lylee said, taking the key that was chained to a small stick carved to look like a log from a cabin. Looking over at the old woman he added, “I’ll bring Sarah around to say hello when she’s had some rest and a chance to clean up.”

  “You do that,” the old woman said politely. There was something in her eye that caught Lylee’s attention for just a second. It was a look that said, ‘Something’s not quite right. I can’t say what, but something’s not just the way this young man is telling it.’ Lylee marked the look in his brain without a comment, filing it away for future reference that might require some action on his part before he departed the Creek Side Cabins.

  The cabin key clutched firmly in his hand, Lylee went out onto the wooden porch and down the log steps to the car. Lyn watched him walk quickly to the driver’s door.

  Peering from the lighted window of the office, the
old woman could not make out anything inside the car. The morning was still dark and only a hint of dawn light streaked the sky above the mountains. In the shadows below, the night lingered.

  Turning her head, Lyn could see the old woman watching and squinting through the window glass. She knew that she was invisible to the woman.

  The car started smoothly and pulled away from the small log cabin office making the turn down the drive. The sound of rushing water grew louder. Pulling to the end of the drive, the car stopped in front of a small cabin at the end of a line of cabins along the creek. All looked deserted. There were no lights, no cars. Beyond this last cabin, there were only trees. Lyn’s eyes closed as she fought back a shudder. His hand was back on her thigh.

  “Honey, we’re home,” he said, softly.

  73. A Plan Materializes

  As daylight came on and the Pickham County pickup disappeared up the road, Clay had pulled into a strip shopping center on Washington Road in Augusta, Georgia, knowing that if he continued following the deputy and GBI agent in the daylight, they would become aware of his presence. They had made it clear that he was to head back to Pickham County.

  The shopping center had a national chain electronics store, and Clay’s plan began to materialize. Sleeping fitfully in his truck in the shopping center parking lot, he had waited until eight o’clock when the sign on the store said it would open. It was eight-fifteen when a young man walked across the parking lot, put a key in the door, and then walked in, turning on lights as he went.

  Clay waited a few more minutes and then went into the store.

  “Morning. What can I do for you?” The young store manager seemed a bit surprised to have a customer so early.

  “Well, I’m looking for one of those radios that pick up the police and all.” Clay wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but figured the manager would know.

  “A scanner?” The manager asked with a puzzled look on his face.

  “Yeah. That’s it,” Clay said with some relief that the man knew what he was talking about. “A scanner that can pick up police frequencies...state patrol frequencies.”

  “Why do you want a scanner?” the man asked with a puzzled look.

  Clay was afraid that he had stepped into some forbidden territory with his request and was wondering where this would lead. “They’re legal, aren’t they? I mean I thought anyone could own a scanner.” He tried to conceal the nervousness in his voice.

  “Oh sure, they’re legal as hell. Just not much use around here anymore.” The store manager saw that Clay did not understand and added, “Everyone went digital encryption. Got away from analogue radios. I can sell you a scanner, but you won’t pick up much around here.”

  Clay’s face showed that he was trying to soak this information in and extract its meaning. His reply was a simple, “Oh.”

  “What’s up, man? What do you need a scanner for? Fill me in, and I’ll see what I can come up with.” The store manager spoke with a ‘one young man to another’ familiarity.

  Why not, Clay thought, and went through the basics of the story. When he got to being stopped by the state patrol on I-16 the night before, the manager interrupted.

  “Wait. Are you the guy they stopped last night? The one that gave the information about the man in the car and a girl named Lyn? You got a voice mail from her, right?”

  The rapidity of the questions, and the fact that this young man seemed to know an awful lot about Clay’s situation, caused his mind to whirl. “How…who…told you?”

  “You did man. You did.” Laughing, the manager turned and walked towards the back room of the store. “Follow me,” he called over his shoulder.

  The back room was a maze of shelving stuffed with various electronic parts and components. In one corner was a low workbench with a light on a flexible neck bent over some electronic equipment on the bench that was a mystery to Clay.

  “Here,” the manager said reaching out and pressing a button on the equipment on the bench. Immediately the device was illuminated and an LED display indicated a number. “Listen,” the young manager directed.

  Clay stood quietly listening to nothing for a few seconds and was about to speak when a voice came from the device. “One seven Alpha, ten - eight.” A different voice responded, “Ten - four, one seven Alpha, ten - eight.”

  The perplexed look on Clay’s face drew a boyish laugh from the manager who explained, “It’s a radio from a local Augusta police vehicle. I work on them.”

  “You work on them?”

  “That’s right. Have a contract with the county. They bring me their problem radios, and I fix them. Good chunk of our business here. Reason I come in at eight in the morning.”

  “Sooo…” Clay said, absorbing the information and trying to sort it out.

  “So, I was working last night late,” the manager said, adding, “Real late. I heard the trooper stop you, and then later heard them take you to the Statesboro post. And then the information you gave them about the old Chevy, the man, and the girl he has with him.” He paused and then asked, “She’s the girl you dropped at the truck stop, right?”

  “Yeah, she is,” Clay said slowly. “You sure picked up a lot on that radio.” He was beginning to feel somehow that his privacy had been invaded.

  “Oh, that’s not all. They briefed the GBI and some deputy from Pickham County over the radio, so I pretty much heard the whole story. That’s how I knew about the voice mail and the truck stop.” He paused to let this all sink in.

  There was a delay before Clay extended his hand to the manager. “Clay Purcell. From Pickham County.”

  “Don Potter,” the manager said, taking Clay’s hand. “So what’s your plan?”

  “Well, it’s kind of sketchy. Actually, I don’t really know, except that I thought I would follow the deputy from Pickham.”

  “That would be Pickham County 301. That’s how they identified him on the radio last night. What are you going to do after you follow him?”

  “That’s the sketchy part. I don’t really know. Just want to be around if…when, they find the girl. When they find Lyn.”

  Don Potter nodded in solemn understanding and said, “All right. Fair enough. Let’s get you fixed up.”

  Half an hour later, Clay pulled out from the shopping center parking lot. The portable radio leant to him by Don Potter, the electronics store manager and police radio repairman, sat on the seat beside him. He had been hesitant to take it, but Potter had assured him that it was a loaner. He used it to swap out with the police department when they brought him one for repair. It would not be missed. He made him make just one promise. He could listen, but no talking on the radio. It was for law enforcement, and Potter assured him they would both be in a world of shit if he got caught broadcasting on it.

  What had been a hazy plan was materializing, thanks mostly to Potter and the loan of the radio. Proceeding north out of Augusta, he followed the route he had last seen the deputy and GBI agent taking.

  Listening intently for any transmission to or from Pickham County 301 that might give him a location to head to, he drove steadily northwest along the Savannah River crossing back and forth from Georgia to South Carolina as the highway led him.

  Somewhere ahead of him, the deputy’s pickup was doing the same. And somewhere ahead of them? The question in his mind sent a chill down his spine.

  74. Away In the Pines

  He had chosen well. No lights in the parking lot, only what little light escaped the frilly curtains of the cabin windows. These would be empty until the weekenders came up from Atlanta to take photos of the leaves beginning to turn colors on the centuries old hardwoods that covered the mountains. Even if they had been occupied, the cabins were not connected, making any noise transference unlikely, not that Lylee would have allowed that to happen.

  In the gray morning mist drifting up from the creek, he cut the bands holding her to the seat frame and pulled Lyn roughly from the car. The hours of driving without the ab
ility to stretch or move had left her weak and shaky. She nearly toppled over as she tried to stand, but the powerful grip on her upper arm steadied her while it caused her to wince with pain.

  With a practiced hand, Lylee kept the point of the knife blade in her back as he walked Lyn to the cabin door. There was no one there to see, but had anyone been watching, the couple walking so closely and intimately, they might have been taken for newlyweds.

  Entering the room, Lylee put the chain on the door and without saying a word pushed Lyn into the bathroom.

  “Stay here and stay quiet,” he said with a small smile, putting his index finger to his lips.

  Then he closed the bathroom door. He had work to do, preparations to make.

  In the main room, the curtains over the window that looked out over the rushing creek waved in the breeze from the air conditioner. The room was frigid. Lylee had turned the air conditioner up to high, even though the early autumn mountain air was cool. The loud hum from the fan covered any other sound in the room.

  Although clean, the cabin smelled slightly musty from years of guests. The air was scented with overtones of wood smoke that had drifted for years from the fireplace in one corner and permeated the furnishings. Such details were lost on Lylee who was oblivious to everything except his preparations.

  Leaning with her back against the wall of the bathroom, Lyn looked around and saw that the only window was a six-inch wide glass slit running horizontally over the tub near the ceiling. Slowly, she sank down the wall until she was seated on the floor, her head resting forward on her raised knees and her hands over her ears. She tried not to hear the sounds coming faintly through the door.

  A cricket hummed and chirped from a corner behind the small trash can. She listened to the sound lilting and rising and then quiet for a few seconds. When it stopped, she would count the seconds until the cricket took up its song again. She forced herself to focus on the cricket’s chirps until she drifted away; away from this place to a place where time had no meaning anymore. She just was. There was no connection to anything in the room; no connection to the man in the next room. She was in an empty place, alone with the hum of the cricket.