by Rick Reed
“Go straight about a mile,” Liddell said. “Highway 54 becomes East State Street. Take a left on Second Street. The station should be on the corner on the right two blocks up.”
A flagpole flying the red white and blue stood on the corner of NW Second Street and A Street. The Linton Police Department was a squat stone building that had been painted gray at some point. Handicap ramps were on both sides of a single entrance in front with huge reflective windows on either side of the door. Jack turned the corner onto 2nd Street and pulled in to the curb where there was a private entrance with a keypad lock. Jack put the FBI placard on the dashboard, and said, “Let’s see what Toomey’s got us into.”
Before they could get out of the car the side door to the police station flew open and large man came out, full tilt, heading toward a gold colored Ford F-250 4X4 truck with Linton Police markings and a bar light on top of the cab. Another officer came flying out behind the first one and ran to a marked police car with push bars on front and back. Jack started the Crown Vic and put it in gear.
“You know I love a parade, but where are we going?” Liddell asked.
“The big guy had five stars on his collar. I guess we’re following him.” Jack pulled a U-turn, left some rubber and joined the race heading west on A Street.
“I’ll try to get them on the radio,” Liddell said. He called Evansville dispatch on the telephone and had them try to reach the Chief of Police through Linton’s dispatch. Soon a voice came over the radio.
“This is the Linton Chief of Police. I don’t know who the hell you are but you’d better back off. This is a police emergency.”
“Tell him to bite me,” Jack said.
Liddell keyed the microphone and said, “Chief Jerrell, this is the FBI Unit that you were meeting. Where’s the fire—Chief—sir?”
The radio was silent but the two cars ahead increased their speed. Jack kept closing on them and traveling in excess of 80mph past a speed limit sign that showed 45mph. He wasn’t familiar with these roads, but he thought if he just stayed on the tail of the car in front he’d be okay. He hoped.
“Should I call my wife and tell her goodbye?” Liddell quipped.
“Quit being a whiner,” Jack said. “Maybe we’ll get to do something.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, pod’na. I’d at least like to know what I’m dying for.”
The radio came to life again. “This is Chief Jerrell. You have no jurisdiction here. Cease and desist or I will place you under arrest.”
“Did he just say “cease and desist?” I haven’t heard that anywhere since Dragnet was on television,” Liddell said.
Jack took the microphone. “Negative, Chief Jerrell. We’re in pursuit of a reckless driver with no regard for human life. Yours or ours. You pull over or I’m going to arrest you.” He handed the mic back to Liddell and said, “He’s not telling me. I’ll tell him.”
Liddell was chuckling. “Yeah. You tell him pod’na. He’s not the boss of us.”
“Shut up.”
Liddell laughed.
Jack gripped the wheel. “Now I can see why Toomey is worried. Where the hell are we? The Indy 500?”
“He drives like you, pod’na.”
“I don’t drive like that.”
“Yeah, right. Not you. You’re doing the speed limit right now.”
They drove under another sign constructed over the road that read, “You’ll Like Linton” and continued going west.
“I like Linton already,” Jack said.
“He needs to put his lights and siren on,” Liddell said, and both Linton vehicles did just that.
Chapter 7
Shaunda and Joey leaned against the faded to flesh colored paint of the Tahoe. Sirens could be heard off in the distance coming their direction.
“Joey, did you call for backup?”
“No ma’am, I mean Chief,” Joey said. “I didn’t call for an ambulance either. I didn’t tell no one but my wife, and I told her I had to go on account of police business. This is definitely in our jurisdiction. I checked my GPS.” He pulled the Tuffy jacket collar up to warm himself and stop his teeth from chattering.
Joey was barely twenty-three and had been with the department less than a year. He was honest and polite to a fault. Shaunda had yet to break him of those traits and the habit of calling her ‘ma’am’.
Shaunda reached inside the Tahoe and turned the police radio volume up. She could hear Jerrell yelling into the radio at someone, ordering them to back off. She thought he might be talking to one of the Civil Defense groupies that thought a blue bubble light allowed them to run Code 3.
She heard an unfamiliar voice on the radio saying they were going to arrest Jerrell. State Police? Maybe County? Whoever it was, she hoped they’d make good on their promise.
“We’re about to get company, Joey. You got your pants on?”
“Yes ma’am. I mean Chief Lynch.”
“Cover the body, Joey. I’m going to the trailhead to block the entrance. I don’t want anyone back here unless I’m with them. Got it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She climbed in the Tahoe and drove down the narrow path to Highway 54. She stopped at the entrance to the trailhead, switched on her emergency lights, left the police radio cranked up and got out. She leaned against the front grill of the Tahoe, thumbs tucked in her Sam Browne gun belt and waited.
The sound of sirens grew steadily louder. The vehicles topped a hill and they shut down the sirens and lights in unison. She recognized the lead vehicle, a big king cab truck, fitting for Chief Troy Jerrell, the man who would be king. The truck crossed the double yellow lines and sped toward her in the wrong lane. Behind the truck was one of Linton PD’s marked police vehicles and a black unmarked Crown Vic. The Crown Vic was obviously a detective’s car but she didn’t recognize the two male occupants sitting in front.
Jerrell was the first out and came her direction with his John Wayne walk like a man on a mission, only moseying. Linton PD Sergeant Ditterline stepped out the Linton PD car and trotted closely behind.
“What’ve we got,” Jerrell demanded of her.
“We don’t have anything.” She watched the two men get out of the Crown Vic. One was as big or bigger than King Jerrell. The other was also over six feet, short dark hair, spiked in front, solidly built. The big one was tense and cast glances at Jerrell and then her. The other wore a bored expression, but his eyes were taking in everything. She spotted the FBI placard on the dash of the Crown Vic and thought, Feds don’t drive Crown Vics.
She squared off with Jerrell, thumbs still hooked in her gun belt, her five feet five against his six feet six. “What are you doing here, Troy? I sure as hell didn’t call you.”
Jack watched the two police chiefs square off. Jerrell was as tall as Bigfoot and built like Bigfoot but harder looking. Like he’d been chiseled out of a piece of granite; squared jaw and mallets for hands. He wore his dark hair spiked like Jack. He was in full uniform, five gold stars forming a circle pinned on both collars. He was squared away, as they would say in the military, not a piece of lint or a hair out of place.
Chief Shaunda Lynch was the opposite. Pixieish, thin but not to the point of bony, dark hair pinned up on the back of her head, no jewelry or even a hint of makeup. She too was in uniform, but only one gold star on her shirt collars. Where Jerrell’s uniform was light blue with dark blue pockets and stripes down the legs, Shaunda’s was light brown with dark brown trim. Her badge was scuffed and showed signs of wear, but she wasn’t old enough to be the one that had worn it down. Late twenties to early thirties. Her vibe told him she hadn’t been an officer very long. Her face would be pretty when she wasn’t scowling.
Jerrell towered over her diminutive figure, tight jawed, mere inches separating them. “I heard you’ve got another floater, Shauny. These deaths affect all of us—Dugger and
Linton. They’re not separate events. You should have called me.”
Jack noticed a flicker of annoyance in her face when Jerrell called her Shauny. A pet name? A nickname? An insult?
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Troy. This is my jurisdiction but I didn’t say I wasn’t going to share. Who are your friends?”
Jack held up his federal credentials with its shiny gold badge. “We’re with USOC, the Federal Task Force for Unsolved Serial and Organized Crime. I’m Agent Murphy and this is my partner, Agent Blanchard.”
Jerrell backed up a step away from Chief Lynch and scratched the stubble on his cheek. “I wasn’t expecting you boys so soon,” he said.
“Crime waits for no man. Or woman,” Liddell said and gave his most charming smile. No one smiled back.
“I’m Sergeant Ditterline,” the Linton PD uniformed officer came forward and shook hands with Jack and Liddell. “Glad to meet you. I heard you were coming.”
Chief Lynch said, “I guess Chief Jerrell has forgotten his manners. I’m Chief Constable Shaunda Lynch—Dugger Police Department. This big lug is Troy Jerrell, Chief of Linton PD. Now that everyone knows everyone else, please explain to me why you’re here or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Jack said, “Chief Lynch. Chief Jerrell. We’re here under orders from FBI Assistant Deputy Director Toomey to conduct an investigation into several murders in both Greene County and Sullivan County.”
Shaunda wasn’t satisfied. “Go investigate cases all you want. This is my case. I appreciate the offer, but you can tell your director I don’t need your help.” She turned on Jerrell. “I don’t need you here. I didn’t call you.”
Jerrell said, “I invited them, Shauny. We’ll need their resources. They have access to a computer whiz and maybe a profiler and lab stuff we need.”
Jack said, “Chief Jerrell, Chief Lynch, you won’t want to hear this but the FBI has jurisdiction now. When Chief Jerrell made a request to use our cyber specialist your situation with these murders came to the attention of Director Toomey. We were sent to guide your task force. I say guide but make no mistake, we will be making the decisions.”
“I don’t care for the way…” Jerrell started to say and Jack cut him off.
“Chief Jerrell, we have reliable information that over the past seven years there have been a multitude of suspicious missing persons, accidental drownings, and murders involving Sullivan and Greene counties. There is a murder in Illinois that we’ve linked to these murders.” Jack was stretching the facts. “That makes this interstate, and that makes it our jurisdiction. We suspect a serial killer is at work. Additionally, I have the authority to insist that both of your departments give us full cooperation.”
“How’s that?” Shaunda asked.
“Federal Regulation Title 21, Section 3-3. Look it up.”
Shaunda smirked. “Title 21 is the Food and Drug regulations for FDA, DEA and Office of National Drug Control Policy. This isn’t a drug case, and no one died from bad food.”
“Ok. You got me there. Sounded official though, didn’t it,” Jack said, eliciting a chuckle from everyone except Jerrell. “Seriously. We can all piss and moan later about who owns the ball. Agreed?”
Shaunda thought about it for a heartbeat. “Follow me. Don’t touch anything.”
Chapter 8
Jack tried to get a read on the two chiefs. They were stubborn to a fault and didn’t play well with others to boot. They weren’t impressed or intimidated by his federal agent shtick. He admired that. He and Liddell trailed along behind Lynch, Jerrell, and Ditterline who had told them to call him Ditty. They entered a path through dead vegetation and brambles beaten down by vehicle tires and foot traffic. If there was any evidence here it was already contaminated by the law enforcement presence. They walked a hundred feet and emerged on a wide bank of dark, hard packed earth with an expansive body of water ahead. A crew cab pickup truck was parked near the water’s edge. There was no yellow caution tape or other sign of a perimeter. A pile of wet clothing was on the ground by the front wheel of the truck.
“Is this a stripper pit?” Jack asked.
Chief Jerrell answered. “Dugger Lake. Dugger Mine was one of the earliest coal mines in this area. When it was abandoned they started a dragline operation and then abandoned that. The lake is split down the middle. Greene County on the far side, Sullivan on this side. This little stretch of the lake falls in Dugger city limits.”
“Lucky I got here first then,” Shaunda said.
Twenty feet to their right a uniformed officer dressed like Chief Lynch protectively stood blocking their approach to what Jack presumed to be the victim. The body was covered partially with a yellow rain slicker.
“They’re friendlies,” Shaunda said, and Joey visibly relaxed. “That’s my constable. Joey Trantino. I told him not to let anyone near the body.”
“Hi Chief Jerrell, sir,” Constable Trantino said coming over to the group.
Jerrell acknowledged him with a nod and turned to Jack. Out of the corner of his mouth but loud enough for Chief Lynch to hear, Jerrell said, “This is what I put up with.”
Chief Lynch bristled. “You don’t have to put up with anything. You can turn your happy ass around and get back to your own city. I’ve got this.”
Jerrell responded in a nasty tone, “You’ve got this? Are you serious? Why on God’s green earth would you stomp around in a crime scene and throw something over the body? Where is Sullivan’s Crime Scene? What the hell, Shauny?”
“It’s not a crime scene until I say it is Jerrell,” Shaunda said. “He was in the water. What were we supposed to do? Dogpaddle until you ride in and save the day? It’s a drowning until we know different.”
“Chief Lynch, would you mind if I take a look?” Jack asked as he walked towards the body. She didn’t stop him.
The surface of the bank where the body lay was black and hard packed. They wouldn’t find foot or shoe prints. There were drag marks where Joey pulled the body from the water. Jack looked up and down the stretch of ground. There were no other disturbances in the surface except for several tire tracks leading from the main road to where the new Silverado truck was parked.”
“Is that the victims truck?” Jack asked.
Joey said, “It’s mine. I got here before the Chief. Guess I shouldn’t have driven back here.”
Jack had noticed three sets of tire tracks. Two had looked similar. Chief Lynch had driven back here and then back out to the road to block the pathway. They had followed Chief Lynch back here. Any shoe or footprints would be iffy.
Jerrell seemed pretty sharp. Dugger PD had walked all over the scene and that was what he’d meant by his remark about what he had to work with. Jack remembered that Dugger PD was in charge of Jerrell’s son’s murder. He understood why Jerrell was pulling strings to get a better investigation going.
“Did you already search this stretch for drag marks or shoe prints?” Jack asked.
Shaunda answered, “I haven’t been here long enough to start any of that. I shouldn’t even have let you down here until I can secure this area.”
Jack ignored her weak protestation. “Have you got a big garbage bag in your truck?” Jack asked Joey. Joey ran off to the truck and came back with a black Hefty bag. “Let’s get this slicker off the body and put it in the garbage bag,” Jack said. “We need to hang on to your raincoat until it can be checked by Crime Scene. Glove up first.”
Jack handed Joey a pair of latex gloves and put his own on.
Shaunda said, “Take the raincoat off of him Joey and put it in the bag.”
Joey walked over, not minding where he was stepping and folded the raincoat back from the head to the victim’s waist. Jack noticed a white piece of cloth on the ground near the body.
“That’s underwear,” Joey said. “He had that on his head. The rest of his clothes is back by m
y truck. I haven’t had a chance to go through the pockets yet.”
Jack took over, lifted the slicker by the collar and pulled it over on the ground leaving the side that had touched the body facing up. He carefully folded it to preserve what evidence there might be and Joey held the bag open. Jack put the slicker inside, tied the top of the bag and set it aside.
“We’ll need another bag, Joey,” Jack said. Joey went to the truck and came back with a zipper top gallon sized freezer bag. Jack put the underwear in the bag and set it aside.
“You’ll need to bag his clothes, too,” Jack said. “Each piece separately. Did you get a picture of the clothes yet?” Joey nodded.
Jack squatted on his haunches near the body. The victim was on his back, arms down to his sides, legs straight out toward the lake. “Who pulled him out of the water?”
“That was me, Agent,” Joey said.
“Did you move the body?” Jack asked.
Shaunda answered for her constable. “He was on his front. We rolled him onto his back and took the underwear off so we could identify him. Why?”
Jack didn’t answer. The black grit on top of the victim’s toes verified that’s how it happened.
The body was that of a teenager. White male, tall, almost six feet, one hundred thirty to one hundred forty pounds, blond hair, blue eyes, no sign of blood or wounds. There was the faintest red abrasion of the skin on one side of the boy’s neck. Maybe from the underwear.
“His name is Brandon Dillingham,” Shaunda said. “He’s nineteen years old. His mother is on the town board.”
Jack mulled that over. A police chief’s son and now a town board member’s son. He didn’t remember any of the other victims being connected to authority figures. “Chief Lynch, may I?” Jack asked.
