Stutter Creek

by Ann Swann

  Feeling the pencil slip from her grip, Martha pulled her apron up and hid her face again. She didn’t think she could handle this after all.

  Even though he felt powerless, Joe picked up the phone, but instead of his younger sister’s number, his fingers automatically dialed Allie’s cell phone. Just let me make sure. Then, if there’s no answer, I’ll call Angie.

  Allie’s phone went straight to voice mail. Just like it always did when the mountains interfered with reception, he thought. Just like always. But without hesitation, he went ahead and dialed his sister’s cell phone. She was a dark haired copy of Allie. She, too, had boundless energy and a happy outlook. It was a good thing she did. Allie had come along very late in her parents’ life. They had completely given up on having children when they got the wonderful surprise.

  Joe caught Angie at the gym. She often stopped there on her way home from her “sit-down” job at the bank. “Where’s Greg?” Joe asked when she picked up.

  “Still at work, I think.” Her voice belied her puzzlement. “Do you need to talk to him?”

  Joe nodded silently. Should have called him in the first place, he thought. I can’t tell my baby sister that her only child is missing, and then expect her to be able to drive herself home. “Yes, it’s Greg I needed to speak with,” he lied. “Got a construction question. I just dialed you out of habit. Talk to you later.” He hung up feeling like the world’s biggest coward. Then he dialed Angie’s husband’s number.

  Greg picked up immediately. Joe had a feeling Angie had beat him to the punch, was on the other line perhaps, so he got right to the point. “Can you go to Angie’s gym right away?” he asked.

  Greg sounded like he was already shoving things in his briefcase. “Of course,” he said. Joe knew they figured something was up. “What is it, Joe?”

  Hearing the jingle of keys and then the ding-ding-ding of the alarm as Greg opened his car door and climbed inside, Joe crossed himself, he was a lapsed Catholic but in times of stress the old habits came out of hiding automatically, and prayed that he wasn’t jumping the gun and worrying them needlessly. Then he realized what he was thinking. He changed his silent prayer: he prayed that he WAS worrying them needlessly.

  Wiping his forehead, he said, “It’s Allie, Greg . . . she left here on her way to meet Ginger in Pine River for pizza, but she never arrived.”

  “What?” Greg sounded confused. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

  Joe’s old heart thumped crazily, boosted by the panic he heard in his brother-in-law’s voice. “We haven’t heard from her, she didn’t show up at the pizza place. I’m sure she’s okay.” Why did I say that, he wondered. “I’ve alerted the Police so they can begin to search her route.”

  “Dear God . . .” Greg exhaled audibly. “How long has she been gone?”

  Glancing at the old Regulator clock on the dining room wall, Joe replied, “Been about an hour since she was supposed to have met Ginger. Been gone over three hours, all together. Had the afternoon off.”

  Silence for a moment, then Greg replied, “Well, okay. That’s not so long.” His voice was somewhat shaky. It was obvious he was comforting himself to keep the panic at bay. “Probably just had a flat or overheated radiator or something. Might even be walking back as we speak.”

  “You’re probably right,” Joe agreed. “Us old folks probably just jumped the gun.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Greg about the Missing Girl poster. “I just thought you both should know, but I didn’t want to tell Angela without you there. Will you tell her right away?”

  “I’m on my way to pick her up. Did you . . . I mean, I suppose you tried Allie’s cell?”

  “Yes. But you know how these mountains are . . .”

  Greg acknowledged that the mountains were probably the cause of the problem. Then he agreed to call Joe as soon as he and Angie got home. He didn’t want to tell her until they were together. Then they would leave her car at home and drive straight to Stutter Creek in his.

  Chief Brown hadn’t changed out of his work clothes, either. All he’d done was place his service revolver, holster and all, on top of the refrigerator and pour himself a glass of iced tea to go with the sandwich Martha had put in a to-go box at the Drugstore less than an hour earlier. He had been one of the last customers of the day.

  Before he even put his belt back on, he went to his cruiser and pulled one of the Missing posters off his clipboard. The Pine River PD was listed as the contact agency.

  When he dialed the number and identified himself, the dispatcher patched him straight through to Kendra Dean’s mobile phone.

  After perfunctory introductions—they’d actually met at a conference a few months earlier—Roger Brown outlined the problem.

  Detective Dean realized the implications right away. “Could be our guy. Too close to home to be otherwise; also the same victim type: young, blonde, and predictable. Too many coincidences. Besides, better safe than sorry, I always say. Especially where serial killers are concerned.” Her voice had taken on a confidential note. “We found the body of Amanda Myers late last night. Waiting on forensics to verify the ID, but I know it’s her. Can’t put it on the wire until proper identification, of course, and the family notified . . . but I’m telling you. Go ahead and drive your girl’s route and begin the search. We’ll be there in half an hour to give you our information and assistance.”

  “Any suspects yet?” Brown asked.

  “Got some DNA . . . semen, saliva, running it through the system now. Bastard hasn’t given us any prints yet. Good gloves, I guess.”

  “How about a profile?” Chief Brown asked.

  “Not yet,” she admitted. “Why? You got an idea?”

  Brown sucked in his gut as he buckled his seat belt. “Got a new guy in town. Hermit type, cabin up on the mountain. Lived here a while when he was a kid, been gone twenty, maybe thirty years.” He was picturing John as he spoke. “Great big guy; talked to him once at the post office; said he’d been working overseas. Worth checking out, I guess. Seemed a little shy, like I said, but he certainly seems to be making his home here. Keeps to himself . . . I don’t know.”

  “Definitely worth talking to,” Dean agreed. “Be there shortly. We’ll pick him up together.” She clicked off without further ado.

  Chief Brown headed to the drugstore. He wanted to drive the exact same route that Allie would have driven. He called Joe and Martha and found out that Allie had mentioned going to Miller’s Outlet before she left town. He called dispatch and got George Miller’s home number from the key card file. Every business in town was listed in the key card file, along with at-home numbers and other emergency numbers in case the Fire Department or Police Department ever needed a key to the business. “Roger?” Mr. Miller’s was obviously concerned. “Something wrong at the shop?”

  Chief Brown cleared his throat. “Not at all, George. I’m calling to check on Allie, Joe and Martha’s niece. Martha said she was going to stop by your place on her way out of town.” He hesitated to let the information sink in. “She was going to meet a friend in Pine River. But she hasn’t reached her destination, and we can’t raise her on her phone.”

  “Hmm.” George Miller stroked his chin thoughtfully. He confirmed that Allie had made several purchases that afternoon, but he couldn’t remember exactly when. “Gracie,” he called over his shoulder. “Do you recall what time Allie was in the store today? Or more precisely, what time she left?”

  His wife, whose name was really Deidre, but whom he had called Gracie since the day they met. “I think it was around three, maybe three-thirty,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

  Roger Brown could hear the concern in Deidre Miller’s voice even though she wasn’t actually talking to him. “Here’s the problem,” he said, and then he told them everything. He believed the more people in on a problem, the quicker the likelihood of a solution. Besides, these people were his friends, both the Millers and Joe and Martha. That was the best and the worst thing about being
the Police Chief of a small town: he knew all the locals.

  Every one of them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kami and Corey Jesson picked up her mother and left Sunset headed for Pine River where the body of a young woman lay waiting for them in the city morgue. Kami knew it was her sister. She felt it inside, in the pit of her belly, in the marrow of her bones. She thought her mom was holding onto hope, but even though Kami did not know what to expect, she felt sure there was no hope.

  Corey said he would go in and make the identification if they would let him, but Kami said she would do it. In spite of all their fights and petty jealousies growing up, Amanda was her only sister, her only sibling. She would go in, with or without her mother, alone or with Corey, it didn’t really matter. Right now, she only knew that the most important moment of her life was just around the corner, and she was not going to screw it up.

  She was trying to put things right by proving that no matter how horrible the image, how nightmarishly unforgettable, she would carry it with her for the rest of her life as an homage to what Amanda had suffered. In that small way, she felt she was honoring her sister, saying, “I’m sorry Sis; I would have been there if I could.”

  ***

  It was Chief Brown, driving the route from Miller’s Outpost, straight though town to the single lane black-top, shining his spotlight the whole way, terrifying deer and rabbits galore, who first saw the tale-tell marks where Joe’s Chevy Lumina had left the roadway and plowed up the earth as it skidded to a stop amongst the spiky pines.

  “I’ll be damned.” Fear gripped his gut as he stepped from his cruiser, careful not to tread on the fresh tire tracks.

  Aiming the spotlight at the greatest area of chewed up earth, Brown pulled his heavy-duty flashlight and walked a little further into the trees. He could hear his own breathing. It was very loud.

  “Out of the car near the third forest entrance,” he said softly into the radio mic clipped to the shoulder of his uniform.

  “10-4,” the dispatcher responded. “Backup?”

  “10-40, please,” Chief Brown responded conversationally. That meant yes, send the back-up unit quietly, no lights, no sirens.

  The dispatcher clicked the mic switch once to acknowledge the end of the exchange. From this moment forward, all other radio transmission would be kept to a bare minimum in order to give this situation their full attention. They didn’t have much excitement in the small town, but the Chief insisted they keep up their training. They were often called upon to assist the DPS or the Sheriff’s Office out on the highway or on those lonely country roads. They took their jobs very seriously.

  Chief Brown knew something had occurred here. He and his officers were on this road several times every day. It was the main route to and from Pine River, the nearest large town. If the ugly gash had been there very long, one of them would have noticed it.

  He continued to shine his flashlight in a circular pattern as he walked slowly around his patrol car. Then he saw the footprints. He wasn’t a tracker like his Native American friend, Hully, but any fool could see that someone was running and another someone was chasing. He felt certain Allie was the prey. One set of prints was small and light; the other set was a bit larger and much deeper.

  Pulling a handkerchief from his hip pocket, the Chief wiped his face and took a couple of deep breaths to calm his adrenalin-fueled nerves. This felt bad. He could easily picture sweet little Allie running for her life. He remembered her grin this morning as she served him his eggs and bacon. She was as guileless as a newborn lamb.

  He drew another breath, exhaled, hitched up his utility belt, and continued. He thought he could follow the prints with his flashlight. They appeared to be on a very specific diagonal path going always upward toward the top of the mountain.

  “Following tracks,” he said into the mic. “Eric, you in route?”

  Officer Eric Hagar replied. “ETA 2 minutes.”

  “I’m on foot going northeast away from my cruiser. You’ll see my light.”

  Officer Hagar clicked the mic.

  As long as the footprints continue, Brown thought, Allie’s alive. He kept that thought in his head as he plugged slowly on, up and up the mountain. “Dispatch,” he spoke again. “Advise Detective Dean of my location.”

  “10-4,” the dispatcher replied.

  Moments later, following the directions from the dispatcher, Detectives Dean and James approached the possible crime scene silently. The identity of their victim had been confirmed. Both were contemplating the possibility of another. Neither had the slightest doubt that a serial killer was in their territory.

  Suddenly, Dean braked and yanked off her seat belt. “In the trees, your side,” she barked. “See him?”

  “Got ‘im,” Woody James said as he unholstered his weapon. “Halt!” He commanded, leaping from the vehicle. “Sheriff’s Office!”

  John stopped in his tracks. He and Turk had gotten almost to the trail leading to Beth’s cabin. He’d seen the marked vehicle, but since there were no lights or sirens, he’d assumed they were just passing through on their way to somewhere else. He was glad he’d left his own gun at home.

  “On your knees. Hands behind your head,” James demanded. Then he glanced at Turk. “And make sure your dog is under control. I don’t want to have to shoot him.”

  John nodded curtly at Turk.

  The big dog sank to his belly. Neither he, nor his master, had uttered a sound. John realized something was definitely amiss in the forest. The S.O. didn’t normally approach people by telling them to get on their knees. He felt the first fingers of dread clutch at his heart. Not for himself but for Beth. They weren’t close enough to see the cabin yet, but the very fact that they were in the area made him think something was wrong.

  The woman detective appraised the situation.

  “I appreciate your cooperation. And his.” She nodded toward Turk.

  “Got any ID?” she asked matter of factly.

  John nodded looking at her badge. “Front jacket pocket.” He knew better than to retrieve it himself. “Driver’s license. Security ID, retired.”

  “Former military?” Dean asked.

  John nodded again. “Many years ago.”

  Dean pulled the cards carefully from John’s pocket, never letting her gaze slip from his face.

  John could sense her nerves humming. The eye of the other officer’s Glock never left his forehead. He knew that the slightest wrong move on his part would result in his or Turk’s death. Maybe both. He prayed they would hurry. He wanted to check on Beth. He couldn’t bear the thought that he had just found her and now she might be in trouble.

  “You’re the new guy in Stutter Creek, aren’t you?” Dean asked, examining his ID with a penlight clasped in her teeth. “Chief Brown said you’re renovating a cabin at the crest . . . ”

  John kept his cool. “Yes. Recently retired. Came home.”

  “Why are you skulking around in your camouflage tonight?” James demanded.

  “Friend lives in that cabin down the hill.” He indicated the direction even though the cabin was barely visible. “She’s seen odd tracks, heard something near her place the last couple nights. I was checking it out.” He wanted to shift his position. Although he could kneel here for hours if need be, he wasn’t sure his patience would hold out that long. Everything in the forest had gone unnaturally quiet. Even the breeze had stopped moving.

  “Sir Lancelot,” James said sarcastically, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Maybe we’d better put you in the car. We’re going to meet up with Chief Brown right now. Maybe you should be there, too.”

  John didn’t want to leave without checking on Beth, especially now that he knew the detectives from Pine River were meeting up with the Police Chief of Stutter Creek. It meant something was definitely going on. “I’m not sure why you are taking me into custody like this,” he began as James put the cuffs on his hands. “But apparently you are here for a reason, so
could we at least check my friend’s cabin to make certain she’s okay? Then I’ll go with you and do whatever you want me to do.”

  Dean heard the sincerity in his voice. “You say it’s close by?”

  “Just at the base of the mountain.” He indicated the direction with his head again. “Her driveway intersects the road you’re on.”

  Dean nodded and they loaded both John and Turk into the backseat of their car. She radioed the dispatcher and had her relay their situation to Chief Brown. He asked whose cabin they were going to, and when John said Beth’s name, he told the dispatcher to let him know the outcome immediately. He and his officer were still tracking, but it was slow going as they often had to backtrack and restart when they lost the tracks in loose piles of leaves and pine needles. They also had to be extra careful not to walk on the tracks themselves.

  John asked where the Chief was, but he really didn’t think they would tell him. But Dean must have decided he wasn’t as big a threat as they’d led on, so she told him what was going on.

  When John learned that a girl’s body had been found and that a local girl was missing and possibly being tracked up the mountain, he became agitated as they rounded the curve and saw the two vehicles in Beth’s drive.

  “The Camaro belongs to Beth,” John volunteered. “I think I’ve seen the Lumina parked outside the drugstore in Stutter Creek. I think the owner’s niece drives it.”

  The two detectives looked at each other. “She’s the one who’s missing,” Dean said, cutting her lights and slipping the gearshift into park.

  Drawing her weapon, Dean nodded at Woody James and they clicked their door handles almost simultaneously, in the quietest manner possible. There were no lights visible inside the cabin.

  “You can’t leave us in here,” John rasped. “If Beth is in there, she might be hurt. If she isn’t in there, Turk can track her . . . please. Let us help.” His voice broke.