The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  “Better stand back, in case it gives. Cable flying back this way could take your head off.”

  Puckett nodded and the two men stepped further back behind the pickup as the winch continued to slowly wind in the cable. After a minute, there was a deep metallic twang as the tension on the cable released. Peering over the side of the pickup, they saw the tractor-trailer move. The chocks skidded from under the truck’s front wheels and the big rig began rolling down the steep gravel grade.

  Picking up speed, it rolled past the two men watching from the pickup at the side of the logging road. Hitting the main road, it took a large hop, the tractor crossing the road airborne and coming down on the sports car, tearing apart anything that remained of James’ shattered body. For a moment, they thought it would lose momentum and not continue over the side of the road and down the rock face. But Puckett’s calculations had been correct, and the weight of the heavily loaded trailer pushed the truck cab and car forward in a twisted tangle until they rolled over the guardrail and plummeted four hundred feet down the cliff.

  When the noise of the falling vehicles and logs subsided, Puckett looked at Thompson and nodded. “I’d say you’re one of us now, Bud.”

  Ten minutes later, they were in their separate vehicles heading away from the scene on separate roads. They would meet again at Puckett’s cabin by the lake that evening.

  Puckett’s words rang in Bud’s ears. “One of us now”. Goddamned right.

  44. A Turd in the Punchbowl

  “Yes.” The voice on the other end of the line was business-like, abrupt, and just short of openly rude, and it was clear that the person speaking didn’t care.

  “Ms. Crestline, this is Bob Shaklee.”

  “Agent Shaklee. Thanks for calling. I expected to hear from you earlier.”

  “Yes, well, we have been busy, Ms. Crestline.”

  “Stop the bullshit, Shaklee.”

  “Excuse me.” Bob was on the verge of hanging up. Task force or not, he would follow the investigation to its conclusion, and he didn’t have to take Crestline’s shit to do it. Then he took a deep breath and remembered aviation support was nice. Okay, play along…for now.

  “Call me Elizabeth or boss or hey you. Don’t call me Ms. again.”

  “Fine…” Shaklee paused. There was no way he was calling her boss. “Elizabeth, I’m calling with our report.”

  “As I said, I expected it some time ago.”

  “We’ve been busy. Would you like it now?”

  Crestline smiled, she had heard that Bob Shaklee was no one’s puppet and not to be trifled with or bullied. The reports apparently were correct. He was not Richard Klineman.

  “Yes, Bob…you don’t mind if I call you Bob, do you…please continue with your report.”

  “Don’t mind at all, Elizabeth,” he said with an inward sigh. The bitch was full of mind control games. “Report is as follows, we are continuing to run down any leads, looking for links between Somerhill and Marswell.” He decided not to mention others that they were tracking down that might be linked to the two dead men. “There is nothing conclusive at this point.”

  “Nothing conclusive? Haven’t you sent Agent Price to Pickham County?”

  “I did.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Of course. Agent Price is following up on the blog that Marswell and Somerhill worked on together.” He did not mention the list. “Might not be much to it. Just following all the leads. Could take some time. Most of this type of work is pretty painstaking and boring, but we have to be meticulous, even when it leads nowhere. You may get tired of these reports.”

  “I doubt that, Bob. So, Price is following up on a blog. May I ask what blog that is?”

  “It’s called ‘Term Limits’.” The report was turning into an interrogation by Crestline. She seemed unhappy about the content. Tough shit. He decided to wait for the next question since Crestline seemed so intent on asking them.

  “Anything else you can tell me about this ‘Term Limits’ blog?”

  Now he was nearing the boundary of dereliction of duty and insubordination. Bob responded carefully. “I can tell you that it is run by a local reporter, Timothy Farrin. Somerhill and Marswell were both contributors to the blog, so you see where we think there might be a connection.”

  He could have also told her about the ‘hit list’ connection, and that they knew that Timmy Farrin was dead and that the man who owned the truck who killed him was also dead. He could have told Crestline all of that, but he did not. Bob Shaklee had not fallen off the turnip truck the day before and he had dealt with more than one senior state official in his career. Something was not right about the task force and Elizabeth Crestline’s interest in the case on behalf of the governor.

  Shaklee hated it when police officers talked about the gut feeling they had that prompted their actions. He had seen an officer’s intestinal rumblings used too many times as an excuse to cover up procedural errors. But in this case, he had to acknowledge that something wasn’t right, and he could not put his finger on it. His gut told him to be careful, and he was.

  “Is that all?”

  “For the moment, Elizabeth, that is all I can report.” Bob shook his head at his own deceptiveness. Yes, he thought, it’s all I can report because I wouldn’t trust you to sell me a used car.

  “Fine then, may I expect an update tomorrow?”

  “Of course, I will call you about the same time.”

  “Agent Shaklee, you call me with any and every breaking lead. Is that understood?”

  “I understand.”

  The phone disconnected abruptly. Elizabeth seemed annoyed, Bob thought with a smile. The smile lingered for only a second. Bob knew very well that he did not need Elizabeth Crestline as an enemy.

  Sitting across from him at the conference table, Andy Barnes shook his head, admonishing the task force leader. “You know, Bob, if you piss her off, it is not going to make things easier for us.”

  “I know,” Shaklee said. “I was just thinking the same thing. I let my temper get the best of me.”

  Barnes smiled. “Yes, you did. It was kind of fun to watch. Just be careful.” He shrugged and added, “I mean air support is kind of cool too. Don’t want to lose old Rince.”

  “You got that right. Haven’t had air support since Desert Storm.” Bob gave a grin and then added, “But something’s not right. Can’t put my finger on it, but it’s not right.”

  “I know. I heard it too. She knew you sent Sharon down to Pickham County.”

  “Well, she would know that. She would have the report from the aviation unit. They have to keep track of their aircraft.”

  “I know,” Barnes said nodding, “but she clearly didn’t like it. Her voice made it sound…distasteful…like someone had dropped a turd in the punchbowl. Know what I mean.”

  Shaklee smiled at his team member. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  Andy was right. Their investigation constituted a turd in her punchbowl, and she was not happy about it. Why? Shaklee thought about that as the smile crept back across his face again.

  “Do you want to tell me what the fuck is going on in your county, Sheriff?”

  Richard Klineman stood, once again, at the far side of the employee parking lot, at attention with the phone pressed to his ear.

  “I…uh…I”

  “Stop stuttering for god’s sake. There is a GBI agent in Everett. What is she doing? Who is she seeing?”

  “I don’t know.” Klineman struggled not to give one-word answers without stuttering.

  “Well, find out! Then call me! Is that too much to ask?” Elizabeth Crestline could not believe that her only source of information in Pickham County was this weak ass man who had somehow managed to get himself elected sheriff.

  “Yes ma’am…I’ll...uh…do my…” The phone slammed down before Sheriff Klineman could finish his promise to do his best. He slumped over, allowing the phone to hang limply from his hand.

  A
deputy coming out of the building saw his sheriff standing slump-shouldered in the parking lot and wondered if there was a problem. The sheriff did not look well. The thought made him smile. Driving away in his county vehicle, he watched the sheriff in the rear view mirror. Nope, he definitely did not look well. With a shrug, he turned from the parking lot onto the main road. Fuck the sheriff.

  As soon as the phone had slammed down, Crestline’s assistant buzzed her. He had been watching the call light, waiting for it to end.

  “Yes.” Crestline’s voice was agitated, but the assistant was accustomed to the tone.

  He calmly replied, “Call for you. Line two.”

  “Who is it?” Crestline asked, more agitated that her assistant had not announced the caller by name.

  “He would not say, boss. He said you would know.”

  Shit. She did know. It was a call she had been expecting. Crestline sighed deeply. The hits just kept on coming. She punched the button for line two.

  “Crestline.”

  “Elizabeth, good to hear your voice.” Charles Montgomery’s deep voice rumbled in the phone.

  “What can I do for you, Charles?”

  “We expected to hear from you before now. You know a report on the…ah, activity, down in Georgia.”

  “I’ve been trying to track things down for you. The GBI agent in charge is not an easy person to deal with. He can’t be intimidated.”

  “I’m disappointed, Elizabeth. We had high expectations of you and your ability to intimidate just about anyone.” Crestline heard the familiar deep chuckle on the other end of the line. Chuck seemed to be having a good time. “I would have thought you would have put someone more…pliable… on your task force,” he continued.

  “I had no choice. You know that. Shaklee was already working the case. Pulling him and Price off would have caused more questions than you wanted.”

  “Right, well perhaps you need to find some way to exert more pressure. What about the sheriff in Pickham County.”

  “Oh, he’s pliable as hell. He’s also useless as tits on a boar hog.”

  “I see. Well, tell us what you do have. Where is the investigation going? Do you know that, at least?”

  Crestline spent ten minutes briefing Montgomery and Greene who was in the room with him. Occasionally the phone went dead, and she knew they had muted her while they discussed elements of her report. She told them what Bob had told her, everything he had told her. She could not tell them what he had not told her. That was the frustrating part. There was only conjecture about the rest of the investigation.

  When she concluded, Montgomery said, “Thank you, Elizabeth. We will be in touch.”

  She broke in before he could hang up. “Would you please tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “You know what you need to know, Elizabeth. You will be well rewarded for your efforts.” There was a pause before his deep voice added, “Of course, we trust your efforts will be more productive going forward. Goodbye.”

  The phone went dead, and Elizabeth Crestline had the uncomfortable sensation that she was seated at the end of a long swaying branch while Montgomery and Greene sawed slowly away at it. She wondered how far the fall would be if she didn’t get things figured out and wrapped up for them before they were finished sawing.

  45. That Lady GBI Girl

  Johnny Rincefield hopped from the back of George’s pickup and began busying himself with preparing the Cessna for the flight to Savannah. Driving out of the airfield parking lot, George glanced back and saw him walking around and under the small plane doing his pre-flight. Good. Check it real good, Rince. The assignment to take the small plane to Savannah had been on his mind since the task force call with Shaklee and Barnes. He preferred something…more substantial, when airborne.

  It was time to take care of the next piece of business. He thought about using the radio to make the call, but didn’t. Radio traffic would just raise unnecessary questions. Pulling the cell from his pocket, he punched the programmed speed dial number.

  “What is it, George?” Ronnie Kupman’s voice sounded as if he had been expecting the call.

  “Ronnie, can you meet me at my place, say about an hour?”

  “What’s up, George? Klineman’s all over my ass today, thanks to this task force thing you’re tied up with.”

  “Well, it’s about that. I’ve got to go to Savannah.”

  “What?” Ronnie didn’t usually sound annoyed with George. Resigned to George’s inability to make peace with the sheriff, yes, but not openly annoyed. Today he sounded annoyed. George figured that Klineman must have seriously been on Ronnie’s ass. Well, it was about to get worse for the chief deputy, whose main job lately was to run interference between the sheriff and the rest of the department, primarily George.

  “Ronnie, I’ve got Sharon Price here with me. She flew in this morning.”

  “Yeah, I heard a state plane landed out at the airport. So, tell me what’s going on.”

  “We will Ronnie, but not on the phone. If you can meet us out at my place, Sharon will brief you. Bob Shaklee wants to get you involved with the task force, so do we.” George paused to let Ronnie consider what he had said. “There’s a lot going on, and the trail seems to be going up, if you know what I mean. Not sure where, but up. We need help. Someone we can trust. You’re elected.”

  “Klineman’s going to shit a brick.”

  “I know, Ronnie. Wish I could make it easier for you. This is important or we wouldn’t be asking.”

  “I’ll be at your place in an hour.”

  “Good. What you gonna tell Klineman?”

  “How the fuck do I know, George?” Kupman took a deep breath. As usual, George was ass deep into something that was going to make life with the sheriff unbearable. Also, as usual, he knew that George’s instincts were good, and whatever he was into was not some rookie’s wet dream. There was more to it. He would have to get to George’s place to find out from Price. Shaking off his annoyance, he said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell him something, or nothing, maybe. I’ll figure it out. See you in an hour.”

  The phone went dead. George replaced it in his shirt pocket.

  Sharon had listened to George’s end of the conversation with interest.

  “So, sounds like Kupman’s not very happy.”

  George shrugged. “If I had to deal with Klineman every day, I’d be miserable.”

  Sharon nodded smiling. “Yeah, he can definitely be one annoying asshole.”

  George nodded his agreement. Asshole was one of a number of words he would have used to describe his sheriff…one of the milder ones.

  They drove in silence the rest of the way to George’s apartment over Fel Tobin’s barn, George thinking uncomfortably about the ride to Savannah in the small plane. Sharon took in the green countryside, trees, and fields flowing by the window. Tobin’s place was in the country.

  Sharon remembered the old man seated on the porch with George when she and Shaklee and Kupman had come to visit one evening, as the hunt for the serial killer began. George and old Fel were close. She had sensed in her brief visit that, in some way, they needed each other. They filled something missing in the other. Looking over at George, quietly driving, lost in thought, a question formed in her mind. What is missing in you, George?

  Fifteen minutes later they were bouncing along Fel Tobin’s gravel driveway. George brought the pickup to a dusty halt under an old live oak beside the barn. Sharon followed him from the truck to the long wooden stairway that led up the backside of the barn to George’s apartment. A small engine roared as Fel came wheeling around the side of the barn on his old lawn mower. He jerked it to a stop beside the stairs and took his straw hat off.

  “Hey, George, what you doin’ back here so early?” He eyed Sharon and grinned. “Why is that the lady GBI girl? Lord, didn’t expect you here today. Surely did not.” He finished wiping the band of his hat with his handkerchief and pushed the hat back down on his head, far enough
so that the wind would not blow it off as he tooled around the property on the mower.

  “Hello, Mr. Tobin. It’s good to see you again.” Sharon smiled at the old man, who seemed to glow at being spoken to by a woman.

  “Fel, you call me Fel. Nobody calls me Mr. Tobin, do they George?”

  “Nope, not lately,” George said, leaning back against the stair railing waiting patiently for Fel to finish his chat and stop gawking at Sharon.

  “So, what you back for George? Forget something?”

  “No, didn’t forget anything. Have to change clothes.”

  “Change clothes? Why’s that, George? Something wrong with that sheriff suit you got on?”

  “Got to do something, and I should be in plain clothes to do it.”

  Fel was intrigued. “Do something? What’s that, George? What you gotta do that you can’t wear your sheriff suit?”

  “Well, let’s just say it’s official business, Fel, and I need to wear something besides a Pickham County sheriff uniform.” He turned and started up the stairs. Fel would go on asking questions all afternoon, if he let him. “Gotta go get ready now. I’ll see you before I head out, Fel.”

  Reaching the top of the stairs, George put his hand on the door handle. Hearing a step behind him, he turned, surprised that Sharon had followed him up.

  She smiled. “Hope you don’t mind. Thought it would be interesting to see where Deputy George Mackey spends his off duty hours.”

  “Then you ought to go sit on Fel’s front porch,” he said with a grin. “Seems that is where I usually am when I’m home.” He turned the handle and pushed the door open. “You might be a bit disappointed. Not much to it. Couple of rooms is all. Not very tidy either.” He walked in and across the room to a door on the far side.

  Sharon followed him in and stood, looking around the small apartment. He was right. Not much to it. Sofa and a chair and old beat up coffee table. Behind the sofa, a small two-burner stove and mini refrigerator and a small sink for washing up. Not much to it, for sure. It struck her that it seemed empty, like George did sometimes. Like when he wasn’t being a deputy, there wasn’t much else there, at least anything he let anyone else see, except maybe old Fel.