Caching Out

by Cheatham, Tammy

  The woman bent at the waist and rocked back and forth, one hand clasped over her mouth, the other covered her belly. The man leaned over, said something to her and she shook her head at him. He pulled his wife upward and wrapped her in his arms, turning so that she was no longer facing the mutilated body of their young son. The man closed his eyes as tears ran freely down his face. Gavin forced the computer screen back to full view and sat back on the worn couch, “There you have it folks. A classic Hollywood moment.”

  With a deputies’ help, the man pulled his wife out of the clearing and toward the trail, away from the crime scene. As they made their exit, three people, two men and a woman, all wearing dark-colored windbreakers stepped into the camera’s range

  Gavin studied them with interest. “Ah, the Crime Scene Unit has arrived!” He grabbed another beer without taking his eyes off the screen. “Now, they’re a busy group,” he mumbled as the three member team split and went to work. Moving to the perimeter of the clearing, a tall, lanky man set up spotlights in various locations, turning each one on as he went. The area brightened with each light he positioned, their focused beams illuminating the entire clearing.

  Lifting his beer in salute, Gavin smiled, “My stage, my play and I directed it all.”

  One of them knelt on the ground away from the body and pulled a digital camera from a bag. He snapped shot after shot of the scene and body. He then stood near the middle of the clearing, his camera aimed and focused at the surrounding area. Turning his body, he snapped each shot not missing one inch of the forest.

  “Panoramic,” Gavin hooted. “Now that’s cool! Of course, there’s still nothing like a live video to make the show! Too bad you guys only get stills.”

  Zooming in on the sheriff, still standing a few feet behind the boy, Gavin brought the officer’s face full screen. Pointing at the man on his computer Gavin laughed, not a snicker but a full throaty, belly shaking laugh. “The old guy’s about to cry. Now, that’s rich. A cop with feelings!”

  Adjusting the screen back to its normal size, Gavin looked on as the CSU woman pulled on a pair of latex gloves and stepped forward, kneeling next to the boy’s body. Carefully picking up the little hand, she ran a small scalpel under each nail then dropped her findings into a plastic bag.

  Gavin snorted with disgust. “Lady, you are so wasting your time.” By the time that kid woke all the way up he was so far into the K-hole that he didn’t care what happened to him. It hit him so hard he puked. “Hell, he was so little that it was almost a waste of twenty five bucks to put him there.”

  The woman placed her scalpel into its case and pulled out what appeared to be a mini-vacuum cleaner, and ran it over the boy’s clothes in a methodical pattern. Slipping the filter off the vacuum, she slid the entire thing into a separate bag and placed it in her duffle.

  Gavin reached forward to increase the volume and chuckled, “Wonder what’s next in her bag of tricks?”

  Stone-faced, the old Sheriff watched the investigative team work the site. Looking up he spotted a man pushing through the brush into the clearing, the sheriff raised his hand and said, “Daniel, over here.”

  Nursing his second beer, Gavin saw a large and probably Native American man step into the clearing and watched the younger man walk toward the sheriff. He had a jacket that said ME on it. “Coroner didn’t take long on this one,” Gavin whispered.

  The man stepped over to the sheriff and shook his hand. Gavin strained to hear the sheriff say, “Hell of a thing to happen to a kid, Daniel. I stopped you before you saw the body to let you know that I want to keep the details quiet for now. You’ll know what I mean when you see the boy.”

  The younger man glanced over his shoulder to where the female CSU agent bent over the child’s body and nodded.

  The sheriff continued, “I don’t have a lot of details yet, but Mr. Babcock, the father, called 911 almost two hours ago and said his eight-year-old son was missing. Said that he and the Missus had taken a walk down to the pier and that both boys were sound asleep when they left the cabin. When the call came in, I expected maybe the kid fell into the lake or got lost, but it only took a minute for the dog to pick up a scent and lead us here.”

  Gavin grinned, “Now I had to make it easy for you to find didn’t I? It’s not like you guys are the sharpest tools in the shed.”

  Nodding again, the ME moved to the child’s side, kneeling down next to the tiny body and gently examining the child for any signs of life. He shook his head and checked his watch before he quietly spoke with the woman.

  Too quietly for Gavin to hear. “Damn it!” he said, trying once again to boost the volume on his computer.

  The ME stepped back to allow the investigator to finish her job. There was nothing that he could do except wait. Gavin watched as the ME moved to stand at the sheriff’s side and for a while neither man spoke. The two CSU men moved in a grid search pattern covering the entire clearing. They moved back and forth across the area methodically, each sweeping the ground with portable lights.

  “I’m guessing that you noticed that the M.O. is the same as the Parker murder,” the ME said, his voice low but still audible to Gavin.

  “Yeah, I noticed.” The sheriff’s voice was gruff and hard-edged, and he shook his head as if to clear it. “What I don’t get is why? Why this little boy? A serial killer usually sticks to a certain type and the only similarity that I can come up with on this one is that Parker was an elementary teacher and this kid was damn sure still in elementary school.”

  “You already let Tate know?”

  “Yeah, he’s on his way to the courthouse now. This one is a county investigation, but we’re working them both together. I’ll be taking the Babcocks back to town for the night. The boy’s mother doesn’t want to stay here anymore. I’ve got two deputies out now talking with the other guests who had cabins on the lakeshore and those that have rentals from the lake up to here. Need to see if anyone saw or heard anything and we need statements tonight while it’s still fresh. Let me know when you’re ready to move the body, okay?”

  The ME nodded, took a look at the kid then turned to say something to the old sheriff that Gavin didn’t catch before he disappeared off the screen. “They’re wrapping it up, Gav. Show’s about over for tonight, but it has been a good one.”

  The CSU lady finally stood and zipped her duffle bag, moving away from the body to talk with the two men on her team. Gavin watched the sheriff reach into his pants pocket and pull something out. “Hmm, wonder what he’s up to now?” Resting his elbows on his knees, Gavin saw the old guy bend and use a pocket knife to cut the boys hands free of the red cording that they’d been tied with. Movement on the corner of the screen caught his eye and Gavin muttered, “Here comes that Indian dude again.”

  The two men lifted the body onto an open body bag, zipped it closed and lifted the boy onto a waiting gurney.

  “Okay, show’s over.” Gavin hit ‘save’ on the video file and with a few additional keystrokes he remotely disconnected the camera, erasing any link to his computer. “Damn I love those little mini-cams! I’m going to watch this one again and again.” Gavin closed the laptop, and moved back to the chair on the porch just in time to see the ambulance leave the park followed closely by a Shannon County police car with the parents and brother of the boy huddled in the backseat.

  Gavin scanned the park and noticed people gathered in small clusters speaking quietly to each other. He stepped off of the porch and moved to the closest group. He made eye contact with a small brunette, smiled and asked, “What’s going on?”

  CHAPTER 12

  In his patrol car, now parked on Park Road One, Martin Crawley bent, his hands and head resting on the steering wheel of his cruiser as rain drummed a slow, sad song on the metal roof of his car. Sitting up, he used the back of one hand to wipe warm salty tears from his face and cursed, “Dammit to hell….why?” Fumbling for his cell phone, Martin dialed Tate’s number.

  Tate was waiting when Mart
in pulled his cruiser into the empty parking lot of the courthouse. Watching from his office window he saw Martin get out of his patrol car and slip the hood of his rain jacket up over his head. Before Martin reached his office door, Tate filled two mugs from the coffee pot and placed them on his desk. From a lower drawer, he pulled out an amber-tinted bottle. Tate splashed a generous amount of the dark liquid into both cups. It was Sunday and he was off duty and even if Martin wasn’t, he figured his friend needed something more than plain, black coffee.

  Martin pulled the door to Tate’s office closed behind him and slipped off his yellow rain slicker and his hat, hanging them both on hooks inside the door. Taking the chair across from Tate he slammed a manila folder on the desk then took a sip from the waiting cup. “What the hell is going on here Tate? First an elementary teacher is cut to ribbons and now an eight year old kid? I can’t understand how something like this could be happening in Pine Ridge. Hell, except for the summer tourist trade, this is a dying town and we can’t be home to a sick bastard that would do something like this.”

  Tate flipped the folder open and reached for the small flash drive bagged inside. He pulled it free and slipped the portable device into his computer. Tate waited for the photos to load while Martin continued to talk.

  “It’s the same guy. There are too many similarities for it to be anyone else.”

  Pressing the computer keys that would start the slide show, Tate dreaded the harsh reality of what he was about to see. Pulling the bottle out again, Tate splashed a good amount into Martin’s cup as the slides flashed on his monitor. Martin hadn’t said much on the phone, but Tate had known from his strained tone and terse replies that the situation was bad. The slides moved from one grizzly scene to the next and Tate remained silent, allowing Martin to ramble. He knew the older man needed to talk.

  “It can’t be a copycat—we never released the details on the Parker case. This kid was marked identically to Parker. He had the rings on his right forearm just like Saralyn and his face, God, Tate, his face! Can you imagine what his mother felt when she saw him? I know that the father did the ID, but there was no keeping that woman back once she knew it was her kid. No stopping her . . .” Martin’s voice trailed off as he pressed the cup to his lips.

  Tate adjusted his computer, enlarging the slides. As the screen moved from frame to frame Tate made mental notes of the similarities in the two cases. In all of the shots, the child’s hands were bound with the same red cording. He was dressed only in his underwear and a pair of Spiderman pajama bottoms that were twisted and ripped. Tate asked, “Was this kid sexually assaulted on top of everything else?”

  “Yeah, he was,” Martin locked eyes with Tate. “The bastard raped an eight-year-old boy.”

  Tate slapped the folder closed and grabbed his hat. “Come on, buddy, I’ll drive you home. We can talk about this after you’ve gotten some rest.”

  CHAPTER 13

  It was time to go. Gavin stood in front of the mirror, adjusted his tie, slipped on a dark blue jacket, and then grabbed his bag from the chair. Leaving the cabin at White Clay Lake he drove his rental car to the airport in Chadron, Nebraska, and pulled into the rental return lot. Gavin entered the airport and boarded his flight to Little Rock without incident. “I’m coming home Mama,” he whispered.

  Dropping into his designated seat in the first class cabin and buckling in, Gavin caught the eye of a petite blonde stewardess and asked her for a bottle of water. As the uniformed attendant returned with his request, Gavin’s chocolate eyes roved over the woman, taking in the curve of her breast and the flare of her hips. “Too bad I can’t put a cache on this plane and let you find it,” he muttered under his breath.

  Smiling down at him, the flight attendant asked, “Did you need something else sir?”

  Gavin flashed a smile taking note of her nametag, “No thank you, Tanya.” He settled his water bottle in the cup holder attached to the seat, then leaned back and closed his eyes even though he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Knowing that he would see his mother before the day was over filled him with both anticipation and dread.

  As the wheels of the airplane touched the tarmac in Little Rock, Gavin pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number for the Little Rock realtor that he had commissioned to sell his mother’s house. Setting up a meeting for the following morning, he pocketed the phone and then pulled his backpack from the overhead compartment.

  Gavin moved down the center isle to the exit row where Tanya was directing the first class passengers off of the plane. Catching her eye as he passed, Gavin winked and gave her his best Hollywood smile. Who knew? They just might meet again.

  Stepping up to the car rental counter, Gavin flashed his corporate card and a few minutes later he drove away in red convertible. Even though he could easily afford a car, Gavin didn’t own one. No car and no house other than a remote cabin that he’d bought a few years ago tied him to any one place for very long and nothing, not even the credit card he’d just used, was registered in his name. Turning left on the 440 and cranking the radio up, Gavin sang along with an old George Thorogood song. “Bbb…bad….bad to the bone.”

  A few miles down the road, Gavin sucked in a calming breath and slowed to make the turn. He arrived at the Park Central Alzheimer Center just after six p.m. He parked the rented car, and finger combed his short dark hair as he slid out of the leather seat. Grabbing a brown paper shopping bag from the back floorboard, Gavin slid on sunglasses and walked through the double doors leading into the center.

  “I’m here Mama. I’m here.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Tate parked the SUV in the rear of the courthouse just after six the following morning; he waited as Martin pulled in. The two men agreed to meet before hours to review the murder cases without having to field calls from the press or locals.

  Leaning against his SUV, Tate waited as Martin exited his patrol car. The metallic click of the cruiser’s door lock sounded out of place in the early morning stillness. Side by side they climbed the courthouse steps. Other than a nod of acknowledgement, neither man spoke. Their wordless pact to bring a killer down didn’t require it.

  Unlocking the wooden door to his office, Tate walked over and flipped the coffee maker on. Both men hung their coats then took opposite chairs across the desk. Before the coffee finished brewing they’d opened both case files, their resolve palpable in the small room.

  “Sheriff, we’ve got a serial on our hands. I don’t fully understand the profile on this guy, too many differences in victimology, but I know he’s going to kill again if we don’t stop him. On top of that, we have a serious leak somewhere in the department.”

  Martin glanced up. “You mean you think someone on the force is feeding details to the locals?”

  Nodding his head, Tate continued. “I do think that. I barely walked through the door last night after dropping you off when my phone started ringing. The Mayor demanding an arrest, Parker’s mother wanting to know how I could let something like this happen again and a couple more that I only half listened to. Someone at the scene brought the news back to town last night. Since it was a county investigation that means one of your deputies, a member of the CSU team or the ME office.”

  “What about the other campers? Couldn’t it have been one of them?” Martin asked.

  “It could have been, but I don’t think it was. People know that it has a lot of similarities to the Parker case and those campers were nowhere near that first scene. Someone is making a serious effort to undermine our investigation and inflame the locals. Maybe that someone is actually our killer or maybe they just want us to appear inept at our jobs. Either way its damned frustrating thinking that one of your own is working against you.” Tate continued, “Right now frustration weighs in at just over a ton and its all sitting right here.” He bounced his fist lightly against his chest.

  Picking up his coffee cup, Martin nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. I can’t recall this job ever being any harder t
han it is right now. I called the ME’s office on my way in. Daniel and Royce Wiggins were both hard at work. Royce promised me the official report on the Babcock kid by ten this morning.”

  Comparing notes from the field reports, medical examiner reports and from personal observations, Tate and Martin worked uninterrupted with Tate making notes. “Okay, Martin, starting with what we do know about both cases, it’s obvious that there are several key pieces of evidence common in both murders.”

  Martin grunted in acknowledgement then stood and poured them both a cup of coffee, the last in the pot. “What I know so far is that the same perp killed them both. The tattoo cuts are the same, he cut the same eye and ear on both of them and the red cord he used to tie them both up is the same. I don’t need to wait for any damned lab results to know that.”

  Tate accepted the offered cup. “That’s all true buddy, but it’s also surface data and as hard as it is to move past what we’ve seen, we’ve got to look deeper.”

  Concern lined Martin’s face, “It’s a hell of a lot easier to talk about forgetting what you’ve seen than it is to actually forget it, Tate.”

  “I know,” Tate said. “But we’ve got to find this killer and the only way to do that is to focus on the facts. I once had a superior tell me that there was no room for supposition in an investigation and that we were to deal with pragmatic information only. At the time it didn’t mean much to me because I was running on raw emotion, but in the end he was right.”

  Martin moved to the window. “You’re right. Logically I know that but I’m having a real hard time coming to grips with the thought that there’s a serial killer right here in our little nothing of a town. And finding that little boy was something I’ll never forget.” Taking his seat again, Martin hesitated, “So where do we go from here?”