Relentless (Elisabeth Reinhardt Book 1)

by Nancy Alexander

  “What d’ya think, boys?” Jake asked, suddenly very democratic. Custer thought they should turn around and head for safety. Slim thought they should head back to town and see what they could learn there. Slim was badly in need of a fix and the idea of getting hooked up with a local dealer greatly influenced his thinking. Custer gave him a dirty look, knowing the real motives for such a stupid suggestion. “I think we should get on top of the mountain so we can see what they’re up to,” Jake said. He was excited now, feeling danger in the air.

  “Are you crazy? They’ll see us up there,” the two yelled in unison.

  “Not if we see them first,” Jake exclaimed getting out of the car.

  “Jake, wait,” they yelled.

  But Jake was getting himself ready for the hike. Packing guns and ammo, water and snacks into his backpack. ”I just want to take a look,” he said, “We don’t have to DO anything, we can just look. You coming?” he called back at them.

  The Parkland Killers stood knee deep in snow looking down at an unbelievable scene. Uniforms swarmed all over the place. It was like the family farm had been turned into a Hollywood movie set over night. Lights, camera, action! Police, FBI agents, crime scene investigators, reporters and search dogs were everywhere. Yellow crime scene tape was strung up blocking off the driveway and house. ‘This is weird, man,’ he thought, ‘They’re here cause of me!’ He thought he saw Hattie at the kitchen window and could barely make out Clint’s shadow standing near the barn door. He decided Dale was probably around here somewhere, too. That upset him. He had felt a kinship with Clint and Dale and the idea that they were helping the cops, well that just pissed him off. Impulsively he raised his rifle and focused his site on the barn door, but Slim stopped him.

  “Easy, Buddy,” he said, “Don’t waste energy on this. We can always get him later if you want. Too many cops around now. It’d be suicide.” Jake let himself be talked out of the shot, but he was jumpy and really wanted to hurt someone.

  “I’m gonna get a little closer,” he said moving slowly down the mountain. He had gone about 100 yards when he stumbled and fell. The crackling sound of broken branches rang out like gunshots in the still frozen night air. Instantly the police dogs alerted barking, growling and tugging at their leashes. Everyone stared up the mountainside unable to tell if the sound was from wildlife or the killers had returned. Chester, a long time woodsman made the decision.

  “Go!” he said, “That sound didn’t come from any kind of animal I ever heard. There’s someone up there!”

  The chase began as the canine teams led dozens of police and FBI agents up the mountain through knee deep snow. Pale flashlight beams darted here and there in the dark forest. Reinforcements arrived and joined the search. Dogs barked, boots crunched and voices cut through the night air. At the top of the mountain the Parkland Killers momentarily immobilized, stared at the approaching army. Dogs would track them through the snow. The cops would find their truck within minutes. They turned off their flashlights, deciding it was better to track by moonlight and headed for their old hiding place, not knowing that it had been discovered earlier in the day. Crime scene tape could be seen hundreds of yards away, glistening in the moonlight. ‘We’re screwed,’ they thought. “Head toward the river,” Jake hissed, and in an ironic twist of fate the killers headed through the forest following the trail that had led Reggie Lee to safety so many years before.

  They wadded into the partially frozen water and let it carry them downstream past the farm. Any sounds they made were muted by the rush of the icy water. They could hear men yelling and dogs yelping as they crisscrossed the river trying to pick up their trail. Up and down the river banks they wove looking for footprints and giving the dogs time to catch the scent. Meantime Jake had a plan. “We’ll double back to the farmhouse,” he whispered, “I’ve got to get my stuff from Hattie.”

  “You’re crazy, Man,” the other two protested, “the place is swarming with cops.”

  “No, they are all out here looking for us, it will be safe, I have to get my stuff before the cops get it. That’s evidence, Man, evidence against us! We’ve got to go back and get my shit!”

  Will Schmidt, monitoring the police radios, was alerted to a car theft that had taken place just a few hours ago near Mt. Sterling, KY not far from Rte. 64, which leads directly into Hurricane. Local police searched the area near the theft and located a small motel. The motel manager reported renting a room to a man matching one of the killers’ descriptions. The manager said that they had left without paying the bill. Police were delighted to hear that the cleaning woman had not yet gotten into that room to clean it. CSI searched the room and found tags from newly purchased clothing, used hair dye packages and hunks of cut hair. They contacted the State Police who contacted the Multi-State Task Force. Based on new information coming in, they constructed images approximating what the killers might look like now. BOLO’s were updated and distributed to the media for immediate public dissemination.

  While police searched the property, Hattie sat at her kitchen table, loaded with cups and plates, looking at her hands folded in front of her. It looked like she was praying. She had been talking to the police and preparing food and hot drinks for them for hours. She was running out of food and energy. She felt upset and exhausted. ‘When will this be over?’ she wondered. She wanted the police to go away so she could go upstairs and lie down. She wanted to talk to Earl and find out what he thought about this. Earl always seemed to know about these things and she really needed help. She could not imagine that Jake was as bad as they said he was. How could he be? After all, he’d lived there with them for years. She wondered about his father, her former brother-in-law and if he had been in touch with Jake. She had not heard from him for years. He had stopped calling to see how Jake was. She remembered when Jake was about 10 he said his father was coming for him soon, he never did. Hattie didn’t even know if the man was still alive, him being a heavy drinker and all.

  A noise at the back door interrupted her thoughts, looking up a scream emerged. A huge filthy monster stood in the doorway, covered with muck and icicles, sludge-colored hair plastered to his head, wild eyes glaring at her. “Did you give them my stuff?” He demanded, “Did you?” He stomped toward her menacingly as two other dripping monsters crowded into the kitchen behind him.

  She was wide-eyed, in shock. “Jake…?” she asked in a quivering voice, squinting and hesitant. She didn’t recognize him. “Jake is that you,” she asked again. “What happened to your hair dear it’s the wrong color!” She babbled. It was all too much for her to absorb. Men weren’t supposed to dye their hair. Only ladies did that, and not very often, in her opinion. She was confused. First, the police came and then these… these monsters, burst into her kitchen. “How come you are so wet?” She blathered irrelevancies, “Are you ahh… okay, Dear? Do you want some tea?” She was flustered and didn’t know what to say. Foolishly, she imagined pouring them all a cup of tea.

  “The police were here asking about you, Dear. We didn’t know what to tell them….” she went on.

  “Go get my stuff, G-d dammit, you stupid old woman,” he growled pulling her out of the chair by her sweater.

  For a moment, she didn’t know what stuff he meant. She didn’t have ‘his stuff’ did she? The gifts he’d given her were hers, weren’t they? Why was he calling it ‘his stuff’? He didn’t have any stuff here.

  “Get my stuff and hurry,” he snarled.

  “You mean my jewelry box and all?” she asked.

  ”Of course that’s what I mean, you idiot,” he hissed at her grabbing her shoulder.

  “But, I don’t have it anymore dear the police took it away with them.”

  “You stupid old woman,” he shouted and back handed her across the face. “How could you be so stupid?” He hollered as she fell backwards with a yelp. She spilled onto the floor, hitting the table, and all its contents crashed on top of her. Shattering glass clattered loudly. Earl came rushing into the
room, rifle held high, screaming, “Get the hell out of my house, you lousy bastard or I’ll blow your head right off your shoulders!”

  Slim raised his gun with a steady hand and said, “Put the gun down old man or I’ll shoot your stupid wife.” Jake grinned a sickly grin bent down and pulled Hattie to her feet, “Come on, get me my stuff you ugly old bat and I want anything you have about where Reggie Lee is hiding. I want her, you understand me. I want her and you’re going to help me get her.” He pulled her so their faces were inches apart, “Let’s go upstairs,” he growled, “You’re going to give me my stuff and help me find Reggie or so help me I’ll burn your house down with you and Earl in it.”

  Hattie was weeping now. Frightened and confused. “Don’t hurt my Earl, Jake,” she pleaded. “He was like a father to you. We weren’t nothing but good to you, Jake. We took you in when no one else would. We raised you up, fed you and all. Don’t do this Jake. Don’t hurt us.” Earl, standing firm in the kitchen, did not lower his rifle.

  “Don’t know which one of us would be faster, Boy,” he said, “but someone’s gonna get hisself kilt in this kitchen tonight.”

  Then Custer, who’d been standing in the background, took out his gun. Custer didn’t want to shoot these old folks. They’d always been real nice to him, fed them and talked nice when they visited. They reminded him of his own mother and he didn’t want to hurt them. He wished he could talk to Slim about this. See if now was the time for him and Slim to run off and leave Jake to fend for himself, but then several things happened. They heard a crash of furniture from upstairs and Hattie screamed. Earl pulled the trigger on his old Winchester grazing Custer’s shoulder. Slim pulled the trigger on his Walther P99 and shot Alcott Earl Raines Jr. through the heart.

  At the sound of gunshots all available police and FBI agents raced toward the house, shouting tactical instructions to one another. “Shots fired, shots fired,” they shouted. “Possible hostage situation. Use caution. Use caution.” Jake came thundering down the wooden stairs charged with electricity hollering “What the fuck did you morons do?” Glancing at his dead uncle, he grabbed his two buddies and shoved them toward the cellar door. “Come on hurry, we gotta go…” he commanded.

  CHAPTER 42

  TRAILS

  They flew down the rickety steps two at a time, raced past the canning room with its jars of jelly and pickles stacked on old wooden shelves, ducked under the clothes lines where sheets and work jeans hung drying and raced down a long passageway packed with crates and boxes. At the very end of the hallway, there was a narrow tunnel that led to an old furnace and coils of heating pipes, installed when the Raines family first built the complex. Behind the furnace was a decrepit coal shoot unused for years. The Parkland killers fell to their knees and began to crawl through the tunnel. It was over 400 feet long and totally dark. Around them rats scurried, but they were undeterred, racing against the clock. They didn’t know how much time they had. They heard barking and voices calling instructions and commands, but thought it would take them a while to locate the tunnel and start tracking them. A rickety old ladder leaned against a brick wall leading to a metal trap-door about 20 feet above them. They dragged Custer with them as they climbed. They emerged gasping from coal dust and stress, on an abandoned trail that had been used for coal delivery in the early 1900’s.

  “We need a place to hide,” Jake said. A motel was out of the question, given that the whole community would be watching for them. Suggestions flew as they snuck through the woods. We could hide in a barn. We could steal a car and run. We could break into a house and live there for a while. All those ideas seemed too high risk. Given their lack of resources and the fact that the police were just minutes behind them, they took off running along the soft shoulder of the road, ducking into trees when they heard a vehicle approach. There were houses in this direction and if they were lucky they would find one that was empty.

  It was about 10PM. Most people were asleep, but often one or more lights could be seen somewhere in the houses. They made quick loops around each property looking for hiding places. If they saw lights, they kept on running. If they heard dogs, they kept on running. They did quick run-throughs for the next 3 miles until they came to a sign that said Our Lady of the Angels, Everyone Welcome. It was a charming fieldstone Church, with turrets and a bell tower. A granite statue of Jesus, arms outstretched, stood next to a carved double door. Although there was a dim light in the sanctuary, the rest of the building was dark. They broke a window in the back, entered a spacious room next to the kitchen and stood silently for several minutes. Hearing no sounds, they concluded either they were alone in the building or the people here were asleep. Slowly they crept through the darkened church and room by room searched the building, ending up in the priest’s quarters on the third floor. The room was small, pale green with a slanted ceiling and three small windows looking out onto the circular driveway and garage. A narrow, neatly made bed was tucked against the wall and a wooden replica of Jesus on the Cross hung over the headboard. A small dresser and a soft cushioned chair near an end table topped by a glass lamp completed the furnishings. There were two books on the table, a copy of Ignatius Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version and Light of the Word, Reflections on the Sunday Readings. The priest wasn’t there. They found some notes about flights lying on top of the books and relaxed. The church was empty. They had found their sanctuary.

  Searching the bathroom, they found a small first aid kit and bandaged Custer’s arm where Earl’s bullet had grazed him. To reinforce their security, they hung blankets over the windows, made sure all doors and windows were locked or completely covered and set traps in case someone arrived unexpectedly, piling tin cans against doors and prayer candles in front of the windows.

  Make-shift alarms set, they raided the kitchen. Greedily they ate and drank whatever they found. They knew that the police would be around within hours so they devised two plans to throw them off their trail. Slim went to the basement where he found some old windows and glue. He cut one of the panes with a glass cutter and repaired the small window pane they had broken to get into the church. Careful not to wipe or clean the glass he extracted the original pieces of glass from the frame and inserted the one he found in the basement. It didn’t fit exactly right, but was dirty enough to pass a cursory inspection. Outside, Custer picked up any paint flecks or glass shards that might have fallen and raked the snow to cover their footprints. They admired their handiwork with flashlights, thinking not a cop in the world could discover these repairs.

  Meanwhile, Jake went rummaging around in some clothing bins he found in the back of the church. They all changed into clothes found in the old bins and bags. Jake stuffed their wet dirty clothing into a shopping bag and put on the priest’s shoes and coat and walked from the kitchen to the garage, opened the door and went exploring. The church owned two vehicles. One was a faded 2005 silver Pontiac Bonneville with some small dents along its right side. The other was a green 2009 Chevy Astro Cargo van. Jake looked carefully at the van from the outside, but didn’t get into it. He then changed into a different set of clothing and left the garage. Pulling the rake behind him, he walked through the woods dragging his old clothes along the ground and bushes. He walked around the nearby farms, homes and barns for 50 minutes ending up on the parking lot of an elementary school. He then changed shoes and clothes for the third time and walked back to the church. He grinned with satisfaction at his success outsmarting those dumb cops. He ‘hi 5’d’ his buds, guffawing, supercharged with his own cleverness.

  They were sitting on the floor in the priest’s room, just after 2AM when Jake said he had something to show them. Grinning he pulled a folded square of yellowed paper from his pocket and carefully opened it. In his best TV announcer voice he read aloud: ‘The Family Court of Putnam County West Virginia hereby declares Reggie Lee Raines, age 14, to be an emancipated adult.’ It was dated 18 years ago, witnessed and signed by Edna Goodwin and Rhoda Eades. It listed their names a
nd addresses.

  “She gave it up,” he crowed loudly, slapping Slim on the back in glee. “Old Aunt Hattie, that lying old bitch, knew all along what happened to Reggie Lee. Sneaky old broad! She finally gave it up. Can you believe that? All these years? I could have had her years ago and not wasted all this time looking for her. G-d Damn it! All those times I asked her about Reggie and she had nothing but that stupid story about the hair dresser lady. Well I showed her who was boss. Damn right I did. I showed her what happens if you lie to old Jake.”