by Glenn Trust
Brent Hilts padded down the narrow hall and went into the room across from Beth’s.
“Good boy,” George said, looking around at the walls.
“Yep, he is,” Ronnie replied, squinting in the dim light at a family picture on the coffee table.
After ‘throwing some clothes on’ which consisted of a pair of jeans and flip-flops, Brent came back down the hall. Beth was nowhere to be seen.
Looking around and seeing that Beth had not made an appearance, Brent turned and shouted this time back down the hall.
“Beth! Come on out.”
A second later, the bedroom door opened and a pretty little blonde girl walked out in a yellow flannel robe, buttoned up to the top. Her feet scraped along in white terry cloth slippers. Her hand patted and stroked her hair, trying to smooth and straighten it out. Her face showed confusion and anxiety at being called out of bed by the deputies.
As she came into the living room and focused on George and Ronnie, she was even more uncomfortable. The two deputies stood up.
“Is there…uh, something wrong?” Her voice was unsteady and nervous.
“They said they want to talk to you about someone you might’ve seen,” Brent spoke up.
George smiled and added, “That’s right, Beth. Nothing to worry about. We just want to ask you about someone you might have seen at work last night. Okay?”
Beth nodded. Still concerned, but they could see that her mind was working, probably going over everyone she had talked to last night.
“Should we sit back down so we can talk?” Ronnie said. They were the first words he had spoken, and he said them only to reinforce that there was no reason for concern, and so that she would not worry about the silent deputy looking at her and listening intently while she spoke with George.
Beth nodded and sat on a recliner positioned next to the sofa. The deputies sat back on the sofa and Brent, intently interested now, sat on a rocker across the room leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
George smiled at Beth and began.
“Beth, do you remember last night, this morning really, about five a.m. maybe a little later, there was a man that came in? There was no one else in the store at the time. He left just before two truckers came in. Dropped a twenty on the counter and went out kind of quick.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed, looking back at George.
“Well, yes I do, but how do you…” She stopped and shook her head and went on. “Oh. The camera, right? The little TV thing?”
“Yes, that’s right, the CCTV. I saw you on it, and I saw him. Well, I didn’t really see him. Just his arm. That’s why we’re here. We need to know what he looked like.”
“Why? What did he do?” Beth’s voice was soft, her expression concerned.
She had reason to be concerned, but he didn’t want to panic her. He needed her to remember calmly everything she could about the man with the longhorn ring on his finger.
“Well, we think he might have been involved in a crime,” George said, and then added quickly before she could question him about that, “It would really help if you could tell us what color hair he had.”
“Well it was kind of light brown.”
“Good, light brown,” George said making a note on a little pad he pulled out of his shirt pocket. “Now,” he continued quickly, before she could ask him the questions evident on her face. “What about his eyes? Did you see what color they were?”
Beth thought for a moment, “No not really. We talked for a minute but I didn’t really notice.”
“Ok. That’s fine. So how about his height? About how tall do you think he was?”
George stood up quickly and went on, “As tall as me? Taller or shorter?”
“Well it’s hard to tell. I mean I was standing behind the counter and he was a few feet away. He never got very close, even when he threw the twenty down. I thought that was kinda funny?” She looked at George. “I mean that was funny wasn’t it? He kinda stayed away from me.”
“Yes,” George said, “that was funny. I think he didn’t want to be seen on the camera. You know, he kind of kept out of view. That’s why we need you to remember everything you can for us.”
“Okay”, she nodded. “Well, it’s hard to tell how tall he was. I mean I’m not very good at judging.”
“That’s okay, Beth. Why don’t you stand up and get about as far away from me as you were from him.” George smiled again at the girl.
Beth stood up and moved back from George a few feet. She looked at George and then moved back another couple of feet.
“Ok. Right there. I think that’s about how far away he was.”
“Good,” George said still smiling. “That’s good. Now what do you think? Tall as me? Taller or shorter?”
Beth’s brow furrowed for a second. “Shorter,” she said. “Not much, but shorter than you.”
“Good, Beth,” George said then turned to Brent watching from the rocker. “Brent, can you help me here for a second.”
Brent got up and walked over to George.
“Now, Beth,” George continued, “I’m going to ask Brent to kind of squat down a little next to me and then rise up slowly. When he gets to about the height you think the man was, you say so. Okay?”
Beth nodded to George. George nodded to Brent who bent his knees and squatted down about a foot lower than George. George nodded at him again and Brent began rising up slowly. When he got to about three inches of George’s full height Beth spoke.
“There, right there. That’s just about how tall he was.”
George looked at Brent beside him. “Good. That’s good. So I’m six feet one in my shoes and he was about three inches shorter than me, so that would make him…”
“Five ten,” Brent interjected.
“That’s right, about five feet ten.” George looked back at Beth. “Now Beth, how was he built? Kind of heavy set like me or thinner like Brent?”
“Thinner,” she said confidently. “Muscular, but thinner. More like Brent.”
“Okay. Good.” George looked at Brent, “Thanks for the help.”
Brent nodded and went back to the rocker.
“All right, Beth, we’re almost done. Was there anything else about him? Mustache, beard, scars, tattoos? Anything?”
“No, not really. His nose was kind of thin, and his chin too, but nothing really stands out.”
“How about his voice? Did he talk to you?”
Beth’s eyes narrowed for a second, and then she looked up at George. He could see the fear growing in her eyes. She nodded.
“Yes, he talked to me. I thought he was nice. I mean he was kind of good looking…and nice and…” Beth’s chin quivered slightly, “Was he dangerous, I mean could he have…”
George broke in quickly, “Tell me about his voice, Beth. Was it deep or high pitched? Did he have an accent? Did he talk funny, or lisp or anything?”
She shook her head.
“It was just a normal voice not real low or high. He sounded like he was from the south, but different from around here. Not a Georgia accent, but not from up north, you know?”
“Good,” George said with a smile. “Maybe someplace else in the south, Louisiana or Texas maybe?”
“I can’t say. I’m not very good at that, accents and all. I know it was southern. I can’t say from where though.” Beth looked into George’s eyes. “What did he do? Is he really bad?”
George put his pad back in his shirt pocket. “Sit down, Beth,” he said.
George sat back on the sofa and continued. “Yes. We think he is really bad. He hurt a girl really bad, and we need to catch him. What you told us will help us catch him.”
Beth’s eyes were watering. She may have been from the country, but she was not stupid. From the deputies’ questions and their seriousness, it was not difficult to understand that she had probably been very lucky in her encounter with the man.
“The girl, the one he hurt, did he…I mean is she…dead?”
George looked her in the eyes. “Yes, she is dead. And we are going to catch him before he can do it again.” Then he added softly, “You might want to think about working another shift. I mean one where you aren’t alone at night all the time.”
Her face told them she was already thinking about that.
George and Ronnie stood and walked to the door. They turned and saw Brent standing with his arm around Beth. Her shoulders moved up and down as she sobbed.
“Thanks, Beth, for the help. This is important,” George said, and Ronnie nodded simultaneously.
Beth and Brent nodded back.
There was nothing else for the deputies to say. There was information on George’s pad that had to get out. They turned and walked through the front door.
The day outside the doublewide was clear and sunny. A small breeze stirred the dust in the driveway.
Ronnie turned to George and said, “Get it out, George. Be quick. Catch the son of a bitch.”
46. No Place for the Girl
Lyn walked unsteadily into the truck stop between the two truck drivers, Bob and Leon. Bob looked around for a quiet place they could put the girl while they figured out what to do next. The breakfast crowd in the cafe had cleared out, and the lunch crowd was coming in.
“Leon, take her over there, that empty booth in the corner. Get some coffee or something. I’ll be right there. Gotta do something first.”
Leon, the big trucker, looked down at Bob and nodded. He didn’t seem to say much. Lyn noticed that Big Leon was content to let Bob, who was clearly the more energetic, take the lead and direct things. Gently guided by Leon’s large hand on her elbow, they walked towards the booth.
Bob walked through the store to the driver’s lounge opposite the cafe and stood in the door for a moment wondering what to do about the girl. Drivers were sprawled in chairs watching a television high on a shelf in a corner, or sloshing down coffee from a pot on a table and talking.
The girl didn’t belong here. The drivers weren’t necessarily bad, or good for that matter. It was just not a place where the young girl should be. She didn’t belong. He thought of his own daughters and took the cell phone from his belt.
Dialing 911, Bob waited a minute, spoke for a minute, and waited some more. Then, turning from the lounge, he put the phone back on his belt and walked through the store towards the cafe. Todd, the surly clerk, was mouthing off to an old woman who had asked where the restroom was.
For the fiftieth time in five minutes, Bob thought ‘This is no place for the girl.’ Spotting Leon and the girl at the booth in the cafe, he walked to them feeling better about the call he had just made.
47. A Visit to Roydon
It was turning into a long day. Working on less than four hours of sleep, George Mackey sipped his third large Diet Coke since he had arrived at the Minit Mart to review the video. Now his bladder was filling, but the pressure was keeping him awake as he made his way south on the interstate back to Roydon.
Bob Shaklee had radioed that he was checking the Roydon locations; two motels, two gas stations and Pete’s Place, George was enroute to help. Shaklee and his partner, Sharon Price, had divided the two investigations with Price focusing on the Sims case, and Shaklee heading up the murder of the girl. George and Ronnie Kupman were assisting both as best they could.
Heading up the exit ramp into Roydon, George turned, towards Pete’s Place, for two reasons. First, Shaklee’s Crown Victoria was parked outside, and he didn’t want to leave Bob there alone for long. Second, he had to take a leak, bad. The three Diet Cokes were ready to come out.
Parking the pickup at the end of the building, he exited, closing the door softly, listening for trouble. All seemed quiet. Like every deputy in Pickham County, George had answered a number of calls at Pete’s Place. It could be…generally was…a rough crowd. He should have warned Shaklee.
He walked along the front of the building, peering through the dirty windows to spot any problem inside as he approached. Not much was visible from the outside. George was more familiar with the place at night, when the lights inside made it easier to see what was happening. Better to avoid any unpleasant surprise when you jerked open the door.
As he approached the door, he noted two Harleys and a beat up Dodge truck parked in front. It was quiet today at Pete’s. At the other end of the building was a shiny Cadillac Escalade belonging to Roy Budroe, owner and daytime bartender.
All seemed quiet. George yanked the heavy steel door open and walked in.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. A heavyset man with his fists balled and planted on the bar leaned close to Bob Shaklee, who was standing with his notepad in one hand, staring straight back into the big man’s face. Two men in leather jackets stood close on either side of Shaklee, leaning against the bar.
George checked the Harleys off in his head accounting for their owners. In a far corner, two scruffy men in dirty blue jeans, torn tee shirts, and ball caps sat staring at the beers on their table, clearly not wanting any part of what was going on at the bar. The Dodge pickup was now checked off. The caddy was Roy’s. All present and accounted for.
It was plain that Roy had been saying something to Shaklee when George jerked the door open.
“What’s up, Roy? Have you met my friend, Agent Shaklee of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation?” George walked up to the bar, stopping about ten feet short. He looked at the two bikers who stood up straight and returned his gaze defiantly.
“You boys move away from the bar.” George’s tone was flat, even, and firm. The bikers looked at him now a bit uncertainly. “Now,” George repeated with emphasis.
They looked briefly at Budroe, who gave a short nod, and then moved towards a table by the door. George turned his head following them.
“Uh, uh boys. Not there. Go grab a table over there near them other fellas so I can see you all at once.” They hesitated for only a second and then moved to the corner where the pickup boys were seated. They picked a table and sat, turning their chairs so they both faced the bar.
George turned his head back to the bar. “Sorry, Roy. Were you saying something? Seemed like I kind of interrupted when I came in.” He smiled pleasantly at Budroe.
“What do you want, George?” Budroe’s gravelly voice filled the room.
“Well, didn’t Agent Shaklee explain? Or did you give him time to explain? Are you being uncooperative with law enforcement again, Roy? I know we’ve talked about that before.” George shook his head in mock disappointment.
“Stop the horseshit, George. We know who he is, and he ain’t got no jurisdiction here.”
“Really?” George replied, his tone amused. “Roydon seceded from the state did it, and just forgot to get the word out?” He paused looking deep into Budroe’s beefy face. “I don’t think so, Roy. So, unless you want to be digging out from under the ton of shit that’s about to land on your head, pay attention and answer Agent Shaklee’s questions.”
Shaklee, who had about enough of the local, good old boy bullshit, interrupted, “Listen up, Mr. Budroe, the GBI is working a case in support of the Pickham County Sheriff’s Department. This is official business, and you are expected to cooperate.”
Budroe’s response was blunt and to the point “Bullshit.”
That was it. In a move that surprised even George, Shaklee dropped the notepad and reached rapidly across the bar, gripping Budroe’s wrists so that he could not take his balled fists from the bar top. George saw Budroe’s arms flex and knew he tried to lift them, but they didn’t budge under Shaklee’s grasp.
Bob leaned into his face before he spoke. “Let’s make sure you understand. I’m with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. This shithole of a town is in Georgia. The GBI has jurisdiction. You have any questions about that?”
One of the bikers had started to rise when Shaklee grabbed Budroe. A cautioning shake of George’s head in his direction, and he sat back down. George watched the little drama being play
ed out on the bar top.
Budroe, not sure what to do, finally spoke. “What do you want?”
Shaklee released the big man’s wrists and picked up his notepad. “We have a few questions to ask, and then we’ll be on our way.” He then went through the description of the suspect they were seeking, “White male, five feet ten or so, light brown hair, driving a faded or primer painted mid-nineties model GM car. Possibly a Chevrolet. Wearing a ring with a steer’s head or Texas longhorn on it.”
Budroe indicated that he hadn’t seen anyone like that, at least not anyone that would draw attention.
Bob smiled. “Good, now we can go.”
“Wait a minute for me, Bob. Something I need to do.”
George walked by the bikers and into the restroom. A couple of minutes later, he walked out with a smile on his face.
Walking to the door with Shaklee, he called back over his shoulder, “Thanks, Roy. Never saw a better place for taking a piss.”
Outside in the bright sun, they squinted across the road at the two motels, one on each corner. Shaklee glanced sideways at George.
“Thanks for the backup. Could have got ugly in there.”
“No need for thanks. It’s pretty much always ugly in there. Been trying to clean it up for years. You handle yourself pretty good.”
Shaklee shrugged, “Old habits. Spent eight years policing the south side of Atlanta before going with the state.”
“Shows,” George replied with greater respect for the GBI man.
“Yeah, well,” Shaklee nodded across the street. “It’s getting late. I suggest that we split up. You take that motel across the street, and I’ll take the one on the other corner.”
“Sounds good. After that we can start checking up and down the interstate.”
They got into their vehicles and drove across the street. Five minutes later, George was interviewing a very large, heavily tattooed woman wearing a short top with string straps that showed her large, bare, bulging midriff. The cellulite dimples and stretch marks made it difficult for George not to stare.
The woman claimed to be the manager of the Roydon Inn. The interview was going nowhere. She knew nothing, and no linen or bedspreads were missing. Then Bob Shaklee called him on the radio.
