Dead to Rights

by Jack Patterson

  “Was Drake trying to be romantic?”

  Boone shook his head. “Not from the looks of it. In fact, it seemed like the opposite. He looked angry, but he definitely had something he wanted to say to her that he didn’t want anyone else hearing.”

  “So you just left?”

  “It wasn’t quite that easy. I had to grab Hayward from behind by his neck at first and then almost bear hug him to get him to leave. He insisted on staying, but I knew that wasn’t the smartest move.”

  “And he eventually went with you?” Kelly asked.

  “Yeah,” Boone said. “I led Hayward to my truck, and we returned to The Pirate’s Den, where we continued to drink.”

  “Did other people see you?” Cal asked.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s not like we were hiding in the shadows. Plus, it’s difficult to hide when you’ve got Jordan Hayward with you.”

  “So, what’d you do after that?”

  “After that, we went home to try and sleep off our night of drinking,” Boone said. “When we woke up the next morning, it was like a nightmare. One of our own had done the unthinkable—at least, that’s what we thought at the time.”

  “So you’re not buying that Drake did it?” Kelly asked.

  Boone shook his head. “He loved that girl too much.”

  “Who do you think could’ve done it? Sheriff Sloan?”

  Boone shrugged. “The Sheriff has been nothin’ but good to me since I tried to turn my life around. I don’t do drugs anymore and livin’ straight and narrow now. I wanted to blame Susannah for all my problems, but she was just doin’ her job. I think I could’ve turned my life around and gotten to a better place with them, but I can’t be sure. What I do know is that they all ended up in a good home and are well taken care of. That’s all I can ask. It was my fault for doin’ such stupid things to begin with. I had to stop blamin’ her because I could only blame myself.”

  “And Sloan helped you through that?” Cal asked.

  “Not at first. For the first few weeks after Susannah died, I was glad. I thought it served her right, but then I started to feel bad for some things I said about her to my buddies. I knew it wasn’t right the moment it came out of my mouth. That’s when I asked Sheriff Sloan if we could talk.”

  “And he was open to that?”

  “He welcomed it and then hired me to work out at his camp, which is why all those nasty rumors got started about me runnin’ moonshine for him. They’re just ridiculous.”

  “Hold up,” Kelly said. “Sheriff Sloan has a camp? What kind of camp?”

  “Camp Manmaker. It’s kind of a challenge camp to help older boys who’ve been struggling in the juvey system. They do tasks together and kind of grow up in the course of a week.”

  Cal scribbled down some notes. “How long has this camp been going on? And when is it held?”

  “It’s been goin’ on for as long as I can remember,” Boone said. “Every summer, he holds several week-long camps. It stays pretty much dormant the rest of the year. We used to hear all kinds of rumors about what really went on there when we were kids, but it’s all just a bunch of myths.”

  “Like the Marsh Monster?” Cal said with a grin.

  Boone’s face turned serious. “Don’t joke about the Marsh Monster. I swear he’s real.”

  “You ever seen him?”

  Boone nodded. “Once, when I was on my way back from doin’ some work for Sheriff Sloan out at his camp, I saw the Marsh Monster dart across the road in front of my car.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “It was gettin’ dark and I had a hard time makin’ out all the details, but he’s real. I saw ‘em with my own two eyes.”

  “Okay, okay,” Cal said, glancing at his notes. “Let’s get back to this Camp Manmaker. So, everything seems on the up and up out there?”

  “Sheriff Sloan helped me refocus my life at a time when I needed it most. And for that, I’m eternally grateful. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve probably been dead long ago.”

  “So if you were building a list of suspects that didn’t include Isaiah Drake, who else would you think could have killed Susannah Sloan?”

  “What about the dude she was gonna marry? You know, that lawyer schmuck from Jacksonville?” Boone offered.

  “He had an airtight alibi,” Kelly said. “He was at a fundraiser that night and was there long after midnight. No way he could’ve done it.”

  Boone slapped the table with open palms. “Well, you’ve got me then. I’ve got no idea who could’ve done it. Sheriff Sloan is the only one who could cover up a crime in this town—and I just can’t believe he did it.”

  Cal offered his hand to Boone, who shook it.

  “Thanks for all your help and your openness,” Cal said.

  “My pleasure. I hope you catch the bastard who did this to Susannah. For a while, I thought she did me wrong, but I know better now. She didn’t deserve to end up like this.”

  “Ma’am,” Boone said as he tipped his cap to Kelly.

  Cal waited until Boone exited the diner before saying a word.

  “Well?” Call said.

  “Well, what?” Kelly asked.

  “Well, what do you think? Did we finally get someone in this town to tell us the truth about what happened that night?”

  “Even if we did, how can we verify it? Of the other four people who were there, two are now dead, one is the sheriff, and the other man claims to not remember a thing.”

  “Maybe we can jog his memory.”

  Cal’s phone buzzed. He held up the screen so Kelly could see it.

  “Look, it’s Jarrett Anderson,” Cal said before answering the call. “Agent Anderson, what in the world are you doing calling me on a Sunday evening?”

  “Are you still in Pickett?” Anderson asked.

  “How’d you—?”

  “I read your story today,” Anderson said. “I still keep up with you from time to time.”

  “Well, I’m honored that you care that much.”

  “You write sports here in Seattle. You don’t think I’m going to read the political section, do you?”

  “Good point.”

  “Anyway, I was calling to let you know that I heard there’s a big raid going down around Pickett tonight.”

  “What kind of raid? Does it have to do with my story?”

  “I’m not sure. One of my friends from way back in Quantico told me that they’re onto some crime ring.”

  “It wouldn’t happen to involve a guy going by the name of the Enforcer, would it?” Cal asked.

  “Actually, I think that’s the name he mentioned—just thought you’d want a heads up, okay?”

  “Got any idea where this is going down?”

  “I didn’t get any details like that, but I know it’s somewhere near where you’re at.”

  “Thanks, Agent Anderson. I appreciate it.”

  Cal hung up and looked at Kelly. “We’re sitting on a powder keg here, and it’s about to blow.”

  “That bad, huh?” she asked.

  Cal nodded slowly.

  “So, am I just gonna sit here and watch you finish your fries or are we going to go watch the fireworks?”

  “Grab your coat. We’re going to Camp Manmaker.”

  Cal stood up and turned around, only to be met by Crazy Corey Taylor.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Taylor said, shaking his index finger in Cal’s face.

  Cal drew back. “Excuse me, but I need to get going.”

  “Not if you think going to Camp Manmaker is a good idea.”

  Cal turned sideways to shimmy past Taylor.

  “I don’t really have time for this,” Cal said as he grabbed Kelly’s hand and headed for the door.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Taylor called out after them.

  It was the last thing Cal heard before the glass door to Curly’s Diner banged shut and silenced Taylor’s words on the sidewalk outside.

  Cal looked over his
shoulder and back into the restaurant.

  “Don’t go there,” Taylor mouthed as he waved his hands. “Don’t do it.”

  “Think we should listen to him?” Kelly asked. “He seems kind of adamant about us not going.”

  “We’ve got to get back to Seattle before Buckman cancels the company credit card on us for running up the expense account. Plus, I’ve got to write this monstrous story sooner rather than later. All this research isn’t going to amount to much if this story takes off.”

  “I hope you’re right, Cal,” she said. “But I’ve got a feeling we should trust Crazy Corey Taylor for once.”

  CHAPTER 37

  CAL LOOKED UP CAMP MANMAKER on his phone and found a map to the location. In a matter of minutes, he and Kelly had exited the city limits of Pickett and were hurtling down a two-lane blacktop that skirted the Okefenokee. The sun had started to dip on the horizon, and Cal estimated they had a half hour of daylight remaining.

  Five minutes later, they reached the turnoff point for the camp, the sign nearly covered up by a cluster of kudzu. Cal wheeled his car onto the dirt driveway as per the directions on his phone and continued along. Spanish moss hung from the bald-cypress nestled into the swampy areas on both sides of the road. Black gum trees dominated the drier landscape, and the frogs provided an unrelenting chorus. Cal rolled his window down to take in the swamp air, which smelled musky and pungent.

  “Put that window up,” Kelly said, playfully gagging.

  “What? You don’t like the fresh smell of a pole cat?” Cal asked.

  “I told you we should’ve listened to Crazy Corey Taylor.”

  Cal smiled as the car bumped along the road. He was enjoying the comedic moment in what had been an otherwise serious and grueling week of interviews and research in a town that held his intentions suspect. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find at Camp Manmaker, but he wanted to see it for himself and get Kelly to snap a few photos in the evening light for the story. If anything, an aside about the camp promised to provide interesting insight into the man behind the badge.

  Cal finally reached a row of cabins and what looked like a main meeting hall. He parked the car and got out. Kelly lagged a minute behind as she gathered her camera gear.

  “I didn’t picture a place like this,” Cal said. “Did you?”

  Kelly lugged her bag toward Cal and shook her head.

  “I figured it would’ve been somewhat run down, but this place is kind of nice.”

  “Maybe that’s how this camp works. They work hard and part of what they do is keep it up.”

  Cal walked around the grounds, inspecting the buildings a little closer. He cupped his hands around his face and peered into the windows.

  “I can’t really see much inside,” Cal said.

  “Did you try the door to see if it’s open?” Kelly asked while she snapped several pictures.

  Cal jogged over to the door to one of the cabins and jiggled the handle. It was locked.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  Cal joined Kelly as she started to walk deeper into the grounds and then Cal froze.

  “Look over there,” Cal said in a strained whisper. “Sloan’s truck. If he catches us, he’s liable to throw us in a cell right next to Drake.”

  Kelly shot him a look. “I told you we should’ve listened to Crazy Corey Taylor.”

  “Fine. You’re right. We shouldn’t have come.”

  Daylight had given way to dusk, making it easier to see a light in one of the cabins about three hundred meters away through the trees.

  “What do you think is over there?” Kelly asked.

  “Seriously? A cabin in the middle of nowhere near a backwoods town? And you want to go there?” Cal asked.

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “Of course I am, but I’m not interested in getting into trouble here tonight,” Cal said, “especially after we’ve been able to avoid it for about a week.”

  Fireflies started to flicker as they ascended toward the top of the slash pines scattered around the grounds. The chorus of the frogs bellowing seemed to grow louder.

  “Since when did you lose your nerve to go the extra mile on a story like this?” Kelly asked.

  Cal sighed. “Did I ever tell you that you’re a bad influence on me?”

  He spun toward the cabin with Kelly walking by his side. Her wide grin took the place of any words she could’ve offered up at the time. And Cal reveled in it, reminding himself how lucky he was to have a woman as committed to good journalism as he was—maybe even more so. She was also just as curious as he was, story or not.

  Cal and Kelly stayed low to the ground as they approached the sole lit cabin. As they got closer, Cal realized it wasn’t like the other cabins. It was set farther back and appeared to be built more recently. Instead of a tin roof, it had a shingled one. And the façade wasn’t wood but brick.

  Once they reached the structure, Cal put his finger to his lips and then motioned for Kelly to follow him to the back. With a set of steps on both sides of the building that led up to the door, the windows sat high off the ground but not so high that Cal and Kelly couldn’t see inside.

  When Cal got close enough and peered into the window, his eyes widened. He then slunk down against the side of the building.

  “What is it?” Kelly whispered.

  “See for yourself.”

  Cal watched as she followed his instructions only to join him seconds later.

  “What’s going on in there?” she asked.

  “Sshh,” Cal said, putting his finger to his lips.

  “It looks like they’re about to go to war in there.”

  “And distribute several kilos of drugs to everyone in Pickett County.”

  Cal stood up again to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. But nothing had changed. All types of guns were spread out over one table. In the center of the room were duffle bags with stacks of cash. And against the far wall was a table piled high with drugs sealed in tight clear packets. The contents were almost so astonishing that Cal hardly took time to note all of the people inside. He only remembered seeing Sheriff Sloan along with about a half dozen others.

  Cal decided to stand up once more to see if he recognized anyone else.

  This time, the room was empty.

  Cal heard a click behind him and froze.

  “I told you and told you and told you to leave town,” boomed Sloan. “But did you listen to me? Nooo. You had to try to be some hero in your own stupid story. But now you’re just going to end up dead. And all because you didn’t listen to me.”

  Cal raised his hands and turned around slowly.

  “Look, why don’t you just let us leave now, and we’ll forget we ever saw anything?” Cal said.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Sloan said. “First, I’ll take your camera and destroy it. Then I’ll drop you off in Alligator Alley with your hands and feet tied together. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds like murder,” Kelly grumbled.

  Sloan chuckled. “Sounds like a better idea than yours. Now stand up and start walkin’.”

  Cal kept his hands in the air as he stumbled along the path toward Sloan’s truck. While Cal’s predicament looked bleak, the only thing he could do to buy them more time was to talk with Sloan. Plus, if Cal was going to die, he at least wanted to know why Sloan killed his daughter—or why he helped cover it up.

  “I can appreciate you wanting to murder us, I—”

  Sloan clucked his tongue. “Let’s not use the M word around here, okay? Nobody is going to get murdered around here, you understand? You might get eaten by somethin’, but not murdered.”

  “One of your Marsh Monsters going to get us?” Kelly asked.

  Sloan broke into a guffaw.

  “You Yankees always eat that story up,” he said.

  “Based on my interviews, sounds like the rest of your town has too,” Cal snapped.

  “Oh, they all know it’s good for business, go
od for the tourism dollars down this way. Just about every enterprisin’ resident of Pickett County has created some kind of Marsh Monster memorabilia, and they peddle it whenever there’s a sightin’.” He paused. “And there just might be a sightin’ tonight.”

  Cal stumbled forward in the dark, the tip of Sloan’s gun pressed against Cal’s back as a constant reminder that the end was undoubtedly near. He thought about Kelly, who held his hand tightly, and little Maddie, who would grow up without a father. All the emotions accompanying such thoughts rose up within him—along with the desire to not give up. He had to try something, anything to stall or maneuver himself into a position to make a getaway or at least help Kelly do so.

  But in the moment, all he could think to do was keep asking questions.

  “So why’d you do it?” Cal asked.

  “Do what?” Sloan said.

  “Kill your own daughter?”

  Sloan exhaled. “That’s where you’re all wrong there, Mr. Murphy. I never killed my daughter. And I think we both know who’s responsible for that—the crazy lunatic that attacked me at my house yesterday. I hope they put him on a fast track to execution after he gets convicted a second time.”

  Cal kept walking, squeezing Kelly’s hand. “I know you went to see her that night. We spoke with a witness who saw you there.”

  “I didn’t kill her,” Sloan growled.

  “So, what did you have to hide?” Kelly asked, apparently emboldened by Cal’s line of questioning.

  “That was a long time ago, but you’re right, I did go see her about a private matter for a few minutes and then I left.”

  “Where’d you go after that?”

  “You reporters are always stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong. But what does it matter? You’re about to become a casualty of the dangerous wildlife livin’ in the Okefenokee in a few hours anyway. I guess it can’t hurt to satisfy that curiosity itch of yours. Maybe you can think about it as you lie on the ground, bleeding out from a vicious gator attack.”

  Cal shook his head. “You gonna tell me or just drone on about how torturous you’re going to make our deaths?”

  “I was havin’ an affair with Mrs. Elaine Butterfield, the wife of Pickett’s mayor at the time. And I didn’t want him to find out.”