The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  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 rotten 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 big 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 goddamned 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.

  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 in Clay’s eyes 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.

  “Yeah, 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 were spinning out of control, confused.

  Cy would be pissed. Hell, he would be pissed if the shoe was on the other foot, and he couldn’t even explain it in a way that made any sense in his own mind. He was going to try to find a girl he didn’t even know, and he couldn’t even say why. Not the smartest decision he had ever made…he knew that much, at least.

  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 up 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.

  “Hell of a day, George,” Ronnie said. It was a statement of fact.

  “Yep. Hell of a day.” George nodded to the GBI agents. “Fel Tobin, this is Agent Shaklee and Agent Price from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. They’re working the murders.” George took another pull from his beer can.

  “Sorry, George,” Ronnie said looking to his right. “Should have made the introductions. Guess I’m distracted. Seems like a long time since yesterday.”

  “No problem.”

  Fel Tobin gave the obligatory head nod to the two agents, smiling with particular interest at Sharon Price. Now this was something different. Sheriff deputies, even the Chief Deputy, stopping by, that was one thing, but the GBI. Well, that was something.

  “Workin’ the murders, huh? Get ‘em figured out yet?”

  Fel was seriously interested. George never talked much about what was going on in the county. And this, well today he had been downright closemouthed about things. But by now, everyone in the county knew about the killings, except Fel Tobin.

  “Not yet Mr. Tobin, but we’re working on it. We’ll figure it out.” Sharon Price smiled an affectionate smile at him as if he were an old uncle.

  A little embarrassed by her pleasant but steady gaze and not knowing what else to do in response to the pretty girl’s smile, Fel smacked a weathered hand on his bony knee and gave a short laugh, managing to say, “Well, that’s good. That’s real good.”

  He raised the beer can to his lips never taking his eyes off Agent Price of the GBI. Yep, this was something. Two GBI agents, and one of them a girl. Really something.

  George turned his head regarding Fel curiously. Since losing his wife, old Fel did not interact much with the ladies, and he was always taken with any female that showed him any attention. It didn’t take much for him to start acting like a bashful teenager.

  “So, Ronnie,” George said getting back to the business that had interrupted their beer drinking. “You didn’t come all the way out here to talk about what a shitty day it’s been. What’s up?” It was the third time he had asked the question, and it resulted in disappointing Fel when the pretty lady agent turned her attention to the deputies.

  “Got an assignment for you, George.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “You’ve been assigned to assist the GBI,” Ronnie Kupman shrugged towards the two agents at this side.

  “Assist. What does that mean?”

  “Means you’re gonna work with them and find the killer.”

  “Really?” He turned t
he beer can on his knee and then looked thoughtfully for a few moments at the dark, wet ring on the denim. “I don’t know, Ronnie…”

  “This is not a request, George.” Kupman cut him off. “Take it as an order if you need to, but we need you to focus on this case. You are relieved of all other duties for the duration.” And with that, Ronnie released a cloud of cigarette smoke that hovered over his head as if to settle the matter.

  George gazed at Ronnie wondering why he would shove him into the middle of things after his failures of the night before. He was about to speak when Bob Shaklee settled it for good.

  “Look Deputy…George…we realize this must be tough for you. We know that maybe you feel somewhat responsible for some of what happened.” George shot a look at Kupman who gazed back calmly from his wreath of cigarette smoke. The look was not missed by Shaklee who continued, “The bottom line is…and I don’t say it as a compliment…it’s fact…that most of the evidence and leads we have in the murders came through your efforts. We want this case solved. You want it solved. You should be part of this, George.”

  George listened, no emotion discernible on his face. Shaklee looked hard into his eyes and added one final thought. “If you’ve got sins to pay for George, this is how you do it. We’re going to find this killer. You will be part of that.”

  A flicker of emotion darted across the deputy’s face. Bob Shaklee had struck a nerve. Yes, there were sins to pay for. That was surely true.

  “Okay. Meet at the office at seven in the morning.” Ronnie Kupman pulled his boot off the porch step and turned towards the car.

  There was nothing else to say. The two agents turned and followed. A few seconds later, the sound of the tires receded as the county car returned to Everett.

  “Got the fucker.”

  George looked up from his beer at Fel’s exclamation. One of the feral yard cats that hung around the place was just visible in the dim pool of light cast across the yard from the living room window.

  It had successfully stalked and hunted some small prey and was now pinning it to the ground with its paws as it tried to gain a grasp with its teeth. The cat shook its head forcefully, side to side, ending the struggle of the small animal in its jaws and trotted off across the yard, ignoring the two men on the porch.

  Downing the last of his beer in salute to the cat, George tossed the can into the trash crate and headed across the dark yard to his place above the barn.

  “’Night, Fel,” he called over his shoulder.

  Walking through the dewy grass, the image of the cat with the helpless creature dangling from its mouth remained. If the killer leaving bodies across Pickham County was the cat, what were George and the others? Hunters? Different though, he thought. Hunters don’t think too much about the cat’s prey, they just hunt the cat.

  He stood at the bottom of the barn steps and took a deep breath, shaking his head as if that would clear things up for him. To catch this killer, he would have to focus on the cat…on the killer.

  This was now a hunt, so hunt, George, he told himself. Find the son of a bitch and there won’t be any more victims.

  59. Pit Stop

  The old Chevy pulled up the exit ramp and turned left, crossing the bridge over the interstate. Bouncing across some railroad tracks in the dark, it turned left again so that it was headed south, parallel to the interstate. The car moved smoothly over the dirt road. Ruts and bumps filled in by sand and ground shells made for a soft ride.

  After a mile or so, he turned the car right onto another dirt road that ran up into a pinewoods. This was logging country, and large tracts of land were owned and planted by lumber companies that harvested the trees and then planted more in their place.

  For Lylee, it was sufficient that the area was secluded. At this time of day, the loggers would all be throwing down beers at some honky-tonk.

  The car stopped silently in the soft sand. His head turned towards her, and Lyn cringed as far away from him as she could in the confines of the car.

  “Pit stop. I need to take a piss,” Lylee said with a grin. “How about you?”

  Eyes wide, Lyn made no sound, unsure if he was serious or if this was just a continuation of his mental manipulation…part of his plan, whatever that might be. Young and possessing a naiveté born of her humble, backcountry origins, she was not so inexperienced as to be unaware that she was in serious danger. This man, who could change so completely in a matter of seconds, was ominous and frightening, and she sensed that her fear pleased him in some way.

  He studied her curiously, waiting for some response. After a minute, Lylee shrugged and pushed open the driver’s door. From the front seat, she watched as he walked to the front of the car, unzipped his pants and began to urinate.

  She could not see clearly in the moon light, diffused by the surrounding pines, but she could hear the stream splash loudly in the dirt. He arched his head back while the pee flowed.

  The backlight of the moon caused his narrow, dark silhouette, pointing up to the evening sky, to take on an animal-like appearance. Framed in the moonlight, head back, he reminded her of a picture she had seen of a wolf on a snowy night with its head back, howling at the moon. A shiver moved uncomfortably between her shoulders.

  Finished peeing, he moved toward the passenger side of the car, zipping his pants as he walked. The door jerked open rapidly, and Lyn saw the knife in his hand. A gasp caught in her throat and her eyes widened. “No! No!” The words screamed through her brain, but before she could make a sound, he reached down and cut the plastic tie that held her to the frame of the seat.

  “Get out and pee.” His hand took her arm roughly and jerked her up and out of the car.

  “I, uh I don’t…,” Lyn started, but was stopped by a short, hard open-handed slap across the face.

  “Pee,” Lylee said, still holding her arm with his other hand. “Squat down and pee. I’m not going to have you piss all over my car, so get to it.” Sensing her continued resistance, he took hold of her throat and with one arm threw her to the ground.

  Lyn’s face stung from the slap, and she tasted salty blood on her lip. She rolled over on her stomach in the sand and pushed herself up. Squatting, she lowered her jeans and did as he had ordered, trying to be as discreet as possible.

  The wet splash in the dirt embarrassed her, and she could not help but glance at him. Lylee stood watching her with interest, holding the knife in one hand and tapping the blade in the other.

  As she finished, he jerked her upright and pushed her towards the car. Lyn fought for her balance and then squared her shoulders and stood up straight. She walked steadily to the car.

  She had begun to sense that her continued survival would depend on her ability to walk a fine line between complete surrender to her terror, and her ability to maintain some sense of dignity and identity. She must resist in small ways, but not enough to seriously defy the man.

  She felt certain that angering him could result in her immediate death. But completely submitting would result in the same end.

  Her understanding of this was completely instinctive, in the same way that a person might instinctively react to a large barking dog by facing it and trying not to show fear or run away. You could not outrun the dog, and when he caught you, it would be worse.

  Running was not the thing to do, at least not yet. She knew what the result would be if she ran and was caught. Her instinct for survival was not evident to her as even a complete thought. It was a subconscious response.

  For his part, Lylee smiled and felt the thrill burning in him at her ever-so-discreet defiance. He would take his time with this one. Slowly turning that defiance into trembling, quivering terror would be sweet and delicious work.

  Lylee guided the car through the pines, retracing their route back to the interstate. Picking up speed down the ramp, they merged anonymously back into the northbound traffic.

  60. Limit to a Brother’s Patience

  Clay’s arms and legs ached. He became consci
ous of the discomfort and realized that he had been hunched forward clenching the wheel of the truck as he tensely scanned ahead and around for any sign of an old Chevy.

  A couple of times he had passed cars that might fit the description, but pulling up beside them, had not seen Lyn or anyone that looked like the man who might have taken her from the truck stop.

  He forced himself to relax. Think. He had to think.

  The first thought that came to him was, ‘what the hell are you doing?’ It was a legitimate question.

  He had no better answer for himself than he had for his brother. Lyn might have gone willingly with the man in the Chevy. From what he had learned at the truck stop, it seemed that the man had rescued her from whatever old Henry had planned for her, so maybe he was just offering her a ride north. After all, that was why they had brought her to the truck stop, to find a ride to Canada.

  Canada. It sounded silly, childish, but that thought made him feel guilty. Who was he to judge?

  Clay remembered the look on Lyn’s face when she had told them about her running away dream. The one she and her brother had constructed.

  Their lives at home must have been hell. Living in hell might cause anyone to dream a dream that might seem crazy to others not living in hell. He couldn’t really relate to that. Life had been full of hard work for the Purcells, but it was a long way from hell.

  Was it unrealistic, maybe even farfetched? Yes, he had to admit, looking at it from the outside. But it was not childish. No, there was nothing childish about the pain and weariness he had seen in her face.

  The girl’s dream was a dream of escape. Clay did know a little about that. With the support of his mother and uncle, he and Cy had never suffered. But they knew what it was like to want something more than could be had just scraping by in the south Georgia backcountry.