Justified

by C. M. Sutter

  “We need the name of that witness, the ranger, and the officer that took the statement. Maybe the young man can help us put together a facial composite of the guy. I know it was early morning, and I know the stranger was somewhat camouflaged by the woods, but anything at this point could help. We also need an aerial view of Bull Shoals-White River State Park and every street that surrounds it. There has to be a video of that man exiting the woods somewhere,” J.T. said. “If we’re lucky enough to catch him on video, walking out of both parks, at least we’ll know conclusively that it’s the same person.”

  “That’s right, and that means he’s catching a ride. He’s likely hitchhiking or jumping on a bus somewhere. What’s the distance between here and Bull Shoals-White River State Park?”

  “One second, Agent Monroe.” Lieutenant Taft pulled up that information on his cell phone. “It’s between three and three and a half hours by car, depending on what route you take. Either way, it’s over one hundred fifty miles. Nobody with a heavy backpack can walk that in a few days.” He jerked his head toward his detectives. “Tony, coordinate a call to the sheriff’s departments in Baxter and Marion Counties and get those names for the agents. Matt, get on the horn with the Osage Beach Police Department. We need to know if they’ve tracked down any surveillance tapes of a man walking out of the park late last night or this morning. We’re looking for anyone but especially a large man carrying a big backpack.”

  Detective Rose pushed back his chair from the table. “You got it, boss.” He and Detective Stiller stood and left the room.

  I took notes as I played out the course of events in my head. Lieutenant Taft offered J.T. and me a much-needed cup of coffee, and we happily accepted.

  “So, last week was the first incident in any of the parks, correct?”

  “Yes, as far as we know, Agent Monroe. No other reports have come in from state or national parks.”

  “Okay, but that doesn’t mean this guy hasn’t been killing in more remote areas. What it does mean is that he’s a serial thrill seeker and thought the parks would be no-brainers. He didn’t figure on losing one of the claws. Who knows? He may not even realize it yet. It doesn’t seem like this killer has a trigger, so to speak. I think he’s killing for the hell of it, a Ted Bundy sort of guy. He has a bloodthirst that can’t be quenched. He’s big, savvy, and possibly charming. He either gained the trust of these young women or slinked in while they slept and committed the murders.” I took a sip of coffee and jotted down more thoughts. “He’s also mobile but doesn’t seem to have his own vehicle, which makes it much harder for us to track him down. Believe me, he knows that too. I doubt if this is his first rodeo.”

  The lieutenant’s phone rang. “Excuse me, agents.” He slipped out of the room and stood against the doorframe to answer the call.

  J.T. studied my face. “Do you have any gut instincts yet?”

  “Nah, it’s too early. We need a composite sketch or a video to air on the news. It’s unlikely that anybody locally knows him, but somebody may have seen him milling around. That in itself would be a good start.”

  Lieutenant Taft returned a minute later with a smile on his face. “Feel like going for a drive?”

  “What do you have?” J.T. asked.

  “How about a surveillance video?”

  I jumped from my seat. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”

  We climbed into the lieutenant’s cruiser and took the fifteen-minute drive northeast to the strip mall whose south anchor was the Speedy Time Food Mart and Gas Station. The building stood on the opposite side of the street and parallel to the park. The south perimeter of Lake of the Ozarks State Park didn’t have a public entrance or exit, only a thick woods that came out onto a twenty-foot-wide strip of grass before the sidewalk and street took over. Anyone exiting the park from that area would definitely stand out.

  “We’re coming up on Speedy Time.” The lieutenant pointed a block ahead to our right.

  I craned my neck out the window as I sat in the backseat. I wanted a visual of the entire area and slowly looked from left to right on both sides of the street. The lieutenant turned in to the six-car parking lot and slipped in between the solid white lines that indicated the parking spaces. He killed the engine, and we exited the car. Inside, he greeted the cashier by her name, Sandy. She looked young, by my estimate barely eighteen. Cute and innocent was the vibe I got from her. I hoped the murders wouldn’t change the friendly, trustworthy atmosphere this town gave me. Small-town residents had a certain loyalty to one another—they kept their eyes on each other, whether that was a good trait or not—and knew everyone by name. That was something I appreciated about small towns, North Bend being a larger town but similar in atmosphere.

  Sandy waved to get her coworker’s attention. “Lisa, come and mind the register for a bit. I have to help out the lieutenant.”

  Lieutenant Taft spoke up. “Sandy, I’d like you to meet Agents Jade Monroe and J.T. Harper.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “They’re FBI agents.” He gave her a playful wink. She blushed and then led us to the back room.

  “Paul Smith from the police department came in earlier and asked about surveillance from the last twenty-four hours. This”—she pushed the tape into the slot—“is what we caught just after two o’clock this morning.”

  We leaned in and stared at the computer screen. A tall, dark figure exited the woods. A large backpack was slung over his shoulders, and he wore a baseball cap, just as the young man in Arkansas had described, I pointed out. We watched the screen as he casually followed the sidewalk until he was out of view.

  “That has to be the same guy. The overall description is right on. Too bad it’s still dark out, though. We aren’t going to see any facial features.” I glanced at Sandy. “We’ll need to take this tape with us.”

  “Yes, ma’am. No problem.”

  “Thank you, Sandy.”

  I stared down the street as we exited the gas station. Retail stores took up the next two blocks heading toward the downtown area of Osage Beach.

  “He has to be on more store surveillance tapes.” I made a sweep with my hand as I spoke. “Look at all of the commercial buildings that line this side of the street.”

  “I agree, Agent Monroe, and maybe the police were originally focusing on the park area only. I’ll talk to the chief and see if he’ll send out more officers to check the store videos for a man wearing a backpack and walking the sidewalk after two in the morning. Believe me, if he’s on video, he’ll look out of place. This town is pretty well buttoned up at that time of night. We’ll find out where he went, I guarantee it.”

  The lieutenant excused himself to call the chief of police. J.T. took those few minutes to update SSA Spelling on our progress, which currently consisted of obtaining an image of a large shadowy figure exiting the park through the woods.

  The lieutenant returned and told us the latest. “Okay, the chief is sending his officers to the additional ten stores that lead into town. They’re going to check each store’s surveillance tapes and see if anything pops. If the man that exited the park continued on the sidewalk toward town, he’d show up somewhere along the route. Detective Stiller just updated me too. They found the kid that spoke to the ranger. His name is Bobby Mills, and he’s on his way to the Baxter County Sheriff’s Department to work with a sketch artist as we speak. We’ll have a copy of the composite emailed to us as soon as they finish it.”

  I sighed with relief. “That’s great news. Now I just hope our shadowy figure hasn’t caught a ride out of town yet to parts unknown.”

  “Why don’t you two grab some dinner, and I’ll give you a call in an hour. We’ll reconvene at the police department. It’s just up the street. Hell, we’re all working together to catch this predator, anyway.”

  Chapter 7

  John had to rethink his plan. Hoping for more state parks to do his killing in would be a waste of time, especially if he traveled north. The temperature was constantly dropping as h
e drove, and that wasn’t conducive to finding a good selection of campers out in the elements. If that claw had actually been found, there would be an intensive search and more awareness in the park system nationwide. He needed to scratch that idea until the killings were forgotten and the attention had died down. He’d pull into the next truck stop, have a filling meal compliments of Ray’s bulging wallet, and plan something new. Sooner rather than later, Ray would have to be disposed of. John needed that sleeping compartment for himself.

  He found an all-night truck stop just east of St. Louis. The overnight lot was packed with idling semis, and cars filled the parking spaces beyond the diner’s large floor-to-ceiling window. John pulled into the back lot and parked the truck. A busy truck stop was a good sign, and he noticed the crowded restaurant as he passed the window on his way to the entrance. Employees hustled about as they cooked and waited tables. Diners fed their faces and scrolled their cell phones. He was sure he’d go unnoticed.

  The hostess behind the podium looked at him with a dimpled smile. “Dinner for one?” She grabbed a menu from the counter next to her.

  John mumbled a yes to that cute girl, who appeared no older than eighteen. If only she wasn’t on the clock. He sucked in a deep breath and savored the images of how he’d inflict a slow, painful death on the innocent teenager. His need to kill had returned, and the fact that this was a truck stop gave him an idea. Maybe he’d let the state park killings go cold until spring when the mother bear would be aggressively protecting her young. Frequent bear attacks could turn up then—it wouldn’t be that unusual. A new idea popped into his mind. He’d freshen up and change clothes after dinner then check out the lot lizards he had seen near the trucks. With a full belly and a little fun, the night could turn out perfectly after all.

  On the chair next to him, John set down his backpack, which had a clean shirt and a pair of pants tucked inside. He’d check out Ray’s clothes later since there was a good chance of finding something that could fit him. He sipped coffee and sorted through Ray’s wallet while he waited for his all-night breakfast order to come up. The gas card would come in handy if there was credit available on it. John remembered the first trucker’s fuel card had already been maxed out when he pulled into the pump area to fill the truck. With the bit of cash left in the dead man’s wallet, John added twenty gallons of fuel, drove the truck until it was empty, wiped it down, and left it behind a building. The dead trucker lay in a ditch along a lonely stretch, several hundred miles back in rural Arkansas.

  He paid the dinner tab and headed to the truckers’ lounge. Ten bucks gave him access to the Playboy channel, miscellaneous erotic magazines, and a private bathroom with a hot shower. John headed to the shower, where he scrubbed five days’ worth of dirt, dust, and bug bites off his skin and out of his hair. Twenty minutes later, he felt human again. He glanced at the sleeve of the shirt he had taken off and saw where Ray’s blood had stained the elbow and cuff. John folded it and buried it in the trash can. As he cut through the gift shop, a stack of blankets caught his eye. He was sure the sleeper compartment was stained with Ray’s blood. The blankets were on sale—two for thirty, or twenty bucks each. He chose two navy-blue ones, paid for them, and headed out.

  He grabbed the steel handgrip, climbed the two diamond-plate steps, and pulled himself into the truck cab. He turned to the back, opened the curtain, and pulled the string on the overhead light. Ray lay spread out across the sleeper with a pool of blood, now dried, filling the space beneath him.

  “Holy shit, Ray, look at the mess you’ve made.”

  John locked the truck doors, crawled in, and closed the curtain behind him. With a heave, he pushed Ray to the back of the bed, yanked the blood-soaked blanket out from beneath him, and balled it up. He jammed it in the corner of the bed and would dispose of it later. John spread out the new blankets. Company would be knocking on his door soon enough, and he wanted his home on wheels to look inviting.

  He turned the radio to a station playing country, his favorite music. He drummed his fingertips on the console to the beat as he watched out the windshield for women passing by. Two ladies of the night approached the truck and banged on the driver’s side door. John lowered the window, stuck out his head, and grinned.

  He tipped his hat. “How can I help you ladies?” His hope was to entice one of them in.

  “It’s how we can help you. What’s your name, sugar?” A haggard looking bleached blonde wearing a form-fitting dress that barely covered her behind seemed to be the spokesperson for the duo.

  “I’m John Pratt, and you are?”

  “I’m Cherry.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cherry, but I can’t afford both of you. I don’t have that much stamina, if you know what I mean.” He chuckled and waited them out.

  “Okay, fine, then pick a number between one and ten. Whichever one of us is closer gets to come in.”

  “You didn’t tell me the price. I want an all-night companion. That’s why I can’t afford you both.”

  The brunette elbowed the blonde in the side. “Damn, one of us is about to get lucky.”

  John nearly choked with the ideas that stirred up in his mind. He laughed. “You can say that again. Now, what’s the price?”

  The blonde huffed. “Five hundred bucks for the night.”

  “I’ll give you four hundred. Believe me, you’ll be begging for me to stop.”

  The brunette smirked as she took a long pull on her cigarette. “I doubt that, big boy. Did you think of a number yet?”

  “Yeah. Okay, go ahead and guess.”

  I’m choosing the smart-ass brunette no matter what. I’ll shut her mouth permanently.

  The blonde called out number three, and the brunette said nine.

  “It was eight, so I guess you with the dark hair won. What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “Brooklyn.”

  “Well, Brooklyn, I guess you and I are going to have some fun on the outskirts of St. Louis tonight. Come on in.”

  She ran around to the passenger side and climbed up the steps. John turned off the cab lights and opened the door for her while the blonde disappeared between rows of trucks farther down the line. He knew he’d have to subdue Brooklyn quickly. Far too many semis were nearby, and the truckers on either side of him would hear her screams and call the authorities. He offered to help her in.

  “Grab my hand. I’ll help you up. Those heels look dangerous.”

  She chuckled coquettishly and took his hand in hers. “You’re such a gentleman.”

  In a quick sweep, John pulled her forward with his left hand then slammed his right fist into her face. Her head bounced off the edge of the door, and she was out cold. He closed the door at her back and locked it then pushed her into the sleeper and climbed in behind her. With the curtain closed, he clicked on the light once more and unzipped his backpack. The tools of his trade were waiting.

  Chapter 8

  We sat at a table near the window in Roy’s Hometown Cafe. The red-checked tablecloth and fresh carnation in a small vase gave the restaurant a homey atmosphere. Patrons filled every table and booth while they enjoyed their dinner. The locals were right. The food was delicious, and we were both starving. As the waitress poured a second cup of coffee for each of us, my cell vibrated on the table.

  I checked the screen. “It’s Lieutenant Taft. Hello, sir, anything new?” I pressed the volume button to quiet the call and mentioned I had him on speakerphone.

  “Yes, Baxter County Sheriff’s Department just called. Bobby Mills and the artist have finished the sketch to the best of their ability. Granted, he’s giving us what he can, considering the man was in the woods and it wasn’t even fully daylight yet. Anyway, I gave them the chief’s email address, Jade. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, sir, and he can forward the message to our emails later. I’m just anxious to see that sketch attachment and print out a handful of copies.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way to the police department no
w.”

  “Give us ten minutes. We’re just finishing our meal.”

  J.T. took care of the dinner bill while I walked down the block to get the Jeep. Roy’s Hometown Cafe faced the main street that went through town and had only a small parking lot meant for employees. That evening was clear and comfortable, and the stars twinkled brilliantly. A slight breeze swept across my face, and I tucked my hair behind my ears out of habit. The Lake of the Ozarks region was beautiful and inviting, but a killer was nearby, and he needed to be apprehended quickly.

  I pulled the Jeep up to the front of the restaurant, where J.T. waved to get my attention then climbed in. According to Lieutenant Taft, the police department was only a few blocks away.

  Several minutes later, we entered the single-story redbrick building that looked to be the same size as a small ranch-style house. Osage Beach didn’t have a large police force, considering the town’s population was just over four thousand residents. As a normally quiet community, they probably didn’t have a lot of crime to deal with, either. I was told the chief had sent out most of his officers to check on the surveillance tapes, which I appreciated.

  We approached the counter and asked for Chief Faring and Lieutenant Taft. The officer checked our credentials then directed us to the hallway on our right.

  “They’re in the third room on the left, and they’re expecting you.”

  J.T. gave the officer a nod of thanks, and we followed the hallway to that room. Inside, sitting at the conference table were Chief Faring, Lieutenant Taft, and likely half the police force—three officers.

  J.T. and I entered the room and took two vacant seats.

  “Okay,” I began, “what do we have?”

  Chief Faring slid two printer paper–sized copies across the table. J.T. took one, and I grabbed the other.

  “This is all Bobby Mills could give us?” I felt instantly deflated.