by Simon King
Her father had been there again, trying to warn her about something. Was it the cabin again? The one her mother had pointed at? She hopped out of bed, went to the window and carefully pulled the curtain aside. The morning looked murky as thick cloud hung low over the motel. Rain had been falling, the car park dotted with multiple puddles.
Sam looked back over her shoulder and saw Tim start to stir. He wasn’t much of a morning person and so left him to wake naturally. After taking care of her bathroom needs, she filled the kettle, grabbed two cups and prepared them with coffee and sugar. Just as the kettle began to boil, Tim rose, wished her a good morning and went to the bathroom.
The steaming coffee was ready and waiting once he returned, Sam already back on her cell, returning to the spot where she’d left off only a few hours before. The trail a certain Paul Sheldon was weaving behind him stank of lies and deceit. None of the posts, photos or stories he shared were genuine and it didn’t take a genius to figure things out.
Sam had been working her way through some of the conversations he’d been having with his supposed Facebook friends. He had close to two hundred active contacts and he spoke with them all on a regular basis. At least three dozen had daily conversations, often spanning dozens of back-and-forth messages.
Tim had left Sam to follow the conversations while he spent the time compiling a map of where each contact was located, then cross referencing them with past victims and contacts. It was a mammoth task and one that kept him busy while Sam continued reading the chat messages. He was also tracing where each contact was accessing their app, giving him a view of where they were located during the conversations.
As Sam continued to scroll through endless conversations, Tim grabbed his coffee and returned to the laptop. After taking a couple of sips and pressing the update button on his web page, he suddenly went into a coughing fit, spluttering as if he was choking. Sam jumped to her feet as Tim’s face turned purple, still struggling for breath. But whilst Sam was trying to help him, he only pointed at the screen, desperate for her to see what he’d found.
It took Tim a few minutes to get himself back under control, the pain still burning in his lungs. He’d inhaled some of the coffee, sending it down the wrong hole as he saw the most recent location of a conversation Paul Sheldon had with one of his contacts.
The name of the diner stared back at them as Sam stared at the photo of the contact who’d been sitting a few feet from them the previous night. With her pulse kicked into overdrive, Sam scrolled through her own cell and quickly found the woman in the photo, a face now haunting her. Once she found it, Sam practically dropped into the chair. It was a good thing it was there, because if it hadn’t, she knew the floor would have been her next stop.
“Holy shit, Tim. That’s the woman from last night. And look at this,” she said, holding her screen up for him to see. As his expression changed to match her own shock, Sam knew that he understood.
“She even had the meth,” he whispered.
“We have to find this Lee Ling. Tim, if she turned out to be lying in some coffin, then we have him.” Tim returned to reality.
“No. We might have a lead, but in reality, we still have no idea who this guy is. And look at this.” He briefly tapped on his keyboard, hit enter and turned the screen in Sam’s direction. “See this?” He waved at the point he was trying to make.
“What does that mean?” she asked, unsure of what the image was.
“It means he’s using a re-booster to hide his app’s access location. It also means we can’t track him because he’s hiding behind at least a dozen walls. This guy knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“But,” Sam began as she looked at her own screen, “if he screws up even the slightest bit, we’ll be all over him.”
Sam continued to go through the conversation between Lee Ling and the mysterious Paul Sheldon. Their chat was one of the shortest they’d ever had, concluding with just two simple words. “I’m Here”. She re-read the conversation a second time, more so to convince herself that the information was real, originally just a random thought-process in her own mind.
“I can’t believe how close I got to her actual reality,” she finally said. Tim looked up from his laptop.
“Coincidence, nothing more.” He shrugged his shoulders at her. “It happens.”
“Yah, maybe. But still.”
“But still nothing. Forget it. It’ll just distract you.” He didn’t sound dismissive as such, but Sam knew what he meant. They had bigger fish to fry and wasting time on something that was not going to move their case forward would only slow them down.
“So, what do we do? If we keep going this way, we’ll be forever playing catch up with this person. We need something to get us ahead.” He suddenly waved her over.
“Check this out,” Tim said, turning his laptop towards her again.
Sam stood and sat at the table, watching as Tim pressed play on the footage he had displayed. Within a few seconds of the file playing, she recognized the location. It was the diner from the previous evening. The view was from a camera mounted on one corner of the building, facing along its length.
“Is that,” Sam began, but she didn’t need to finish, Tim nodding as they watched themselves through the window. The picture suddenly changed, the camera view altered to one of the carpark.
“Oh great,” Tim snapped.
“What?”
“It’s a rolling feed.”
“What does that mean?” Sam asked as the view changed to one of the other side of the building.
“It means the cameras this building uses don’t have constant feeds. It simply takes a snapshot of each view for a few seconds before switching to another. If an operator was actively viewing the feed, they could switch to a constant view if they needed to, but then only that feed would be recording.”
“Oh great,” Sam repeated. They continued to watch as the cameras cycled again, themselves still sitting at the table.
“Wait,” Tim suddenly said. “Did you see that?” He guided the mouse to the video’s control buttons and rewound the clip. Once back to where he needed it to be, he resumed the footage.
“Look.” Sam looked but didn’t see his point. “We’re not eating yet. That means that woman is still sitting there.” Sam checked and nodded.
“She didn’t leave until we were eating, which means that message from Sheldon is still to come.”
“Exactly.” Tim’s tone turned into excitement as he lent in a little closer, intent on not missing a clue.
They both stared at the footage as the feed continued to cycle. The front view of the entrance, half the carpark, the side of the building, an internal view and finally one of the back of the building which seemed to cover a couple of dumpsters.
As the clip cycled for a third time, they saw themselves served the meals, the waitress still standing by their table as she handed them their food. Lee Ling sat patiently at her own table, waiting for her ride. The following cycle, they were eating. The one after that, the woman was gone.
They stared at the screen, leaning close enough to see the pixelation. As the view changed from one camera to the next, their hearts began to sink, each aware that the longer it went without spotting anything, the likelier it was that they had already left.
As the minutes passed, both knew that the chances of seeing something important were rapidly diminishing. Sam suddenly remembered something.
“What abut the gas station next door?” Tim looked at her with a new sense of hope, flicked his fingers and began to bash at his keyboard. A few minutes later, he scoffed loudly.
“Damn,” he half yelled. “They don’t store their feed online. Must be an internal job.”
“What about the county cameras along the highway? Surely they have them.” Tim considered, then shook his head.
“Yes, but unless we know which vehicle they’re in, they could drive past us and we wouldn’t know.” He tapped a few more buttons, paused, then tapped some m
ore. “Hey, Mumma?” He finally said.
“Yes?” came the reply.
“Any luck from the cemeteries?” Mumma had been actively processing as much footage as she could. But none of the cemeteries had cameras, the one exception being Odem. Surrounding gas stations proved inconclusive and everyone could feel the frustration of yet more dead ends.
“Not a thing, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” Sam could hear the disappointment in her voice.
“Wait,” she suddenly said. “If Lee Ling arrived at the diner in that dead man’s car, wouldn’t it still be there?” Tim considered.
“Yes, but how would that help us?”
“He was a drug dealer and drug dealers take precautions. What if he had a dash cam?”
Sam doubted she had ever seen Tim move faster than he did at the moment she mentioned the dash cam. They were out the door and in their car within seconds, both only too aware of the time factor.
“This could be the biggest break of the case, kiddo,” Tim said as he swung out onto the road. Sam liked it when he called her that, a sure sign of his returned confidence. “Wait,” he suddenly said. “The dead guy. See if any suspicious deaths have been reported. If we could find the name of the guy, maybe we can get a license plate.”
As Tim drove, Sam hit the websites after asking Mumma for a bit of help. It didn’t take long for the hunch to come to fruition, with Mumma not only finding the write-up for the dead man, but also his license plate number.
“Delta, Echo, Alpha, Lima, India, November, and the number 2,” Mumma said less than five minutes later. Sam noted the letters down, then repeated them before realizing the funny side.
“Wait. Is this for real?” she asked, as if to confirm it again.
“Sure is. Sounds like this drug baron had the brains of a gnat.” Sam held the piece of paper up for Tim.
“Dealin 2?”
With barely half a dozen vehicles in the parking lot of the diner, it took seconds for them to see the car wasn’t there. Tim didn’t need to be told to check ‘round back, turning around and heading around almost immediately. From the looks of the rear of the diner, it was where the employees parked, slotted in parallel to the dumpsters. And parked amongst them, with its nose pointed towards them, was the dark blue Lincoln, displaying a license plate most would consider as pushing the envelope.
Both Sam and Tim held their breath as they slowly rolled towards the line of cars, their eyes fixed on the windscreen, like a dive-bombing eagle on prey. It was the spot right next to the rear-view mirror that held their gaze, a small black shape forming the closer they got.
“Is there one?” Tim asked, before slamming his hand on the steering wheel. “YESSS!” Sam was out the door before Tim had stopped the car, peering in through the windscreen and giving him a grinning thumbs-up.
Without hesitating, Tim grabbed a small black box from his bag, pressed a couple of buttons on it, then flicked something else. Around her, Sam heard three of the five cars beep as their doors unlocked. It caught her by surprise, but with precious seconds ticking away, she opened the passenger door, reached in and pulled the dash cam from the windscreen.
Once back in the car, she held the prize up triumphantly, then pulled the memory card from the slot, tossing the rest of it over her shoulder.
“Quick,” Tim said. “Grab the laptop.” She did, opened the lid and waited for it to boot up. “Let’s hope,” he whispered as he pulled back onto the road. Sam waited for the laptop to fire up, then inserted the memory card and waited for it to be recognized. It only took seconds, but soon she was staring at multiple files, all dated and time-stamped.
Tim pulled over to the shoulder, yanked on the handbrake and watched as Sam clicked on the file from the previous evening, stamped 7:45pm. The laptop took a moment to recognize her request, flashed on the media player, then started the video. Both sets of eyes stared intently as the clip began to roll.
The dash cam had been set to begin recording the moment an event was detected, such as a bump or some sort of shift. Whilst the cam didn’t capture Lee Ling approaching the car, it did begin recording when she opened the trunk and that was what they were now watching. It was a shot of the driveway beside the diner, already darkened by nightfall. There were a couple of light sources, but none bright enough to make much of a difference. A small hedge grew alongside the drive, running parallel to the diner itself.
The dash cam also recorded sound and the agents listened as muffled voices briefly spoke, before a dull bang registered. A second bang, this one clearly the trunk closing, quickly followed and again, they held their breaths as they waited with open mouths. The unmistakable sound of a van’s side door being pulled shut rattled somewhere off screen and Tim felt himself grip the bottom of the steering wheel slightly as he watched. It was the moment that could give them the break they needed and both lent in a little closer as they heard the unmistakable sound of an engine revving a little.
A shape slowly rolled into view, the white van slipping from its parking spot and heading back down the drive. The headlights of the van were off and thus the rear license plate never came into view. The brake lights flickered briefly as the van approached the end of the drive, but by then, the image was so grainy, there was virtually no chance of enhancing it.
“DAMN!” Tim screamed, slamming his elbow into the door. Sam felt the single chance slip away as the van pulled into traffic and disappear into the night. She felt gutted, clenching her own fist as she wanted to scream her own frustrations.
“He knocked her unconscious, didn’t he?” she whispered. Tim nodded.
“Yah,” he whispered. “Probably bound her and bundled her into the back of the van.” They sat in silence, the clip finally ending. She was about to close the lid when she paused, stared at the screen and clicked the rewind button. Once happy with where she wanted to be, she pressed play and watched as the van briefly braked, then turned onto the main road.
“Mumma?” she said, Tim turning curiously.
“What is it?” he asked, but Sam held a finger up as Mumma answered her.
“Can you please check for cameras along Route 77, between Sinton and Woodsboro heading East? We’re looking for a white Savana Cargo van, white,” she began then paused, opened another web window and quickly typed something. “Maybe 2010/2011 model.”
“One sec,” Mumma replied and they listened as she hummed while she searched. Sam looked at Tim and he grinned an approving smile at her.
“Good thinking,” he said.
“Here,” Mumma broke in. “Think I have something.” A notification popped up on the laptop screen at the same time Sam’s cell dinged. She clicked on the tab and a new window opened on the laptop screen. A moment later, they were staring at two screen shots, each of a white Savana van, traveling along the highway they were now sitting on.
“Wait, these are different,” Tim said, peering a little closer.
“Yes, but they are the only two I found. The only two within a thirty minute window. If that’s the van you’re looking for, it’s one of those.”
“So which one?” Sam asked, looking at Tim. He was studying the screenshots side by side, his eyes moving from one to the other with deep concentration. He continued darting back and forth for almost a minute before speaking again.
“This one has that small smiley face on the windscreen, while the other one doesn’t. It’s the only difference I can see. Mumma, did you see anything on the back of the van?” A moment of silence followed as the woman sitting in her office hundreds of miles away now sealed their fate.
“No. Both clean and free of any modifications.”
“It’s this one,” Tim said, pointing to the one without the sticker.
“You sure?” Sam asked.
“He’s kept the van as clean as possible, right down to its factory standard exterior. He wants to blend in as much as possible.” He paused, then reiterated, pointing at the second van again. “It’s this one for sure. Mumma? Jpeg 2.”
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sp; “OK then. Give me a few and I’ll track it as best I can. You guys get ready to travel.”
Tim drove them back to the motel and the pair rushed to their room to pack their belongings. Rather than sitting around waiting, they threw their few things into the car, checked out of their room and drove back to the airport, ensuring they were ready to go the moment they had a destination.
Back in Missouri, Mumma’s fingers were racing across two keyboards like a woman possessed. She’d also called Jim Lawson to help and between them, were tracking a vehicle across the country, carefully trying to pinpoint its intended destination.
While Jim worked on finding where the van had been, Mumma was busy following it, tracking it as the Savana once again headed into the southern part of the country. It had crossed into Missouri near a town called Lineville, but with no starting point, there was no way for Mumma to predict its finishing point.
Jim traced the van using so many different camera feeds, that it was a miracle he worked as fast as he did, especially considering his age. But the man was a long way from showing the wear and tear almost a century of life had inflicted on it and as soon as he found the van slowing as it neared a cemetery in the small town of Dyersville, he knew he struck gold.
“Dyersville, Iowa,” he spoke into the open line between them and Mumma instantly punched the starting point into her computer.
A map of the United States opened up on one of the monitors and Mumma typed in the current position, its previous track highlighted by a thick blue line. Calculating the 982-mile journey from the Iowa starting point, and using the general sense of direction as a guide, Mumma finally put the possibilities into a 50-mile grid around Roswell, New Mexico.
Without wasting a single second, she sent the file to Sam’s cell, then relayed the destination to the pilot of the waiting jet. By the time Tim and Sam climbed aboard their waiting aircraft, the engines were running and the course plotted. Time had finally fallen on their side of the fence.