Nothing but silence. Jake didn’t like this at all. Whatever made that girl scream that way had to be evil. I saw evil once tonight and never want to see it again. Jake sat down on the log next to Katy.
“Is she OK?” Katy asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to help her if we can. I just don’t hear anything anymore.”
Jake knew the direction, but without hearing a sound to gauge the distance, he feared walking up on whatever it was. He needed the element of surprise. He also had Katy, and he wasn’t going to leave her alone. Jake decided to move slowly ahead. He bent down, and Katy again climbed up on his back. He eased off in the direction of the screams. He couldn’t get that sound out of his mind.
Reese also heard the woman. He tried several times to raise Tiny on the radiophone. Finally, he had heard enough and headed toward the screams. When the screaming finally stopped, Reese quit walking, stood very quietly, and listened-utilizing all his predatory skills.
Two unique criminally related sounds in one hour-a gunshot on the far west side of the place and the panicked screams of a girl nearby. All this had to be connected. Reese was loving it.
Jake hated it.
Sheriff Ollie Landrum stood in front of Tanner Tillman’s Jeep thinking. He had his cowboy hat in his hand and was scratching his balding head. Deputy R.C. Smithson awaited orders that he hoped wouldn’t involve searching inside the nasty-smelling pickup truck. The sheriff was visibly stressed.
“R.C., please check the truck out for anything indicating who owns it. That truck is the key to all this.”
“Yes sir,” said R.C. and with a resigned sigh opened up the passenger side door. A cloud of funk filled the air, and four empty beer cans fell out. “He stinks and he drinks cheap beer.”
“Do what?” Ollie asked.
“He drinks cheap beer…see? And a lot of it,” R.C. replied as he held up a can of Old Milwaukee, then threw it in the bed of the truck.
“Yeah, well…keep looking, Columbo,” Ollie said, walking back to his Expedition.
Picking up the microphone, he radioed into the office. “Miz Martha?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Can the Tillman kid talk or maybe write and tell us what happened?” Ollie asked hoping it could be that simple.
“Chief, the hospital said he was in so much pain that they knocked him out as soon as he was stabilized. He was beat up pretty bad. He lost several teeth, and his windpipe is partially crushed…and he has some broken ribs.”
“Son of a….” Ollie began to reply, then exhaled deeply.
“Chief-and the girl, Elizabeth, she’s an honor student, cheerleader. You name it. She’s a great girl. She isn’t the type to get into any trouble.”
“Hang on, Miz Martha.” Seeing Elizabeth’s purse again gave Ollie an idea. He opened the purse and looked inside. There it was…a cell phone. He hit Power and it came to life.
“It wouldn’t work out here, boss. There is a huge hole in cell service in this area. You might get through if you were lucky…but it would be for only a few seconds,” R.C. commented.
Returning to his search of the truck, R.C. held his nose, “Hey, this might do it. It’s a receipt from a butcher near Camden. They’re a dang good deer processor. You like deer sausage, Chief?”
“No, R.C., I haven’t had any lately. What name’s on the ticket?” Ollie asked aggravated.
“Uh…Tommy Tidwell, and it’s got a phone number; actually I think it’s his cell phone number. I know of him…most folks call him Tiny. He’s trouble if he’s with the wrong crowd.”
“You think if we call he’ll answer?” asked R.C.
“Not at this hour, and not if he has Caller ID. Give me that, though.”
“Sheriff?” Martha called.
“Yes’m?” Ollie’s patience was running thin.
“The Beasleys will want to know what you’re gonna do,” she said, trying to be prepared.
“You know procedures,” he said, then added, “Call me the second they arrive. Also, I want you to call a number for me. Don’t use the office line…use someone’s cell. In fact, go to the evidence room; there’s a phone that belongs to that kid we locked up earlier.” He gave her the number. “If they answer just hang up and call me immediately…either way.”
“Ten-four, Chief.”
Ollie and R.C. looked up at the same time and in the direction of the sound of a vehicle heading fast toward them. They then looked at each other.
“Larson,” Ollie said. “I hope. I don’t need any more surprises.”
About that time they saw the bright blue lights reflecting in the treetops. Larson slowed to a stop and got out. Larson Hodges had been a deputy for five years. He constantly hoped for something big like this to happen. He watched COPS all the time. He read and reread every issue of Police Marksman magazine. Two years ago he had talked Ollie into buying a canine officer. Larson went to Columbus, Ohio, and picked out the dog and trained to handle him. They were constant companions. The German shepherd had been named Luger and was called Lug. Before he got home, Larson changed it to Shug in honor of one of Auburn University’s greatest football coaches, Ralph “Shug” Jordan. Not everybody in western Alabama cheered for the Crimson Tide.
Of course, Ollie suspected the K-9 Academy had not named the dog Shug, but since it seemed to respond to it, he didn’t say anything about the name. The commands were in German. Initially, both Larson and the dog stayed in a constant state of confusion. After a few weeks, Shug began to understand Southern-flavored German.
“Mornin’, Sheriff. What can I do?”
At that moment, the cell phone on the dash of the pickup rang. R.C. reached in, grabbed it, and then tossed it to Ollie. He opened it and saw the Caller ID. Martha was calling from the phone Ollie had asked her to use. It only had one bar of service, so rather than try to have a conversation he simply let it ring until it quit. He dropped the phone in his pocket.
His radio crackled. “Chief, no answer and no voice mail.”
“Ten-four. Thank you.”
“Larson, you have Shug?” Ollie asked. Larson nodded.
“Let him smell around these vehicles. R.C. found the Tillman kid all beat up right here, and we have reason to believe that the Beasley girl was with him.”
“Yes sir!” Larson replied.
“Achtung, Shug!” The overweight brown and black police dog jumped from the cruiser and sat at attention. Larson walked Shug to the front of the Jeep and said, “Finden!” Shug appeared to go to work. First, he found what they thought was Tanner’s blood, and once that area was searched, Larson encouraged him to work elsewhere, but after only a few minutes it became clear to all that Shug had found the only thing that really interested him when he laid down in the middle of the road and began licking himself vigorously.
Crestfallen at Shug’s failure, Larson dragged him back to his car. Ollie turned away in disgust, shaking his head. R.C. stifled a chuckle.
In an attempt to take some of the heat off Larson, R.C. said, “Hey, Chief. Let’s move this Jeep. I’ll put it in neutral and we can push it out of the way. We gotta go down this road where the four-wheeler went.” R.C. pointed down the Dummy Line.
“Where does this road go anyway?” Ollie asked.
“It dead-ends into the Noxubee River Swamp…the road is twenty miles of potholes and mud with a shootin’ house about every five hundred yards. Not much else.”
“Yeah…you’re right, R.C. Let’s do it,” Ollie replied.
As they all got ready to push Tanner’s Jeep out of the way, R.C. noted, “Hey, the keys are in it!”