by Kylie Brant
Ryder indicated the sign he’d just read. “Nice sentiment you’ve got displayed there. What is that? Corinthians?”
Bancroft shoved his fleshy face closer to Ryder’s. “It’s called righteousness. And you’re still trespassing.”
“I just came by to give you a friendly heads-up. I’m glad I did, so now I know when your services are,” he responded, jerking his head at the sign. “I’ll have a deputy stationed across the street during services from now on. It’ll give him a chance to jot down license plate numbers.” He observed the matching flags of color flooding the other man’s cheeks. “We patrol the unincorporated towns, too, and it’s always nice to show a presence. Crime deterrent. I hope it won’t keep your members from attending services.”
“You can’t do that! It’s intimidation!”
Ryder gave a slow nod. “You’d probably know. The flames on the effigy spread to the ditch and beyond. Burned fence line and at least two telephone poles before it was put out. Whoever’s responsible broke several laws in the process. Your alibi checks out, but you could say those others with you at Pullman’s several days ago are prime suspects.” He turned and started back toward his car.
“I know what you’re up to,” Bancroft hollered after him. “But I’m not ratting on any of my church members.”
Ryder stopped. “Assuming you have any members left after we camp out here for a few weeks.”
The man appeared to mull Ryder’s words over. Finally, he said, “Listen, like I said before, I keep getting phone calls from someone about the Pullman girl. And I don’t disagree with the message. She deserves to burn—”
“Who’s the caller? What’s the number?”
The other man—Ryder couldn’t bring himself to call him a pastor—pulled a flip phone out of his pocket. Then ponderously looked through his contacts before reeling off the phone number. Ryder pressed it into the note function on his cell before focusing on the man again. “Is it a man or a woman?”
Bancroft shrugged his beefy shoulders. “Hard to tell. The voice is muffled. Like maybe someone is trying to disguise it.”
“How many calls in all?”
The man checked his phone again. “Three. Two a couple of days before Pullman got released, and another two days after. You have to realize, we’re not the only ones upset by the release of a cold-blooded killer. We represent the vigilant ready to do God’s work when the law refuses to protect us.”
Before the man got wound up again, Ryder gave him a nod. “Thanks for the information.” It was more, far more, than Bancroft had given when he’d been arrested. Ryder turned toward his car, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll see you at services tonight.”
“What?” The pastor sounded incensed. “I just cooperated! I helped your investigation!”
“And if you want to stop the patrols in front of your services, you’ll give us the name of the person responsible for the effigy.” Ryder opened his car door and slid behind the wheel. When he pulled away, Bancroft was still standing there, steam all but emanating from him.
Once the man faded from his rearview mirror, Ryder forgot about him. The pastor would eventually break once his church participation numbers began to dwindle. In the meantime, the phone number Bancroft had given would be run so they could determine the caller’s identity.
As if on cue, his cell rang. He drew it out of his pocket and answered it, slowing to a stop behind an unmoving school bus. “Talbot.”
“Dr. Isaacson, Sheriff. I hope this isn’t too early to call you.”
“Not at all.” The bus’s stop sign arm was retracting. After another moment, the vehicle began to move.
“I wondered if you’d had any luck identifying the doctor and patient on Aldeen’s audiotape. If not, I believe I may be of some help if you want to reach out to the administration at Bridgeport, the facility where Samuel was housed before ours.”
“We did get an ID, thanks.” His deputies had arrived to search the Pullman Estate shortly after the marshals had left but found no sign that Aldeen was hiding anywhere on the outside property. William Pullman hadn’t been especially pleased at Ryder’s decision to have two deputies parked on the road in front of his home for the foreseeable future. But their presence served a twofold purpose: to ensure the escapee didn’t get close to Eryn Pullman and to discourage any future protestors at the estate.
“I do have one question, Doctor.” Once the bus had lumbered away, Ryder pressed on the accelerator again. “There was a file on Aldeen’s player that held nothing but children’s laughter. What do you make of that?”
“Oh God.” The man sounded genuinely distressed. “Dr. Luttrell expressly asked if anything similar was contained in the audio files. This is terrible. We go to great lengths to avoid allowing the patients access to anything that feeds their paraphilia.”
“You’re saying Aldeen got off on the sound.” Ryder’s jaw clenched.
“According to Luttrell, it’s one of his triggers.”
“Well, we knew Aldeen was a sick fuck,” SBI Agent Sweeney said as he sipped from the always present go-cup of coffee in his hand. “No telling how long the bastard was secretly jerking off listening to happy kids.”
FBI Special Agent Tolliver nodded. Ryder had never noted the man drinking anything other than water. He was twirling a plastic bottle of it between two fingers now. “He’ll gravitate to a place with access to children. Unfortunately, it could be anywhere. Parks. Schools.”
“He snatched two of his victims from their yards.” Ryder missed the fancy coffee maker his mother had given him for Christmas. Because he spent more time in his office than his house, he kept it there. As long as he remembered to program it before he went home each night, he had a fresh pot waiting for him every morning. They’d installed multiple commercial-size coffeepots at the command center. The brew left a lot to be desired.
“How much longer before the lab is finished with Grafton’s computer?” he asked. Morris Grafton was the Fristol IT employee who would have been in charge of downloading Aldeen’s purchased musical files. He’d have had the skills to cover his tracks if he’d done something illicit with Aldeen’s device.
“This case has high-priority status. If they’d found something in their first pass at it, we’d have heard by now. Going deeper will take a bit longer.” Tolliver drank from the bottle again. The man had taken charge of searching through Bush’s computer files and history when the warrants had come through yesterday. But even with data recovery software, he’d struck out retrieving Bush’s browsing history. The only thing of interest in Bush’s files had been the records he’d kept of his personal finances; careful spreadsheets of monthly income and expenses going back ten years. It’d been clear Joe Bush had been in dire financial straits since he and his wife had separated. He would have been especially vulnerable if Aldeen had offered money for aiding his escape.
The monthly expense records had also provided them with the name of Bush’s cell phone provider, which was helpful since no cell had been found.
As if plucking the thought from Ryder’s mind, Tolliver asked, “How about Bush’s cell phone and financial records? Have they come through yet?” He tossed his empty bottle in the waste can in the corner.
“Not as of six thirty this morning.” Ryder checked his email on the laptop he’d brought from the office. A hum of adrenaline lit in his veins when he saw one of the messages in his in-box. “I spoke too soon. No financials yet, but we’ve got phone records.” He opened the email’s attachment and hit Print, getting up to collect the sheets being spit out of the printer in the corner of the room.
“I’ll have a couple of deputies track down the numbers on it.” Ryder couldn’t contain a tiny thrum of excitement. Aldeen’s trail had fizzled at Bush’s residence. Maybe, just maybe, they were about to get their first lead since they’d found Joe Bush’s body.
Two hours later they’d identified most of the callers and call recipients from Bush’s phone. The numbers appearing most freq
uently were linked to personnel in charge of employee scheduling at Fristol and Rolling Acres, and the voice mails were job related. There had been several text messages shared between Joe and his estranged wife, who’d been apprised of the man’s death yesterday. When contacted, she’d tearfully informed them the two hadn’t spoken in person since she’d moved out. A few numbers belonged to take-out places and two people professing to be friends of Joe. Ryder had Jerry Garza running background on both individuals.
One number appeared three times. When Ryder called it, the phone went directly to an out-of-service recording.
He checked the dates against the calendar on his desk. The first time that caller had contacted Joe had been a few days before Aldeen’s escape. The final contact was a received call from Pine Ridge Cabins on Jonathan Creek in Maggie Valley.
Bush had told both Fristol and Rolling Acres he’d be on vacation for two weeks. Maybe he’d planned to use the time to hide out at a mountain retreat during Aldeen’s escape, establishing an alibi for himself.
Ryder contacted the place three times and got no answer. But finally, on his next try, someone picked up the phone. “Pine Ridge Cabins,” a male voice said.
“This is Haywood County Sheriff Ryder Talbot calling. Your number showed up in cell phone records obtained in the course of one of our investigations. Joe Bush is the individual the phone belonged to. Can you tell me the nature of the call you made to him?”
“It was probably to follow up on an online inquiry he’d made about a reservation, Sheriff.”
Ryder stilled. “Did he end up making a reservation with you?”
“Yes, sir. He arrived here . . . let’s see.” There was a moment of silence. “Last Saturday.”
Saturday. Ryder’s mind raced. That would have been the day before the escape. “How long did he stay?”
“He’s still here. At least, I assume so. I just had a conversation with someone from his party.”
Everything inside Ryder slowed. Lungs. Breathing. Heartbeat. “Can you describe the man you spoke to?” Sweeney’s and Tolliver’s gazes fixed on him.
“Average height, I guess. Not as tall as Mr. Bush. I checked him in myself. And I have to say, he never let on there’d be more than just him staying in the cabin. We do ask for the names of everyone in the party, but Joe mentioned he’d be alone. This fella has a shaved head and the start of a beard. He’s a writer, he said. Steven Bennet is his name.”
“Any idea how long he’s been there?”
“Two days at least. I was talking to him today about a complaint some other renters had about him. They said he approached their kids yesterday, and when the children told their parents about him, they didn’t like the sound of the conversation the kids relayed. They thought he was a bit inappropriate. I spoke to Bennet this morning and just warned him he probably shouldn’t be approaching any of the children staying here. Actually,” the man corrected, “these are the only renters who brought kids. Most would be in classes, but the father told me they were homeschooled.”
“You didn’t happen to notice what sort of vehicle was parked at the cabin, would you?”
There was a pause, and then, “I didn’t see one. Since there was no sign of Mr. Bush, maybe he drove it somewhere.”
“Thanks for your time.”
Ryder had barely replaced the receiver on his desk phone when Sweeney said, “Do we have a sighting?”
“Possibly.” The word did nothing to quiet his growing certainty that Bush had made the reservation for Aldeen. “Whoever is there approached a couple kids yesterday. Their parents were concerned.” As one, the three of them turned to exit the room. “Let’s get a tactical team assembled.”
Ryder had left the majority of the tactical team members at the base of the drive leading up to Pine Ridge Cabin’s main office. There was intelligence to gather before they attempted entry at Joe Bush’s rental.
Ryder, three of his men, FBI Special Agent Tolliver, and SBI Agent Sweeney were surveilling the place from each side. Since Tolliver had provided the high-tech Range-R device, Ryder had been happy enough to have the man come along. His office didn’t have the budget for the equipment the feds and staties could afford. The mechanism sent out radio waves to detect the slightest movement through walls, including breathing, from as far as fifty feet.
Like the owner had noted, there was no vehicle anywhere around the place. The cabin fronted Jonathan Creek, so Ryder was across from it, in a lightly wooded area with plenty of trees and boulders to take refuge behind. He’d had the high-powered binoculars trained on the cabin for half an hour, with no sign of movement near it.
They had the cabin surrounded. Agent Tolliver was operating the Range-R device to determine whether there was anyone inside the structure. The slightest sound had Ryder’s muscles tightening with tension. Twice he’d noted movement nearby. First he’d spied an older woman with a walking stick and a large dog, and the other time it had been a female hiking with two kids. He watched the children toss rocks into the creek. They must have been the ones the man calling himself Steven Bennet had spoken to.
The radio clipped to his belt sounded. Ryder brought it up to his ear. “The cabin is empty.” It was Tolliver’s voice. “Whoever was inside could still be in the vicinity. Do you want to wait or enter immediately?”
Ryder’s gaze sharpened as he saw a figure moving toward the front of the cabin from farther down the creek. Raising the binoculars again, he murmured, “We’ve got a man heading toward the front door.”
“So we wait.”
“For now.” Watching the figure stride confidently to the building, Ryder could feel his system slow. The height could fit Aldeen’s description, but the man sported a beard, which may or may not turn out to be fake. Right now, it was the rifle he carried that was of more interest.
They didn’t have ballistics back yet on the weapon used on Joe Bush, but the ME had guessed the wounds were inflicted with a large-caliber handgun at close range. That didn’t mean Aldeen didn’t have access to two different weapons, though.
He reached for the radio. “The man approaching is armed.”
“I’ve got visual,” Deputy Garza’s voice sounded.
“So do I,” Sweeney said.
The stranger walked up the two steps to the wooden porch running in front of the building and pounded on the door. He waited before banging again, hard enough this time for the noise to reach Ryder’s ears. “Hey! Come on out of there! I got something I wanna say to you!”
Ryder scanned the area. The older woman was out of sight. So was the family he’d seen. The man didn’t give up easily. He pounded and called to the cabin’s occupant several more times before finally retracing his steps.
It could have been an elaborate pretense. Bennet—or Aldeen—could have made them and was engaged in a farce to bluff his way out of the situation.
“Take him,” Ryder whispered into the radio. Moments later the deputies and Sweeney swarmed the man, shouting commands until he dropped his weapon and laid on the ground, hands behind his head.
His gun raised, Ryder came out in the open, wading across the creek to meet them. But when Deputy Fornier turned the bound stranger over so Ryder could get a good look at him, frustration lodged a giant knot in his throat.
He had Aldeen’s features committed to memory. Whoever the stranger was, he wasn’t the man they sought.
The ten-year-old boy looked from Ryder to his father, Ian Molitor, who was now uncuffed and sitting on the porch next to him. “Go on and answer the sheriff, Danny,” Molitor urged.
“I don’t know. The man was nice at first. He showed us how to find the best rocks to skip across the creek. But then he said we needed to go where it was deeper, so there was enough water to make them skip better.”
“And we weren’t supposed to go far from our cabin,” piped up blue-eyed Jenny. “Mom said to stay where we could see the porch. But Danny said we could, for just a little way.”
Ryder could tell from Ian�
��s narrowed gaze that the boy would have some explaining to do once they left. “So how far did you go?”
The boy pointed at a large rock on the edge of the creek well past the cabin Bush had rented. “Just to there. Then I stopped. He started to say weird stuff. It kind of creeped me out.”
“What kind of stuff?”
Danny didn’t meet Ryder’s gaze. “Like how he liked the sound of our voices. He said he hadn’t been around kids for a long time. I told him I’d been collecting a bunch of cool rocks since we got here, and he told me to go back and get them. He said how he and Jenny would wait for me.”
Ryder pulled out his cell and brought up some pictures of Samuel Aldeen and showed them to the family. Danny looked at the image critically. “The man we saw didn’t have hair.”
“And he had a little beard,” Jenny add. “Not a fluffy one like Daddy’s.”
Ryder showed the picture to the parents, but both of them shook their heads. “I never saw him,” Ian said.
His wife piped in, “And I only did from a distance. I wasn’t close enough to really see his features. Was he . . .” She hesitated and looked across the creek where two of the team members were searching the area. “Is he dangerous?”
“We’re interested in talking to him,” Ryder said noncommittally. Aldeen’s escape was still in the news every day. Tensions were running high in the nearby communities already. The tip line they’d established was full of mostly useless so-called sightings of the man. The revelation that he’d been seen in the area would be handled with finesse. They didn’t want to cause a public panic.
The owner of the cabins—the one Ryder had talked to earlier—had ID’d pictures they’d shown him of Aldeen as being the man he’d spoken to. But even if he hadn’t, the kids’ description of the stranger’s behavior would have been compelling. It sounded very much like he’d been trying to separate the young girl from her brother.
