by Rick Reed
He heard the bolt sliding, hinges squeaked and he felt something hit the ground near his feet. Before he could get up the small door latched shut again.
“Damn it, this isn’t funny. Let me out of here. I know you can hear me!”
He knelt down and started feeling around for whatever had been dropped in with him and heard a hissing noise. It was close. His reflex was to bang on the door again, but caution told him he should remain still. Had they thrown a snake in with him? There were a lot of snakes around mine property.
The hissing was too continuous to be a snake and his eyes stung. The itch in his nose and throat worsened until he was struggling to breathe. His mind said the hissing was some kind of gas. He dropped down flat, pressed his cheek to the floor and took slow breaths through his makeshift underwear gas mask. Gas was lighter than air. He should be able to breathe nearer the floor, but it was worse.
He clenched his burning eyes shut, folded the underwear and held it across his nose and mouth. It did little to filter out the burning taste of the gas. He coughed and gagged and mucous ran freely from his nose and mouth.
A voice came from the other side of the door. “Did you think I forgot you?”
The last conscious thought he had was that he knew that voice. He slapped an arm against the wood but his strength ebbed. He slid onto his side, losing the underwear and hitching in panicked gulps of the gas. His body spasmed, his heels and hands drummed the floor. One leg kicked out, his throat hitched, and then he lay still.
Chapter 2
One week later
The early morning meeting was requested by FBI Assistant Deputy Director Silas Toomey. In attendance in the Chief’s conference room were Jack Murphy, Liddell Blanchard, Chief Marlin Pope, Captain Franklin and Director Toomey.
Toomey was a doppelganger for a younger Donald Trump. As an Assistant Deputy Director with the FBI he dressed the part in two or three thousand dollar suits and smart footwear. Today he was wearing a light brown suit and vest with white and brown Oxford Brogues. He began with, “I would say I’m sorry to start your day off with this, but your country needs you, gentlemen. Need I remind you, you’re not just Evansville police detectives, you are sworn agents of the federal government.”
Detective Jack Murphy, third generation Irish American cop, sat in a chair across from Toomey, while his partner, Liddell Blanchard, aka Bigfoot, was squeezed into a chair near the desk.
Jack stood a little over six feet tall. He was sturdily built, with short dark hair that was spiked in the front and gray eyes that could turn stormy if he was provoked. He liked redheads, scotch, Guinness, the beach, and long walks—minus the beach and the long walks. In that order.
His partner, Liddell Blanchard, aka Bigfoot, stood over six and a half feet tall and weighed in at a full grown Yeti. Liddell was a Louisiana transplant from the Iberville Parish Sheriff Department, part French, part Creole, and all muscle.
Jack and Liddell worked as partners in the Violent Crimes Unit of the Evansville Police Department and had both been transferred into the Homicide Squad. It was composed of them and any other detective or specialist they needed at the moment. Also, as Toomey had reminded them, they were sworn Federal Agents assigned to a Task Force—USOC—Unsolved Serial and Organized Crime. This was Toomey’s brainchild and his reach covered the Midwest and beyond.
Toomey launched into his packaged TED talk.
“You two have proven yourself capable, resourceful, dedicated, relentless in the pursuit of the truth and…”
“Justice and the American way,” Liddell said. “Like Supermen.”
Toomey ignored him.
Toomey had a strong connection with FBI profilers, the Behavior Analysis Unit at Quantico and had been made aware of Jack and Liddell’s talent for catching serial killers. He recruited them to work in the Midwest Region of Unsolved, Serial and Organized Crime, or as Jack’s coworkers liked to call it, “U-SUCK”. Twelve states made up the Midwest region with offices in each of the state capitals. Each office reported to Director Toomey and Toomey reported to God.
Each regional office was comprised of FBI Agents, DHS, Homeland Security, ICE, DEA, ATF, and local detectives from across the Midwest who had proven records of solving high profile and difficult cases. Jack fit right in with a proven record of being difficult while solving high profile cases. He felt that distinguished him from the rest.
There were also contract workers and consultants in the mix when a particular talent was needed. There was a staff of lawyers assigned to tell the agents when they could shoot back. A group of lawyers is known as a ‘crew.’ Like on pirate ships. Individually they are called cutthroats, and privateers. Only a few qualified as swashbucklers, and these were mostly prosecutors or judges.
Captain Franklin stood by the door, dressed in his usual tailor-made suit, black pinstripe, white shirt, red tie, and polished lace up shoes. Franklin had worked his way up the ladder, rising to the very lofty and well deserved rank of captain. As captain he was the commander of the Investigations Unit, which made him believe he was Jack’s boss.
Chief of Police Marlin Pope wore a ‘dressed down’ police uniform with few ribbons or distinctions other than his five-star collar dogs. He had worked every job, unit, and shift on the Evansville Police Department until he was appointed Chief of Police five mayors ago. Pope was the first black officer to make the rank of Lieutenant, Captain, Major, Deputy Chief and Chief. He had the respect and loyalty of every man, woman and civilian within the police department with the exception of Deputy Chief Richard Dick, otherwise known as ‘Double Dick’. He had been given the nickname because of his harsh punishments for perceived wrongdoings and his penchant for dicking someone he didn’t like repeatedly. Hence the name, ‘Double Dick’.
Dick was blond haired, blue eyed, tall and lean, and every bit the Aryan poster child. He hated the very air Jack Murphy breathed and hated even more that he was now indebted to Jack.
Recently, the new mayor, Benet Cato, was of a mind to clean house and intended to replace Chief Pope with Deputy Chief Richard Dick. Dick was always his own worst enemy and had screwed that up by becoming the prime suspect in an old murder case among other faux pas. Jack had saved him from total ruination. Benet Cato, as mayor of Evansville, had seen the value of maintaining Pope in office, and she knew if she replaced Pope with Dick there would be mass retirements, not to mention pissing off more than half of her constituents.
Toomey said, “As sworn federal agents you work when I need you, where I need you, and as long as I need you. And I need you.”
Captain Franklin said, “Director Toomey, they can’t wait to get to work.”
Toomey raised an eyebrow.
Jack said, “That’s what the captain told us to say. I need to mention that he asked if we were claustrophobic. I have to tell you that I don’t do dark tight places unless it involves sex and Scotch.”
Captain Franklin rubbed his eyes and groaned.
Toomey said, “Noted. Now let me brief you.” Before he could say more there was a knock at the Chief’s door and Double Dick entered.
“Sorry I’m late,” Dick said. “My assistant must not have given me the memo. It’s hard to get adequate help anymore.” He came inside and shook hands with Director Toomey. “Pleasure to see you again, Director.”
“Actually, Richard,” Chief Pope said, “I was going to fill you in on this later. How about lunch?”
Dick awkwardly said, “That is fine, Chief. I’m sorry to barge in.”
“Nonsense,” Pope said. “I’ll tell you all about it at lunch. My treat.”
Dick smiled. He was being taken to lunch by the Chief of Police. “I’ll come down at noon, Chief.” With that he left.
Pope picked up the phone and punched a button. “Judy, no one else is to come near my office.” He listened, then said, “That’s okay,” and hung up. “Sorry about that.”
Toomey took a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Jack. On the back of the card was a name, address and telephone number. “This case won’t take you far from home. It involves Indiana, and Illinois.”
Jack interpreted that as meaning he was going to be busy until he drew Social Security. That didn’t fit in the plans he had for his immediate future. He and his ex-wife, Katie, had patched things up. He had a wedding to help plan. That’s what Katie told him he was doing.
“On the card is the name and number of Linton, Indiana’s Chief of Police. You’ll meet with him and other members of a task force he has put together. You will take over the investigation.”
Jack asked, “Does the Linton chief know we’re coming?”
“He does.”
“Does he know we’re taking the case from him?” Jack asked.
“You’re not taking it from him. You’re working it with him but you’re the boss.”
Jack failed to see the difference.
“You’re sworn federal officers. You’re in charge because I say you are. If you get any shit from anyone let me know. By the way, you’ll get plenty of it from Chief Jerrell because that’s his nature. I met him when he attended the FBI Academy at Quantico. This guy’s the real deal. Ex-Army Ranger, two tours in Afghanistan, two in Iraq. You don’t want your name on his dance card.”
“Bigfoot can handle him,” Jack said. He handed the card to Liddell.
“Thanks, pod’na,” Liddell said.
“What’s the case?” Jack asked.
“Cases. Plural. There are a string of homicides and missing persons that may be connected,” Toomey said.
“Serial killer?” Jack asked.
“Probably. The murders are in Greene and Sullivan Counties up north of here, and at least one in Illinois. A plethora of missing persons.”
Liddell mouthed the word “plethora” at Jack and stifled a chuckle.
“Director, forgive me for saying this, but there is always a ‘plethora’ of missing persons. Are you sure you want us on this? Do Feds work missing persons? Don’t we just handle kidnapping, that kind of stuff?”
“You have five confirmed deaths, some are out and out murder, some are suspicious, but you will be handling the investigations.” Toomey was unable to maintain eye contact with Jack.
“How many missing persons will we be looking at?” Jack asked.
“Forty-three. However, only the five deaths have a similar cause of death. All were found in lakes. Some of those were reported as drownings or death by misadventure and the autopsies were inconclusive.”
“So, we’re not particularly looking into the missing persons. We’re hunting a serial killer,” Jack said.
Toomey cleared his throat. “We don’t have enough evidence to support or exclude that theory. That’s part of the reason you’re going.”
Jack was thinking of how he would explain a long absence to Katie and this was beginning to sound like a very long absence. They were getting remarried in a few months. For the second time. The first time around they’d split because of his job among other reasons. He didn’t like to dwell on the past, and he’d vowed he would do better this time. Be a better husband. This time Katie was pregnant and he wanted to be a real father. He wanted to be married to her and not his job.
“You said, ‘part of the reason’. What’s the other part?” Jack asked.
“Chief Jerrell has a personal interest in this case. Too personal. He’s a good policeman, sharp as a tack, but like a tack he doesn’t care who he pricks if you get my meaning.”
“I’m going to be blunt,” Jack said. “If you’re assigning us as a personal favor to Jerrell I want to know if we have jurisdiction or if we’re just bullying them?”
“Don’t talk to me about jurisdiction, son,” Toomey warned.
Toomey had a point. Shortly after Jack and Liddell had been recruited for USOC Jack had pursued a killer across the country and had taken a suspended from duty St. Louis State Trooper with him where they promptly were involved in a murder in New Mexico and ended by killing the bad guy in shoot-out in Arizona. Both Jack and the trooper were severely injured and had totaled a couple of official cars. Jack did all this without one word to Toomey. Murphy’s Law says: “Better to kick ass and then ask forgiveness.”
Toomey said, “Chief Jerrell’s son is one of the victims. He doesn’t have jurisdiction in his son’s case but he doesn’t trust the police investigation that was done. His son’s body was found in Sullivan County. Linton is in Greene County. His son’s death was mishandled by the Sullivan interim Coroner who deemed it an accidental drowning. The local police mucked up the scene so Jerrell had his own autopsy performed. The coroner in Greene County ruled the death a homicide.”
Jack got that. If Jack’s kid was murdered he’d hunt the son of a bitch down and gut him like a catfish. It still didn’t answer the question of why USOC was involved.
Toomey must have sensed Jack’s reluctance and said, “Here’s the crux. Chief Jerrell’s family is influential in the Justice Department. They wouldn’t like it if the Chief got himself into a predicament. You’ll like the guy. Jerrell sounds just like you. I’m aware that under other circumstances he could work the case just fine, but these aren’t those circumstances. Got it?”
Jerrell. Ranger. Mean mother. Out for blood. Maybe cut some corners. Maybe cut some throats. Yeah. His kind of guy.
“You boys are aggressive to the point of…well, let’s just say you ignore rules. Sometimes it takes two Alpha’s to cancel each other out. Plus, I promised that we would get this done quick.”
“Who is his family?” Jack asked.
Toomey gave a typical FBI administrator answer. “You don’t need to know that. Consider it a favor to me. If that doesn’t do it for you, consider it an order from me. Besides, it will be good material for you to present when I send you and your partner to the profiling class at Quantico.”
“Quantico? When did I agree to that?” Jack asked.
“I’ll agree,” Liddell pitched in.
“You agreed when you were sworn in. It was in the paperwork that neither of you bothered to read.”
Jack saw no point in arguing and he wanted to meet this Chief Jerrell, ex-Army Ranger. As a detective he’d had experiences with the Feds interference. He didn’t like the idea of taking some other dog’s bone. Sometimes he wished he could go back to being a simple city detective. That job had its own drama but you weren’t dealing with big government. Big government usually meant bigger crooks and bigger roadblocks, lawsuits, and possibly prison time.
Toomey smiled. “We’ll make an FBI agent out of you yet, Jack.”
Yeah. Right after I eat a cockroach.
Jack asked, “Is all this missing person and murder data coming from Chief Jerrell or from the BAU?” BAU is the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Profilers. Think shrinks with guns.
“From me,” Angelina Garcia said from the doorway.
Chapter 3
Chief Constable Shaunda Lynch was heading home from pulling an all-nighter when she spotted the Jeep peeling out of the gravel access road coming from the Dugger mine. It was a new silver Jeep Cherokee Laredo 4WD. She kept her distance and let the Jeep get off of mine property. They must have spotted her and headed for town well over the speed limit. She followed it into Dugger city limits before she turned on her light bar and lit them up with her takedown lights. The Jeep pulled in front of the library and stopped. The headlights weren’t on and it was barely light enough out to see. That was an easy ticket.
She knew what they’d been doing. The abandoned underground mines and above ground stripper pits were a favorite spot with teens who wanted to smoke, drink, have sex, and do drugs. She understood that. She also knew the mines and lakes were dangerous and received little to no patrol from the state or county police. Patrolling the count
y around the mines was outside of her jurisdiction, but as a parent she felt it was her duty to rein in the rampant hormonal changes these little brats were experiencing.
She didn’t have to call the Jeep’s license plate in to dispatch. She knew the owner was Claire Dillingham, town board president. The Jeep was probably being driven by her son, Brandon, nineteen and still in high school. There were two people in the Jeep. That would make the passenger Timmy Long, drinking buddy, wingman, high school dropout. She could see a long stretch in Pendleton Correctional Facility in both of their futures.
Shaunda had moved back to Dugger five years ago after her mother died. While she was gone she’d exhausted a lot of dead-end jobs in dead-end places. Her heart had told her it was time to come home, and she’d heard at the funeral that the town was searching for a new Chief Constable, having fired the last one after he ran off with the judge’s secretary. Shaunda needed a job and a place to stay. She had a GED, no police experience, was short, barely five feet five. What she lacked in experience and size she more than made up for with dogged determination.
She’d gone to City Hall to apply for the Chief Constable position and was surprised to find the interviewer was someone from her high school days, Claire DeShane, now Mrs. Claire Dillingham, president of the town board.
Shaunda stopped at an angle to the Jeep, keeping her takedown lights on the passenger compartment. As she approached she saw that Claire’s son, Brandon, was inside like she thought, but he wasn’t driving. She was surprised to see Patty Burris behind the wheel. The sixteen-year-old girl was grinning sheepishly. She knew Patty didn’t have a driver’s license yet which was a good thing because she hadn’t yet learned to button her shirt up properly.
When Shaunda was hired by the city of Dugger she’d had to attend the Indiana Law Enforcement Academy in Plainfield, ninety miles drive from Dugger. Two hours of driving, nine hours of class, and then two hours home for twelve weeks. She had no choice but to commute because she had a sixteen-year-old daughter at home.
