by Nick Russell
"Yeah, but that's the second time someone shot at me in a week. I'm not liking this at all!"
"Do you know where the shots came from?"
"I think back there behind me. I don't know where for sure."
There were other sirens approaching fast and John Lee got on his radio.
"This is County 16, I'm on the scene. Greg said the shots came from north of the old gas station."
Three cars came into view and one of them pulled off about fifty yards from the gas station where there was a small copse of trees. The deputy got out and pointed a shotgun in that direction, using his car for cover. The other two cars continued on to the gas station. Moments later Flag and a fifth car arrived.
"This is 2. Any sign of movement from those trees?"
"No, sir," somebody replied.
"Okay, John Lee and Carson, I want you guys to head for those trees. Beckett, you circle around and approach from the rear. I'll cover you from here. Move it!"
Chapter 24
John Lee, Greg, and Bob Patterson all piled into the Charger and he drove across the open ground toward the trees, expecting gunshots to ring out at any time. When they were within about 20 yards he turned the Charger sideways and they piled out the driver's side. Still nothing.
"Everybody ready? Okay, let's go."
They moved toward the trees, weapons at the ready. John Lee had holstered his Browning and brought the Charger's shotgun with him. He could feel his heart pounding and a trickle of sweat running down his spine. At any second he expected gunfire to come from the trees.
"Watch for crossfire in case anything happens," Flag cautioned.
With deputies approaching the trees from the north and south, and Flag and another deputy coming in from the east, the only escape route was to the west across an open field and then a marsh. Anybody going that way was sure to be seen.
The tree line was coming closer with every step. John Lee kept his eyes moving, looking for anything out of place. A quick movement, the silhouette of a shooter, anything that might warn them of danger lurking ahead.
"Damn!" He heard a thump and look to the right quickly to where Greg Carson had fallen to the ground. John Lee squatted and kept his shotgun pointed at the tree line. He had not heard a gunshot.
"Are you okay? What happened?"
"I'm okay," a chagrined Greg said as he scrambled back to his feet. "I just tripped over a root and fell."
"You scared me."
"Will y'all stop the damn yakking and concentrate on the situation at hand? Jesus Christ, you act like a couple of girls!"
John Lee ignored Flag and waited until Greg was back on his feet before moving forward. They entered the trees, hyper alert, but there was nothing to be seen. The other deputies met them, and once they knew that there was no armed threat awaiting them they spread out and began a ground search, looking for any evidence of the shooter. But there was nothing. No discarded cigarette butt, no empty shell casings, no footprints. Whoever the phantom shooter was, he was gone and had left no trace.
"Are you sure this is where the shots came from?"
"I don't know for sure, Flag," Greg said. "I was sitting there watching for people blowing the stop sign at the cross road and the next thing I knew the rear window of my unit exploded. And then I heard another round hit my car. I just assumed it came from the tree line because there was no place else where..."
"You assumed? That's what you did, you assumed? Did you even look to see where the shots were comin' from?"
"No sir, I was too busy keeping my head down," Greg said.
"Well, that's just fine, Red. We've got most of the friggin' department out here and you don't even know where the shots came from," Flag shook his head in disgust. "Too busy hidin' yer fat ass to even think about actin' like a real police officer!"
"Back off," John Lee said. "If someone was shooting at me, you can bet your ass I'd be looking for cover, too."
The Chief Deputy turned to him with a snarl on his face. "You shut your god damn mouth, you little prick! I already know you'd be hidin'. Probably up D.W.'s ass. The only bigger pussy around here than him is you! Christ, we got a woman deputy with a real pussy and she's more man than both of you two put together."
"It's way past time for you to shut up," John Lee said.
"Or what? Just what are you goin' do about it?"
"Hey guys, this ain't the time or place," said Andy Stringer, a normally easy-going deputy with a big belly and hands the size of catcher's mitts. "We still got somebody with a gun running around here who likes shooting at cops. How about we concentrate on that and you two can decide who's got the bigger pecker some other time?"
Flag didn't like it, but he turned and walked away, cursing as he went.
Greg stared at the ground, and John Lee patted him on the back. "Don't worry about that asshole, buddy. If I'd have been in your place I'd have probably bailed out of that car on a run and left a trail of shit all the way down to Tampa."
Bob nodded and said, "John Lee's right. Ignore that ignorant jerk. What did he expect you to do, jump out with your handgun and start popping off against a sniper with a rifle? You handled it just right, kid."
The other deputies all nodded or said something in agreement, making Greg feel better. After searching through the trees they moved out on the north side, where Andy said, "Might have something here."
He pointed to tire tracks in the dirt that led out to Homestead Road. "See that?"
Bob squatted down and looked at the wet spot. "Looks like oil."
"Yep, and it's fresh," Andy said. "Somebody was parked here not long ago. And whoever that somebody was, it's a damn good bet it was our shooter."
"Okay, everybody step back," John Lee said. "We need to get photographs of the oil spot and these tracks."
Leaving Andy and another deputy to handle that, John Lee and the others returned to the gas station.
"Bullet came through the back window on the passenger side and out the windshield," said Donny Ray Mayhew. One of the few college graduates on the sheriff's department, Donny Ray was a short, barrel chested man who wore his black hair close cropped, with a mustache and goatee. "No telling where it went from there. I'm just glad there was nobody coming along the crossroad and got hit." He squatted down and looked at the rear of the car and said, "Here's the other one," pointing at a bullet hole in the trunk lid on the right side. "Got your keys, Greg?"
Greg retreived his keys from the ignition and opened the trunk. Shining a bright flashlight inside, Donny Ray pulled out a folded blanket and opened it to show three round holes where the bullet had passed through. Then he found where it had penetrated into the passenger compartment of the car. Going around to the back door he opened it and they removed the seat. "Bingo!"
There, lodged in the frame of the car's rear seat, was a copper jacketed bullet.
"I'm betting that's going to be from the same .308 rifle that shot at you guys out there on Turpentine Highway the other day." After photographing the bullet's location, Donny Ray removed it and slipped it into a plastic evidence bag.
Flag had been standing at a distance away, talking on his cell phone. With his call ended he came up and said, "A couple of you guys get out there and block the area off and direct traffic. Keep these damn lookie loos moving!"
It seemed like half of Somerton County had a police scanner, and the word was out. A line of cars was slowly moving past, the people inside stopping to gawk at the scene.
Turning back to Donny Ray, Flag said, "Okay, tell me what you've got."
By the time the deputy had finished showing him the damage done to the windshield where the first bullet exited, and the bullet hole in the trunk lid, they heard a siren approaching and D.W. pulled in.
"Who's that with him?"
"Looks like Dixie from the newspaper."
"That figures," Flag said. "Bad enough he lets the damn news people run all over the county, now he's givin' them rides!"
The sheriff and the reporter got out and app
roached the group, where they were given a briefing.
"Are you okay, Greg?"
"Yes, sir, I'm fine."
D.W. walked around the car, pausing in several places so Dixie could take photographs. When he was sure she had everything she needed, the sheriff put his arm around Greg's shoulder and squeezed.
"Why don't you go ahead and write your report, then take the rest of the day off, Deputy."
"I don't need to do that, sir. I'm okay."
"Now you listen to me, young man. I know you're a brave officer, but anytime someone shoots at you, that takes a toll on a person. So you turn in your report and you go home. That's an order, okay?"
John Lee noticed that while the two men were talking, Dixie was taking photographs. He was sure the picture of the concerned sheriff comforting the young deputy who had been under fire would look good on the front page of the newspaper.
Flag hung around for another half hour, barking orders and berating deputies for what he considered to be poor performance or rookie mistakes. About the time that John Lee was seriously considering seeing if the man's bandaged hand would fit into his big mouth the Chief Deputy got into his car and headed back to town. Bob Patterson watched him drive away and shook his head. "Is he getting worse by the day?"
"I don't know if he could get any worse," John Lee said.
"Guys, this shit is getting serious," Andy Stringer said. "When was the last time someone shot at one of us, before this week?"
"I think it was a couple of years ago," Bob said. "Remember, we raided that meth lab at that trailer park out on Palmetto Road and that tweaker started shooting at us with a shotgun?"
"And now in less than a week it's happened twice. If that don't raise the pucker factor, there's something wrong with you."
"For what it's worth," Donny Ray said, "Just like last time, I don't think whoever was shooting actually wanted to hurt Greg. He took pains to shoot at the far right side of the back window and the right side of the trunk. He could just as easily have shot at the driver's side."
"I take damn little comfort in that," Bob said.
"Neither do I," Greg added.
"So far he's been good or we've been lucky," John Lee said. "But how long is that gonna last? That bullet that went through the trunk and ended up stuck in the back seat? It could have just as easily have ricocheted up and went through the back of the front seat and taken out Greg where he was laying there."
Andy nodded. None of the deputies said anything, but they were all well aware of the fact that whoever the elusive sniper was, they needed to put an end to it before somebody got killed.
Chapter 25
"Damn, I take a day off and convince Mama to let me take her down to Crystal River to see her sister, and I miss all the fun!"
"Trust me, it wasn't much fun," Greg said.
"I'll tell you what," Maddy said, "between this fool running around shooting at us and Fig punching out patrol cars, it's a good time to be in the auto glass business."
The deputies assembled for the hasty meeting that the sheriff had called all laughed loudly, then stopped quickly when Flag and D.W. entered the room.
"Okay y'all, I appreciate those of you who are off duty comin' in, and we'll try to make this quick so you can get out of here," the sheriff said. "We don't have any leads on who's doin' this shootin', but there's no question in my mind that it's the same person. We sent that bullet that we recovered from Carson's car over to the crime lab and they jumped right on it, since this is the second incident in a couple days. The bullets found in John Lee's car and the one from yesterday were all fired by the same rifle. It's a 30 caliber, most likely some kind of huntin' rifle. This is our number one priority right now, findin' out who's doing this. I need y'all to be talkin' to everybody you can, find out if anybody's been sayin' anythin' about it, if anybody's heard any rumors, anythin' at all."
Several deputies nodded, and Andy asked, "D.W., do you think this is tied in with those skeletons they found out there at the construction site on Turpentine Highway?"
"The reporters asked me the same thing this mornin'. The first time it happened, that's what I thought. But after yesterday, I'm not so sure."
"Could it be somebody who's got a hard on for the Sheriff's Department? Or maybe Greg here in particular, since he was at both incidents?"
"That's a good question," D.W. said. "Carson, do you remember arrestin' anybody or givin' someone a ticket that got particularly upset?"
"I've been thinking about that," Greg said. "And the only thing that comes to mind is a fellow by the name of Earl McRae. I pulled him over a couple of weeks ago for wandering over the center line while I was following him. He didn't want to do a field sobriety test and wanted to argue with me about it. I wound up arresting him for DUI. Ray Ray came out to back me up and McRae was making all kind of threats. But it was nothing I haven't heard before."
"I know that old boy, he does have an attitude," said Deputy Paul Schaffer. "I've stopped him two or three times. He always wants to mouth off and give me a ration of shit."
"We need to find out where this guy is," Flag said. "Maddy, have Dispatch run a records check, see if we can get a current address for him."
Maddy was tempted to say something to the effect that there were nineteen deputies and three city officers in the room, and many of them were closer to the door than she was, but she knew that to the Chief Deputy she was always going to be just a woman and never quite measure up, and that nothing would be gained by challenging him about it at that time.
"Okay, anythin' else anybody can think of?"
There were a couple of suggestions. One was a man who had been arrested recently for domestic violence who was known to be aggressive towards the police. The other was a man who had blamed the Sheriff's Department for setting up his son for a drug bust. It was the son's third conviction, which had earned him a long sentence in the state prison. In the first case, they learned that the man in question was back in jail, this time down in Hernando County after an altercation with his estranged wife at her parents' home in Brooksville. The second possibility, the aggrieved father, could account for his time and had alibis for when both shootings took place. That left Earl McRae.
The man lived with his wife and four kids in a rundown place six miles from town. He was known to carry a gun frequently, and all of his neighbors had learned to keep their distance. If somebody complained about one of his teenage sons driving too fast down their gravel road, or of his dogs running loose and killing their chickens, McRae instantly went on the offensive and wanted to fight. There had been more than one case of slashed tires or sugar poured in automobile gas tanks after someone had lodged a complaint with the Sheriff's Department when talking to the man directly had failed. One elderly woman who lived nearby had reported that McRae had come onto her property with a shotgun after she had called and told him one of his sons had smashed her mailbox with a baseball bat. In that case, as in each other one, there had never been enough evidence to act upon.
"We need to go have a talk with this clown," Flag said. "And we need to do it now!"
***
Four marked cars pulled into the McRae place at once, with two deputies in each vehicle. Two more parked on the road and deputies moved in on foot. Four or five large dogs surrounded the cars, barking and snarling. A girl who looked to be about seven or eight years old was playing in a tire swing, and two shirtless teenage boys were bent over the hood of an old International Scout.
"Call these damn dogs off," Flag ordered.
One of the boys put his fingers in his mouth and whistled and the dogs backed off at a distance.
"What the hell you want?"
"We want to talk to your father," Flag said.
"He ain't here."
"Where is he?"
"How the fuck do I know? It ain't my day to watch him."
"What's your name, boy?"
"Puddin Tane. Ask me again and I'll tell ya' the same."
"You a smart
ass, ain't ya'?"
"Better to be a smart ass than a fat dumb ass like you!"
Before Flag could respond, one of the deputies out near the road came on the radio and said, "Heads up, suspect just passed us and is pulling in the driveway."
McRae was driving a rattletrap old Ford pickup that looked like it would blow away in the first strong windstorm, and he jumped out before the vehicle even came to a complete stop.
"What the hell you doin' on my property? Get the hell out of here!"
"We've got some questions for you, Mr. McRae," John Lee said.
"Yeah? Well stick your questions up your ass. This is private property and you ain't got no business here. Now move it!"
Earl McRae was a small, bald, thin man, not much over five feet tall, and he wore bib overalls with no shirt under them. He had a stubbly beard, thin, mean lips and a mouth that had never met toothpaste. But though he might not be large in stature, every ounce of him was full of malice and venom.
"We can do this easy or we can do this hard," Flag said. "Makes no never mind to me."
"I told you to get off my property," McRae shouted, pointing towards the road. "And I ain't goin' tell you again!"
"Just settle down," John Lee said. "There's no need for all this screaming and hollering. All we want to do is ask you a few questions."
"Oh yeah? Let me get my shotgun an' I'll let it do the answerin' for me."
He turned back towards the truck, where a battered old sixteen gauge pump action Mossberg shotgun rode in a rack across the back window.
"Stop right there. Don't you move another step!"
The man ignored John Lee's orders and jerked open the truck's door. Instantly half a dozen deputies pointed their weapons at him.
"Don't do it!"
"Freeze!"
"Put your hand on that shotgun and you're a dead man, McRae!"
He ignored them all and was reaching inside the truck when Flag strode forward quickly and kicked the door with all of his might. The door slammed on the man's arm and he howled in pain. Forgetting all about the shotgun, he charged at the much larger Chief Deputy. Flag, for all his size, had spent many years fighting with drunken rednecks and was quick on his feet. He stepped aside and shoved a leg out, tripping McRae, who sprawled on his face in the dirt. Before the little man could move, three deputies had pounced on him. He put up a hell of a fight, but they managed to get him handcuffed and jerked him to his feet.
