Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  "How so?"

  "He's angry. I mean really angry."

  "The information I received this morning may channel his anger in a different direction. How soon can you get here?"

  "You know the range is on the opposite side of the county from Dot. It'll take at least an hour."

  "Use your lights and siren, Bud. This is top priority."

  Sitting in her office with Julius Borders, awaiting the arrival of her husband and Stan Steamer, was difficult. Lacy drank coffee, paced, looked up Dale Ryder on the Internet, paced and drank more coffee.

  "It's about time,” she muttered when Bud made his appearance.

  "Baby, forty-five minutes must set some kind of record."

  "Everybody sit down,” she instructed. “I know you're all curious, but let me do this my way. Stan, how well do you know Dale Ryder?"

  Stan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I feel as if I've known her all my life, but when you get right down to it, we met less than a week ago."

  "What kind of person is she?"

  "I don't know what you're driving at. She's ... she's the most wonderful woman I've ever known."

  "That's love talking. Push it aside."

  He licked his lips while locking his eyes on Lacy. “She's young, intelligent, well educated and determined to get revenge on the man who killed her parents."

  "Have you slept with her?"

  "That's none of your business."

  "I want to know the color of her pubic hair."

  "It's red."

  "You've seen it?"

  "Yes."

  Lacy stood and walked to the office window. “I was hoping for a different answer."

  "Get on with it, Lacy,” Bud urged.

  She faced the trio and propped against the windowsill. “I have not been able to get much information on Dale Ryder. What little I've obtained meshes with what we know from personal contact but I'm beginning to think the woman we know as Dale Ryder is either someone impersonating her or Dale, in reality, is a much different person than we've been led to believe."

  Stan clinched his fists and through clenched teeth said, “Chief Cranfield, I'm in no mood for games."

  "Lacy,” Borders grumbled, “you got me out of bed this morning just when things were heating up with Leora. I'm in no mood for games either."

  Lacy moved to her desk, picked up the printout from the Bureau of Vital Statistics and said, “Dale Ryder and Jerry Smith were united in holy matrimony three weeks ago. The officiating officer was Chris Norway."

  Stan leaped from his chair and pulled the printout from Lacy's hands. “That's not possible,” he shouted.

  "How can you be so sure? You didn't know Dale three weeks ago."

  Bud leaned forward, clasped the back of Stan's belt and tugged him back to his chair. “Lacy, you have three grumpy men ready to strangle you. In your own best interests, I suggest you fill us in."

  Lacy sat behind her desk, interlaced her fingers and rested her chin on them. “This morning I received a telephone call from an FBI agent, Teresa Towers. A few days ago, Jerry Smith appeared at the Georgia National Bank in Lenox. He presented a copy of the marriage certificate, a typed letter allegedly signed by Dale and a checking account signature card with Dale's signature. The letter instructed the bank to switch her account and CD's to joint accounts with her new husband."

  "Don't those signature cards need to be notarized?” Stan asked.

  "No. However, the banker smelled a rat. He felt there was nothing he could do but allow the transfer, but, although Dale's latest signature looked like the one on her original card, he called in the FBI for an investigation."

  "How did Smith explain Dale's absence?"

  "He claimed they spent their honeymoon in Hawaii and that Dale enjoyed the islands so much, she decided to stay for a couple of weeks."

  "Why did the FBI agent call you?” Borders asked.

  "The signatures are still being examined by an expert, but four days ago Dale cashed a check in Dot.” Lacy smiled thinly. “The last time I checked the map, Dot wasn't in Hawaii."

  Stan again jumped to his feet. “Did he get his hands on her pecan orchard?"

  Lacy shook her head. “Not yet. He tried, but the Register of Deeds refused to okay the changed ownership without witnessing Dale's signature."

  Stan clapped his hands and said, “That means Dale's alive. Somehow, Smith must get her to sign the deed. They're on their way to Georgia."

  "Maybe,” Borders muttered, “but what about Sandra Dollar and Chris Norway? What role do they play in all this?"

  "It's simple,” Stan said. “Smith is holding Sandy for ransom and he kidnapped Reverend Norway because she knew too much."

  Bud Cranfield shook his head. “If Smith is who we think he is, he's murdered dozens of people in his lifetime. Why not just slit Chris’ throat and be done with it?"

  Stan moved towards the door.

  "Hold it, Stan. You haven't heard my theory,” Lacy said.

  He turned and glared at her.

  "The real Dale Ryder may very well be dead. The woman we know as Dale could be Smith's accomplice. They put this whole thing together in order to assume ownership of the pecan orchard and the real Ryder's assets. Sandy's abduction most likely is for ransom and poor little Chris was caught in the plot and couldn't figure a way out. I have an idea her body will turn up one day."

  "You're wrong,” Stan said in an even voice. “Dale is Dale. The monster has her and they're on their way to Georgia."

  "What color was Dale's hair when you met her?"

  "Brown, but it was dyed. She told me she was a redhead and, at my request, dyed it red so the roots wouldn't show when it begins to grow out."

  "Maybe her natural color is brown. The real Dale is, indeed, a redhead. Perhaps the woman you know as Dale Ryder was afraid you'd find out and used this story as a cover."

  "You're forgetting the pubic hair."

  "When did you first see Dale naked, before or after she dyed her hair red?"

  "Before! Satisfied?"

  "Are you certain?"

  "No, I'm lying about it,” Stan replied sarcastically.

  "There's something else. Dale is a graduate of Wake Forest University as she told you but Wake Forest has never had a synchronized swimming team."

  Stan's eyes blazed. “You can sit here and theorize if you want to. I'm going after them.” He swung open the door.

  "You know where this pecan orchard is?” Borders asked as he stood.

  "Not exactly. I recall Dale saying it was near Exit 13 off Interstate 75."

  "I have a friend who owns a charter service. He can fly us there in an hour or so."

  "Us?"

  Borders nodded. “I don't have the whole thing clear in my mind, but I think you are right. At least Sandy is still alive and Smith is transporting her to Georgia. I want to be there when the FBI mops up this mess."

  "FBI?"

  Borders chuckled. “Before we get to the private airfield, Lacy will have the pecan orchard filled with agents."

  Bud twisted in his chair. “Be careful, guys. Stan, remember ... once you squeeze the trigger, you can't call back the bullet."

  Dale felt as if her brain were pounding against the inside of her skull. She felt sick to the stomach and there was a dull ache in her shoulders. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought to regain consciousness.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Smith."

  She twisted her head towards the sound.

  "We haven't been formally introduced, my dear. I'm Jerry Smith, your adoring husband."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  He grinned. “Don't worry, Sweetheart. It's all nice and legal. It was such a beautiful ceremony."

  "Where am I? What's going on?"

  "Well, my darling,” he laughed, “you're in the shotgun seat of a rented truck. We just passed the Georgia state line. I figure we'll be home in a couple of hours."

  "How ... did you..."

  He snickered. “Fu
ll of questions this morning, aren't you? Well, just relax and I'll tell you all about it."

  "My shoulders and arms hurt. I ... I need to pee."

  "Sorry about that, Sweetheart. We haven't been married long enough for me to trust you yet. I'm afraid I had to tape your wrists and elbows.” He chuckled. “Feel anything on your ankle?"

  "Yeah."

  "Old fashioned ball and chain. I ran across them in a junkyard one day four, maybe five years ago. I bought all four of them. They used to shackle prisoners with those things. The balls weigh twenty-five or thirty pounds. They were terribly rusty when I bought them, but I cleaned them up and put on new chains. It'll allow you to move around but not very fast or far. Sandy Dollar and Chris Norway hate them, but, like you, they'll get used to them in time."

  "I'm not kidding, man. I'm about to wet my pants."

  "Go ahead. Nobody's stopping you. Hell, the last time I checked on my pregnant slave, she smelled like an outhouse.

  "Now, let's see. You asked how I captured you. It was so easy. You fell right into my little trap. You see, dear, I'm Sucker. I had you believing that Chris was Sucker, didn't I? I just waited for you to amble into that secluded picnic shelter and shot you in the ass with a tranquilizer gun I stole from an Animal Shelter in Galax. That dart did its thing. You've been out for, let's see now,” he said, glancing at his watch, “close to nine hours.

  "You also want to know if we've, uh, consummated our marriage. The answer, regrettably, is no. You see, that Dollar woman is so eager and good, she just plain drained me. I never humped a pregnant bitch before.” He chuckled. “I always thought pregnant women were the most beautiful of all, but I had no idea how much fun it is to screw one."

  "Is she ... is Mrs. Dollar okay?"

  "Yep. She and Chris are in the back seat of your Cavalier."

  "My..."

  "You complicated things a little for me when you bought that car. I really like it—much nicer than my old van. I searched in Charlotte, Winston-Salem, High Point and Greensboro before finally finding a rental truck with car ramps in Raleigh. Any more questions?"

  "Yeah. I know you well, you bastard. You always kill your victims. Why are Sandy, Chris and I still breathing?"

  He laughed. “I decided to slightly change my hobby. Instead of nipples floating in formaldehyde, I decided to collect living tits."

  He glanced at Dale, grinned evilly, reached out and squeezed her left breast. “That's a hell-of-a boob compared with the little nubs I played with ten years ago."

  "Thirteen,” she corrected.

  He smiled. “Has it been that long, dear? My, my, how time flies. I wonder if you're as good as your mama. You know, she's the only broad I ever did twice before harvesting her nipples. Man, she was tight and juicy."

  "Bastard."

  He reached for her crotch. “Are you tight and juicy, Dale?"

  She squeezed her thighs together.

  "Now, Dale, Sweetheart, I don't advise you to make me angry.” He ran his hand up her stomach and pressed against something that felt solid. “Feel that, baby? Sandy and Chris have one taped to their bellies too. It's a small plastic bomb.” He slipped a slender control from his shirt pocket and held it in front of her eyes. “Button one is for the Dollar bitch, button two is Chris and button three will blow a hole in your gut. Be nice to your husband, Sweetheart. Now, open your damn legs."

  She grimaced as his hand lewdly groped the crotch of her jeans.

  "Can't tell much with those pants on. Oh, well. You'll be naked and on your back soon enough."

  "What do you want from me?"

  "You mean besides sex? Lots of things.” He shifted in his seat, fished for a cigarette and lit it. “You know,” he continued, “a wife can't testify against her husband. I think I'll tell you the whole story."

  * * * *

  "Sandlapper 438, you're cleared for runway eight."

  "Roger runway eight, Tower."

  "438, taxi to hanger two to the left of runway eight and wait for further instructions before disembarking."

  "Uh, Tower, isn't hanger two for military craft?"

  "Roger, Sandlapper 438. I'm just following instructions. I suggest you do the same."

  "Roger, Tower."

  "What going on?” Stan asked.

  Borders chuckled. “I told you Lacy would have the FBI on the case before we got here. They don't want us sticking our noses in where they don't belong."

  * * * *

  "Three years ago I discovered that you were asking questions about me on the Internet,” Smith said while flicking ashes out the side window. “I didn't like that, Dale. The stalkee became the stalker. It took more than two years, but I finally tricked you into opening an attachment I sent with an email message. You remember the gal in Sacramento who sent you a drawing of the man who killed her parents? That was me, dear. When you opened that file, I dropped a cookie into your hard drive. The rest was easy."

  "I don't understand. I know how to use a computer, but that's all."

  Smith tossed the cigarette from the window and exhaled a gray stream of smoke. “That little cookie allowed me to copy files from your hard disk every time you were online. Hell, little wife of mine, you stay online for hours at the time. Within two months, I had a copy of every one of your files. You say such nasty things about me in your journal.” He shook his head in mock dismay. “You still a virgin?"

  Dale refused to answer.

  He laughed while tapping another cigarette from the pack. “We'll find out tonight, dear, in your own little bed. You know, Dale, you brought all of this on yourself. You're a wealthy young lady. If you'd just put your parents’ deaths behind you and gone on with life, you wouldn't be riding with me in this truck today."

  Smith lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply and coughed. “You're much more wealthy than I thought, dear. That's why I decided to marry you. There's another thing you did wrong. Interested?"

  She stared at the road ahead, searching for a state trooper.

  "You do all your investing online. Hell, I easily stole your passwords and commandeered your email address. The last time I checked, your stocks were worth over three million.” He snickered. “Oops. I misspoke. My stocks are now worth over three million. You see, armed with your passwords, it was a simple matter to transfer ownership."

  The tape on her wrists and elbows was secure. She had to get free, but struggling against the bonds was futile.

  "Oh, by the way. We had a wonderful time on our honeymoon. You enjoyed Hawaii so much that you stayed an extra two weeks, sending me back to Lenox to get the homeplace ready for your return."

  Dale jerked her head towards him. “You've been to my house?"

  "Sure. You see, I'm good at forging people's signatures, but I needed a sample to copy. It's a shame how you've let the pecan trees deteriorate. Uh, your banker, Mr. Caldwell, sends you his best wishes."

  "How do you know Mr. Caldwell?"

  "He's the nice gentleman who added me to your checking account and CD's. Why do you keep so damn much money in that checking account, Sweetheart? It only pays one-percent interest. Of course, I approve of the million dollars in CD's. As of last week, they're paying us close to six percent."

  "You'll never get away with this you know."

  "I know nothing of the kind. I haven't been caught yet. You see, Sweetheart, I'm smart. Only the dumb criminals wind up behind bars."

  "I admit you haven't been caught to this point, but I came close."

  "Only because I wanted you to, dear. You see, I needed to change my game plans. I'm getting too old for house breaking. Besides, my fence retired and I don't trust his replacement. The kid takes too many chances."

  * * * *

  "You're certain they're headed for the pecan orchard?” the agent asked.

  "No. I'm not certain of anything,” Stan replied.

  "What time do you think they left Dot?"

  "I have no way of knowing. We think Dale was abducted at approximately 3:00 a.m. If Smith h
eaded for Georgia immediately, they should be here by now."

  The agent shook his head. “They haven't arrived at Miss Ryder's house yet. Look, we understand your concern and we may need you to identify the principles but we can't risk any heroics. Let me have your weapons, both of you."

  "I am a private investigator, licensed to carry a handgun,” Borders protested, “and Mr. Steamer is also licensed to carry a concealed weapon."

  "Not in Georgia. Let me have them."

  Reluctantly both men surrendered their weapons and meekly followed the agent to the waiting limousine.

  * * * *

  "Please stop and let me pee. I promise I won't try anything,” Dale pleaded.

  "I told you to piss in your pants,” Smith replied gruffly. He reached out and pressed hard against her bladder.

  Dale's face reddened as the crotch of her jeans darkened.

  Smith lit another cigarette. “Damn, your bladder was full. Now, where were we?"

  "Let's assume for the moment you do have control of my assets. Why do you need Sandy and Chris?"

  He inhaled deeply and the smoke came out in bursts as he chuckled. “I moved to Dot with the intention of adding Sandy Dollar's nipples to my collection. Chris was just a diversion—a challenge. Imagine, and old man like me bedding that young preacher woman. Man, the first time I forced my hand under her skirt and touched her clit, I awakened a sleeping giant. The woman is a sexpot. Ten seconds of stimulation and I owned her. Like you, she was a virgin. Hell, she bled like I'd severed an artery, but she couldn't get enough of it. She got pissed off a couple of weeks later when I rammed it down her throat and the next night, when I stretched her anus, she walked out on me. At the time, I didn't care, but then the idea of marrying you popped into my fertile brain and I blackmailed her into submission."

  "Still, I doubt if she has any money. Why don't you let her go?"

  "She knows too much. I thought about adding her pert little buds to my collection, but I have a better use for her. Now, the story about the Dollar bitch is even better."

  "But you broke your rhythm with her. You kidnapped instead of killing her."

  Smith lit another cigarette off the glowing end of the one he'd reduced to a small stub. “The bitch doesn't wear jewelry so she probably doesn't own much. She and Tim might have a few grand stashed away in their house, but I wanted more. It didn't take me long to find out she writes bestsellers and is obsessed with the baby she's carrying. I kind of wove her into my plans for Chris and you."