CHAPTER 6
Hours later, Tate and Martin sat on the raised wooden deck behind Tate’s house, each nursing their second beer of the evening.
“It’s too bad that your leads with that guy from White River didn’t pan out,” Martin said. “Any idea where you’re taking the investigation next?”
Tate took a pull from his bottle. “I not sure where I’ll go from here,” he admitted. “but wherever it is, I’d better do it soon. I did some follow up at Parker’s house and didn’t find anything that would indicate heavy drug use and the story that I got from Troy Donaldson checks out. His employer verified that he was in Milwaukee the night Saralyn was murdered and he basically told me the same thing that Reva did.”
Raising his own bottle to his lips Martin stopped and asked, “You ask him about Ketamine?”
“Absolutely. He swears he’s never done Ketamine and even offered to do a drug test for me. That really doesn’t mean much since K only stays in the system a couple days and he’d probably test clean, but my gut tells me that he’s being honest.” Settling his bottle back on the table, Tate continued, “Troy readily admitted that he’s a casual smoker and while he thought that he and Saralyn hit it off pretty well, she never returned his call after the party. He has a squeaky clean record and holds down a full time job. When I got back from White River I did go ahead and check Saralyn’s phone records from the night of the party forward and that part of his story is solid too. On the day she was killed there were only a couple of calls on record. She got an early morning call from Reva and nothing else in or out until the 911 call was made that night. I should get the hair follicle results from Royce or Daniel tomorrow and that will confirm if this really was a one-time thing or if there’s a history of marijuana use.”
Martin leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, “Well, Marshall sure has a solid alibi. Four days in the Rushville lock up pretty much clears him on this one. Maybe someone who saw Saralyn and Reva out at the lake that day followed her into town.”
“I’ve thought of that too and I did question Reva about it but she says that she doesn’t recall seeing anyone who seemed out of place. Says they didn’t talk to anyone other than the clerk at the sign in desk. When I checked the records for that day there were twelve people, including Parker and Reva, who registered on the west side of the lake. I was able to interview them all in person with the exception of one couple who had driven over from Nebraska for the weekend and I talked to them on the phone. I got pretty much the same story from them all, quiet day at the lake, good day for fishing and so on.”
Martin tossed his empty bottle in a trash basket near the door where it clinked against the other bottles already deposited there. “Of course we both know that not everyone who visits the lake takes the time to sign in or even comes into the park from the posted entrances.” He stood, “I’ve got to be going Tate, I’m pretty sure Barb has my supper waiting and as good as that woman is to me I try not to make her wait.”
“I hear you, Martin,” Tate said. “If I had a woman like Barb waiting for me, I’d be rushing to get home every day. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 7
Ten miles away at the White Clay Lodge and Lake Resort, Gavin Wheeler stood before a full length mirror hanging on the bathroom door of the small cabin he had rented earlier in the week. Critically looking at his image, he reached up and smoothed his thin mustache down against his upper lip. Satisfied that he looked like the average tourist out for a hike around the lake, he pushed his sunglasses down and winked.
“Gavin, you are one good looking SOB. Johnny Depp doesn’t have a thing on you.” Grabbing his Steelers cap from the bed and settling it over his dark brown hair he reached back to finger comb the short hair at the back of his neck. He snatched his backpack from the sofa and pulled out a small hand-held GPS. Once out the door, Gavin took the nearest hiking trail circling White Clay Lake.
The well-marked trails running through the park were covered with a thick layer of pine needles that both cushioned and muted his steps. Gavin followed the GPS directions using the coordinates that he had entered before leaving the cabin. The mid-day sun peaked through the trees shading the trail and tossing shadows as a breeze rocked the limbs overhead. The sweet, piney smell of the trees reminded Gavin of home and his mother. He stopped and pulled a water bottle from his backpack and looked out over the glass-like surface of the lake. Even though the summer season was still a couple weeks away, its surface was dotted with small boats of fisherman and families out for some fun.
Glancing back at the GPS, Gavin saw that he was almost at the cache site. Picking up his pace he continued to follow the trail around the lake. A steady beeping signaled that he had reached the cache and prompted him to step off the trail. Pushing through a thick copse of undergrowth and vines, he followed the on screen directions until the machine spoke.
“You have reached your destination,” an automated voice said.
He turned the device off and slid it into his backpack. Gavin knew that he was as close to the geocache as the GPS could get him. Now he would have to search for the cache using the clues that were given as a hint on the geocaching website. Standing in a small clearing surrounded by pine and cedar trees, Gavin stopped to scan the area looking for a good place to hide something small. Pulling a pair of thin cotton gloves from his jacket pocket, he slipped them on and stepped around a clump of brushy growth. Gavin bent to check under the ledge of a rock shelf near the edge of the clearing.
“Elementary, my dear Watson. Amateurs always hide it under the rocks.”
Opening the small square plastic container wrapped in brown and green camouflage tape, Gavin wasn’t surprised to see that it held several small trinkets. “The usual stuff,” he muttered as he looked through the items in the cache.
Pushing aside a mini deck of playing cards, a small wooden cross that looked like it belonged on a keychain and a toy car whose red paint had faded and chipped with wear, he saw that folded at the bottom of the container was a log book. “Not happening, fellow cachers.” He didn’t sign log books and didn’t take trinkets, but he would be leaving something of great personal value for the next cacher to find.
Gavin reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin. He took a minute to gently rub his finger along the etched design on the coin’s surface. Three interlocking rings rose slightly from the otherwise smooth surface of the coin. Flipping the token in his palm he did the same with the custom design on the other side. Block lettering proclaimed, ‘Let the Chase Begin.’ He smiled, “You’re not just unusual, you are extraordinary.”
Not much bigger than a fifty cent piece, the token was an eye catcher. Cachers couldn’t resist taking the token and Gavin couldn’t resist killing them when they did. Rubbing the coin with the tips of his fingers had become a ritual that the coin required and Gavin never disappointed the coin. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply Gavin could almost smell the dime store gardenia perfume that his mother had always worn. He could see her smiling face as she pushed his unruly hair from his forehead and bent to kiss his brow. The coin would give him the strength to do what had to be done, it always had.
“Don’t worry Mama, it won’t take long,” he whispered. Gavin gently placed the token inside the plastic container and returned the cache to its hiding place, making sure to push the leaves around the rocks so that the site appeared undisturbed. “Don’t want any ‘muggles’ finding this one do we Mama? Funny word ‘muggles,’ huh, Mama? I think the cachers stole it from a Harry Potter book or movie. Anyway we don’t want any ‘muggles’ jacking this site. If they do, then I sincerely hope they can’t resist taking our coin.”
He stepped back to look at the site and once satisfied that the cache was well hidden, Gavin made his way over to a tall pine tree some fifteen feet away. Nimbly grabbing onto a lower limb and pulling up, he hoisted his body up into the tree. Sitting with his legs wrapped around the tree limb Gavin pulled open his backpack a
nd removed a small motion activated camera, securing it near the end of the tree limb. “I didn’t get to record that bitch Saralyn but I’m not going to miss another one,” he grunted.
Gavin wrapped the camera tightly to the limb with brown duct tape and pushed a small battery pack into the waiting slot. He bent down to look over the unit making sure that his view to the cache site was clear. “Perfect, Gav. Won’t be long and you’ll have another video to add to your collection.” He shimmied down the tree and pushed his backpack into place, then he walked over to the rocks that hid the cache and looked up, smiled at the camera, and waved. He sat on the rocks and pulled his water bottle free taking a long draw of tepid water and a deep breath. Pushing his sunglasses up, Gavin looked around the site noting that the trailhead was a good forty feet from the cache site.
“This is a good one Gav, just far enough to provide a little privacy.”
Leaning back on the rocks, he closed his eyes, letting the morning sun warm him as his mind wandered. Placing the camera always reminded him of his daddy, the bastard. Harold Wheeler had owned a small gun and taxidermy shop when Gavin was a kid and he’d used game cameras to photograph sites where he would later return to hunt deer. Hell, Gavin had used a game camera himself back when still shots were enough…before fate had become his God, the coin his destiny. He whispered, “This is so much better, Daddy. No grainy still shots for me, and once I do the remote disconnect I’m done.” Daddy - just saying the word choked him.
Before Gavin could stop them, memories of another day in the woods pushed at him, insisting that he open his mind’s door and let them in. He’d been nine years old and his Daddy was letting him go on the hunt. They’d left the house in a battered old farm truck with rusted floorboards. It was early fall and still hot. The truck didn’t have air conditioning and they’d rolled the windows down, dust circled in the cab as they bumped down a dirt logging road. Later, they sat in that damn tree stand for hours waiting for a deer to show up. He’d begged to climb down and pee but his daddy had only slapped him on the head.
Gavin could still here the old man’s voice. “Shut up boy, you can’t be pissin’ out here. Once a deer catches wind of human piss they won’t come within a mile of this place. I knowed I should’ve left you home ‘cause you ain’t nothing but a sissy ass kid. Got your Mama to thank for that.”
Gavin remembered shrinking down in the stand, crossing his legs and rocking himself, willing his body to hold on. He could still hear the rifle shot as it echoed in the small space, the scent of gunpowder filling his nose, the spent casing popping from the gun to land on the rough and faded wood floor of the stand. “Come on boy, I got one.” Harold Wheeler had lifted him by the arms and dropped him to the ground. Gavin stood looking at the deer as it thrashed, struggling to stand while blood streamed from a hole in its chest. Fear kept him rooted to the spot, his eyes glued on the downed animal whose body was unmarked except for the single bullet hole piercing its heaving chest. Harold walked quickly over to the deer, placed his gun on its head and pulled the trigger blowing half the animal’s head away with the shot.
“Damn ugly animal, didn’t have a rack worth trying to save the head for.” Then the old man shot him a yellow-toothed smile and handed him a knife, “Well, boy, I killed it and that means that you gotta clean it.”
Goosebumps pricked his arms as Gavin recalled how afraid he’d been. Not just of what he was being told to do, but of what would happen if he didn’t do it right. His hands shook as he made a long sweeping cut across the deer’s neck just like his daddy told him to do. Squeezing his closed eyes tighter he remembered the metallic smell of the animal’s blood as it poured out and pooled at his feet. He still felt his old man’s hand on his back, pushing him forward. He saw himself as he fell to his knees and the animal’s crimson blood soaked through his jeans.
Gavin jumped up from his seat on the rocks and stumbled toward the trees. Almost there, he stopped. Standing alone in the woods, he shook his head, willing the memories away. It didn’t work. There he was, a skinny nine year old with his hands braced against a pine tree puking his guts up while urine ran down his legs soaking into his jeans and mixing with the animals blood to form red trails down his pants legs. What was his old man doing? Laughing. Even now, he could still hear the SOB laughing.
“Bastard. You sorry bastard! I hated you just a little bit more every time you told that fucking story to your friends, and I hate you today. Well, guess what old man? You’d be the one pissing his pants if you could see me hunting now.”
Retracing his steps to the edge of the clearing, Gavin was startled when a group of people broke through a patch of brush and stepped into the clearing just a few feet from him. Damn, he’d been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard them coming. Even worse, it was a family. The man held a GPS, much like his own, in one hand while the other hand was locked with a dark-haired woman’s hand. Bringing up the rear there were two boys, maybe eight and ten. Both sported baseball caps and small school-sized backpacks.
The woman looked up at him, smiled and asked, “So, did you find it?” Pushing forward, the smaller boy moved behind the man, using his father as a shield.
Gavin cleared his throat and turned to face the family, “Uh, no, I didn’t find the cache. My batteries just died and I forgot to bring a spare set.” Stepping around the group he pulled his cap lower and again turned toward the trail. He’d only taken a few steps when the older boy called out.
“Hey mister, you can look with us if you want to.”
Then the younger one poked his head around his father and added, “Yea, we always find ‘em. My dad’s the best at finding caches.”
Turning part way to face the man, Gavin smiled, “Uh, maybe some other time. I really do have to be going. Hope you find it.” He really did hope they’d find it, in fact you might say that he needed them to find it.
CHAPTER 8
Tate watched from his office window as the sun dipped low and fell behind the snow-capped peaks that the state was so famous for. The fading light touched the snow casting a bluish tint on the tops of the otherwise black hills. Just as he sat down at his desk, his office phone rang.
“Echo here.”
“Chief Echo, this is Travis Parker, Saralyn’s daddy. I left a message earlier today and I need to know when you intend to arrest Marshall Olen. Word around town is that he’s the one who killed my baby. I’m a Christian man, but if you can’t do your job then don’t be surprised when it gets done for you.”
Tate sucked in a deep breath. “Mr. Parker, I am so sorry for your loss and I can assure you that the department is doing everything possible to catch the person who killed Saralyn, but you need to stay out of our investigation and let us do our job. Marshall has a solid alibi for the night that Saralyn was murdered and he is not, I repeat not, her killer.”
Silence.
“You there, Mr. Parker?”
Coughing.
“Yes, I’m here. So what you’re telling me is that you won’t arrest him just because he had some drinking buddy vouch for him?”
Letting out a frustrated breath Tate explained. “Mr. Parker, Marshall Olen was in Rushville lockup the day before the crime, the night that Saralyn was murdered and for two days after that. He was in the County Jail and that’s a pretty solid alibi. I know that the townsfolk are speculating about the case and I understand that a tragedy like this will either bring out the best or the worst in folks, but everyone has got to let the department do our job. It would be a sad situation if we arrest the killer and fail to get a conviction on a technicality or worse yet, arrest the wrong person while the guilty party goes free. This has got to be handled by the book, and that’s what I’m doing.”
Sobbing.
“Mr. Parker?” No response, followed by a click disconnecting the call. Tate redialed the number to the Parker house, then jumped in surprise when the second line on his phone rang. “Echo here.”
The soft voice of a woman
came on the line. “Tate, this is Sara Parker. Mr. Parker had to hang up, he’s just too upset to talk. I think you should go out and check on Mr. Olen. I overheard my husband earlier on the phone and I’m afraid. I heard what you told my husband about Marshall, and, well, if he’s innocent then I’m worried that some of the locals may be out to do him harm. You understand, right, Tate?”
Already grabbing his Glock from a locked desk drawer and slamming it into his holster Tate barked a reply. “Yes Mrs. Parker, I do understand. Thank you for calling me back, but I’ve got to go now.” Tate grabbed his cap and his cell phone. He dialed the number for Martin as he went down the stairs, got his voicemail and left a brief message. Passing the dispatch desk, Tate ordered Julie to call for back up at Marshall’s house. He took the courthouse steps two at a time jogging to his vehicle.
“This is going to be a long night,” he muttered.
Turning onto the dirt road leading up to Marshall’s place, Tate saw the red and blue flashing lights of two patrol cars. Standing on the front porch of Olen’s small frame house, Martin was talking to a group of three men who stood in front of the house. Deputy Cook stood next to his county patrol car, at the ready if violence erupted. Nodding to the deputy as he got out of his SUV, Tate’s long strides ate up the distance across the yard. Stepping up next to Martin, Tate wasn’t surprised when one of men mouthed off.
“Shouldn’t you be back sittin’ in your office, Echo? You don’t have any authority out here. We was only going to do what one of you should have already done.”
“And what would that be Mr. Long?” Tate stepped down onto the first step. “Arrest a man that wasn’t anywhere near the crime scene? Or maybe you had some other brand of justice in mind.”
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