by H R Jones
The man said, pointing his arthritic crooked finger, “If you just wanna walk down beyond the bend in the shore there, it’s where I first caught a whiff. As I went further it got worse, so I turned back.”
Ryan thanked the gentleman and proceeded along the beach.
He’d no sooner rounded the bend of the shoreline when he stumbled, reeling, and gagging from the putrid smell. He knew, from experience, it was no dead fish.
Feeling sick, Ryan ran, as fast and as he could in the deep sand, back to his cruiser, and radioed Sheriff Pines. He filled him in on what he’d heard, but more specifically what he’d smelled. He asked Pines to call the coroner to tell him he’d need to have some men with him, as well as a sled and lights.
“Let him know I’ll be waiting for them at the White Shutters Bar to guide them to where they need to begin their search.
As soon as the crew from the medical examiner’s office arrived with all their equipment, Ryan led them down the beach to where they’d need to look for what he was sure were the remains of Leaha. As soon as he pointed them in the right direction, and they’d put on their Hazmat covering, he left them to their ghoulish task. There never was a good time for their specialized work, but in these conditions it must be truly awful. He didn’t envy the task that lay before them.
Then, he began to think, maybe I better check out Ricky’s shack to see if there’s any incriminating evidence there.
Even with the cool tropical breezes blowing, he could still smell the awful stench. It was as if it had woven itself into his hair, his nostrils, and clothes. The smell seemed like it was permanently etched into his brain. He couldn’t wait to get home and take a shower, but it would have to wait…he knew he couldn’t leave till all the loose ends were neatly tied up, like the shack.
Ryan entered the shack. Feeling his way, he finally found a lamp. Upon a quick cursory inspection, he didn’t see or notice anything amiss. He rifled through a few drawers, and under a few cushions, nothing obviously out of place, or suspicious. He made his way to the bedroom, turning on lights as he went. Again, nothing startling, at first glance. It looked pretty much like any bachelor pad bedroom…a mess. There was a chest of drawers, a small night stand, next to the bed, and what looked to be a desk in the corner, and a good sized closet at the end of the room.
He chose to start with the closet. There were just a few odd pieces of clothing, this Ricky Sands character had left behind. He swept his hand across the shelf above the clothes bar in case there was something there of value, but beside sand and dust the only other thing, which fell to the floor, was a crumpled up paper bag. As he bent over to pick it up, so he could be sure it was empty, he noticed there was something stuffed in the corner of the closet. It looked like an old dusting rag. He checked to make sure. Upon closer inspection, though, he discerned it must be a piece of material from a sheet, or dish towel. When he looked at it under the light, however, he noticed what appeared to be a smear of blood. The fabric was stiff. He went looking for a plastic or paper bag to put the cloth in, so as not to contaminate it further if it indeed proved to be blood. Leaha’s blood?
He took a few more minutes and rummaged through all the drawers in the tiny shack. In one of the drawers, in a small desk in the bedroom, he found bills. Ryan glanced through them, but there was nothing interesting about them, except all were marked paid. Then, he noticed that a couple of the bills had apparently fallen to the floor. Luckily, he happened to see them just as he was about to leave. There was something different about those two particular bills. Ryan held the paid bills for a surfboard in one hand, and the one for an oil change in the other.
He jumped up. There were two different names and two different addresses on the bills. Ryan was sure it had some significance. He wanted to get it to Pines and the lieutenant as soon as possible. After one last quick look around, he left the shack and went to his squad to call Pines.
“Sheriff, I think I’ve got something here maybe you or the lieutenant might be able to help me with. First though, I found a piece of fabric, like from a sheet or towel, which appeared to have blood on it. I’m guessing, but if it is Leaha they find on that cay, this might be her blood. I bagged it as evidence. Anyway, when I was at her house, there looked to be signs of some sort of a struggle out on the lanai. Oh, I almost forgot the most important question…do you or the lieutenant know anyone by the name of Rory Star?”
“I sure do, son, that’s our fugitive’s real name. How’d you come by it, and where?”
“I found it in a little desk he had in his bedroom. It was all mixed up in with a bunch of other bills, but they all had Ricky Sands on ‘em but this one.”
“Well hang on to it as if it were gold, boy. This is the definitive proof we’ve got the right man.”
Forty-five
Patrol cars, marked and unmarked, were searching up and down Highway 1 North, watching for a large, black, older model Buick. They were being very thorough, checking waysides, motel parking lots, road houses, places which seemed abandoned, dead ends and back roads, all along the way.
Just before Pines and Grutner went back out again on evening patrol, the sheriff had received a call from the coroner’s office. Indeed, it was no fish fouling the lovely night air on the little piece of land, Pig Cay, nor had it been any other animal, domestic or tame, but the remains of the once beautiful Leaha.
~ * ~
Night was closing in, fast, and there was still no sign of their quarry. The sheriff made the determination to stay out all night if they had to because this ‘animal’ had to be stopped before he killed another innocent young woman. After what he’d heard about Rory Star from Lieutenant Grutner, there were too many they knew of already, and there could possibly be more they knew nothing about. This kind of animal was worse than any wild beast of the swamps who kills for food. This kind of ‘animal’ killed out of lust and depravity. He was worse.
~ * ~
Ricky Sands/Rory Star was on the move. He had the cover of darkness, the sinister fingers of the clouds having drifted across the face of the moon. He was pleased to find very little traffic on Highway 1 going north. He threw back the last ounce of beer in his glass, slapped a twenty on the bar and, feeling no pain, walked out into the dark, starless night.
He checked up and down the highway. As he’d noticed from the bar, there was very little traffic. Slowly he nosed out onto the highway toward the Everglades. Once there, he would turn on one of the back roads to hide till dawn if he had to. Then he’d slip back on the road and into the greater Miami Metro area. No one would find him there. He’d have ditched his car by the time anyone was looking for it, and have hired a boat to take him up the coast to Savannah.
At this time of the night, most folks were either enjoying the gulf breezes, checking out the local eateries and drinking establishments, or settled in for the night. The majority of the vehicles passing by seemed to be headed south, and there was no sign of the ‘County Mounties’ or the local constabulary.
What Rory Star didn’t know was that the highway was punctuated with law enforcement every few miles, lurking in the shadows, like the Florida Panther, watching and waiting for their prey—the big, black Buick.
~ * ~
Sheriff Pines and Lieutenant Grutner were lying in wait north of Key Largo. The sheriff had enlisted the help of his fellow officers there in case Star gave them the slip. It was going on half past ten when one of Pines’ deputies radioed he was sure he’d just spotted the black Buick lumbering along about five miles south, he guessed, of their location.
Pines immediately got on the radio and issued a BOLO for Rory Star and the big, black Buick heading north toward Key Largo.
It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later that Grutner hollered, “There it is! See it? It has to be him.”
“Hang on to your hat, Grutner.”
With that, Sheriff Pines radioed an APB and pealed out of their cover, fishtailing down the highway, closing in behind Rory Star.
The sheriff pushed the accelerator to the floor, turned on the siren and before they knew it they were ‘kissing’ Rory’s back bumper.
Rory, seeing the flashing lights in his rearview mirror and hearing the keening of sirens, knew the cops had him in their sights and were coming down hard and fast on him. Before he could push the pedal to the floor, he felt a bump on his rear fender. Finally, the old Buick sluggishly responded to the desperate push of Rory’s foot on the accelerator. Suddenly, with a surge he was propelled forward, slowly pulling away from the patrol car hot on his tail.
Before he knew it, there seemed to be flashing lights coming at him from every direction. There was nowhere to run. Then, ahead of him, Rory saw his chance. A side road was coming up on his left. Without braking, he cranked the wheel to the left as hard as he could, cutting in front of oncoming traffic. He hit the gravel shoulder with a jolt, and bounced along the rut-riddled side road at full speed. The road was so corrugated with dips and bumps, Rory had all he could do to control the car. He had no idea where this ‘cow path’ would take him, but there were no cars, he could see, behind him. He was going terribly fast. He began to lose control of the steering wheel. He tried desperately to avoid the trees of the swamp that seemed to be closing in on him all around in every direction.
Suddenly, he saw the flashing of red lights in his rearview mirror, the screaming sirens getting louder, almost deafening. He couldn’t go any faster and if this road didn’t take him out of the swamp, he was cornered. He looked in all directions for another way out.
Without warning, the Buick leapt in the air. The big, old, lumbering car seemed to hang, as if suspended, in dead silence, briefly, before landing with a splash into the swamps of the Everglades.
Rory’s head hit every inside surface of that old car as he was tossed around like so much trash.
The Buick floated briefly as its occupant slumped over in a heap on the front seat.
The crash caused his head to hit not only the steering wheel, but the dashboard as well, making him groggy and disoriented as he started to come to.
Water was slowly beginning to seep in through a partially opened window.
As he began to come around, Rory tried frantically to escape. He couldn’t get his windows to go all the way down, as they were electric, he couldn’t see, nor was he able to distinguish up from down. Rory was rapidly beginning to run out of air. The more he flailed, kicked, and clawed, the more panic engulfed him. The weight of the car, the quicksand and the gasses from the swamp were pulling the heavy old car down faster than he could work against the pressure of the water.
Rory Star took a deep breath, lay on his back on the front seat and tried to break the glass out with his feet to escape. It gave a little, then it felt as if he’d finally pushed the glass out. It was gone. But, the water was gushing in so fast, Rory, completely disoriented, couldn’t find his way out.
Finally, struggling with all that was in him, using up valuable air, he thought he’d escaped the car, but not being able to see, he couldn’t tell what was up and what was down.
He was nearly out of air. Tree roots felt as if they were grabbing at him and his clothing, pulling him further and further down.
The more he struggled, the deeper he was pulled into the morass.
~ * ~
By the time Sheriff Pines and Lieutenant Grutner reached the spot where Star’s car had left the road and catapulted into the swamp, there was nothing but swamp gases bubbling up, and the last creaks and moans of the dying car, filled with slime and muck, as it slid deeper into its watery grave.
There was no sign of Rory Star. Recovery would have to wait. It was too dark, and by the time they could have a tow truck, spotlights, and divers on the scene it would be nearly dawn. They’d have to wait.
Forty-six
It was a grizzly early morning tableau, bathed in a yellow, sulfuric fog, mingled with all the fetid odors of the quagmire at the outer edges of the Everglades. The sounds breaking the heavy silence were the splash as another alligator slithered into the morass, and the distant, haunting growl of a Florida black panther.
The sheriff and lieutenant stood watch as the first divers of the morning dove into the abyss in search of the body of the late Rory Star. The sheriff’s men stood around the area, guns at the ready to shoot at any sign of alligators, water moccasins, rattlers, Florida panthers, boas, or any other deadly inhabitant of the Everglades. The mosquitoes were bad enough and nearly the size of carrier pigeons. Everyone smelled like mosquito repellant.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, the day quickly turned from bad to worse, bearing a striking resemblance to a seedy steam bath.
Suddenly, an arm burst through the scummy surface of the water, then a head. The diver took the breathing apparatus out and yelled, “We got him, throw me a rope.”
One of the divers on standby, waiting to assist, quickly grabbed the rope with the grappling hook on the end, and with dead-on accuracy, he launched it to within inches of the other dive team member.
As soon as the diver in the water secured the hook to their victim, he tugged on the rope twice to let his assistant know to fire up the winch. Careful to hold the rope taut, so he could keep it from getting tangled, he watched the winch on the tow truck power up and slowly pull him and Rory Star ashore.
Rory Star was not a handsome ‘catch’ when he was finally pulled up, lying on the ground. His eyes were open and clouded. His face was grotesquely contorted from the struggles against the pull of the swamp water, roots of trees, and death, as he’d fought to save himself from the quagmire, and, the long arm of the law.
Once he’d deposited Rory on land, the diver returned once more to the murky slime to attach the grappling hook from the tow truck to the big, old Buick so it too could be pulled up from the murky blackness of the fen.
Lieutenant Grutner looked down on the man who’d been his nemesis over so many years, the scum who’d taken the lives of innocent young women. He felt an unwelcomed tear roll down his cheek as he remembered those women who’d died at this monster’s hand: Caroline, Libbie, Ronni, Margo, and many other unidentified victims they’d found on Star Farm… lastly, this young lady here in Florida, Leaha. In his heart, he knew, he just knew, there were others, unknown and un-named. He was also aware he might never get an answer to the all the questions that continued to haunt him day and night. His hope was that the car could possibly provide answers to some of their questions.
Sheriff Pines walked over to John, and placing his hand on the lawman’s shoulder, and said, “You’ve finally got your man. I can only imagine your relief to finally have an end to the nightmares this person created, and, the frustration of maybe never being able to get all your questions answered.”
“Thanks Stu, I appreciate your friendship,” he said with a hand on Stu’s shoulder, and went on, “And, I am especially grateful for all your support, and the help of all your deputies as well, in helping to collar this piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve a decent burial, not the way he desecrated all those poor women. It was the worst thing I’d ever seen. After hearing the coroner’s report, even more so. And that was just the one, so far. It’s a terribly, un-Christian thing to say, Stu, but I’m glad the bastard is dead and I hope he rots in hell.”
Forty-seven
After filling Gretchen and Norm in about the chase and Rory Star’s ultimate demise, Lieutenant Grutner handed each of them two crisp fifty dollar bills.
“Here, you two, I want you to go out this evening and have a nice dinner on me. Live it up. I could never thank you enough for taking the initiative, and time out of your vacation, to call with your ‘gut’ feelings. We finally have Rory Star. It only happened thanks to you. I only wish he were alive so I could get the answers I’ve needed for a very long time. And, I would have liked to ask the questions that still remain unanswered, like, how many other bodies were
dumped at Star Farm. Who are they? I will be back in Buckton in a few days, as soon as I can get everything wrapped up here. You two are free to head back any time.”
“You don’t have to do this, John,” Gretchen said as she tried to hand the bills back to him. “I was just as anxious to see that piece of…meet his maker as you all were. Every time I’d hear another young woman had gone missing, or was being abused, my immediate thought: was it Rory Star? Will we ever know how many there were, Lieutenant?”
“Well, too many is the short answer. I think, and I could be wrong, there may be as many as five. Of course, we won’t know till we recover all the remains. The coroner will be busy out there for some time trying to match up what little he can learn from the remains, to the known missing. Thankfully, DNA has come a long way, and it’s still in the shoot and miss stages in some cases, but I’m hoping it has advanced enough we can match it to the living relatives who are missing family members. Unfortunately, for those young women who disappeared a number of years ago, there may not be any next of kin left in the area, or even still living who’ll remember them. Then there are those who may be from other areas of the state, or from out of state we don’t know about. Hopefully, we’ll get lucky and find the names of some of them. I’ll be putting all of Wisconsin law enforcement agencies on the alert checking their files for unsolved missing women cases. And, with this case down here, I’ll have to have Sheriff Pines put out fliers to other Florida jurisdictions to see if they have any missing young women. Regardless, we will make sure those found will receive a proper burial, with flowers, and their names on a headstone. Those who cannot be identified will receive a proper burial in the cemetery with a modest headstone and a number, so we can pull up information we do have that could help in their identification if and when someone comes forward. Hopefully, there will be families and friends left to mourn them all.
