They both shifted furiously as they rocked side by side into the downhill. Quinn looked down at his Garmin and saw they were flying downhill at forty-two miles per hour and had traveled all of seven miles. Forty-three to go—game definitely on! The next eighteen miles to the turnaround at Chateau Morrisette were pure hell on wheels. Neither of them gave an inch, and they tried every trick they knew to gain the upper hand. Louisa owned the uphills, and Quinn kicked butt on the downhill sections. No words were exchanged or needed for those exhilarating moments when they defied gravity, mile after mile over the peaks and valleys.
The last mile—straight up the Parkway to Winery Road at mile marker 170—was a beast. Quinn had a significant lead going into the hill, but Louisa quickly caught up to and passed him as they neared the top. By the time they reached the vineyard, he was just off her tire and was already dead tired. He prayed to the great cycle god in sky that she was spent.
It didn’t take long to get the answer. She got to Chateau Morrisette first.
They pulled off the road and stopped under a tree across from the vineyard patio. A late-afternoon, mountain breeze was blowing softly across the mountaintop. Louisa leaned her bike against the tree, whipped off her jersey, and threw her arms up in the air as she did a little dance. Her sports bra was dripping wet.
Quinn lay on the ground, trying to regain some semblance of normal breathing and heart rate. She finally plopped herself down next to him and rested her head on his heaving belly.
“You are a beast!” he blurted. “No other word describes what you just did out there. All you wanted to do was spank my sixty-two-year-old butt every mile of the way. You’re an untamed animal!”
She rolled her head ever so slightly and looked at him. “You’re lucky I held back a bit, ole fella!”
After rolling over and over again in laughter, they agreed to a truce. The ride back would be civil. Then they walked to the vineyard store and bought a bottle of Angel Chardonnay, along with a large slice of cheese and some French bread. The cork pulled for them, they ambled back to their bikes, barefoot and spent. They took slugs of wine from the bottle, alternated with bites of cheese and hunks of bread. They giggled like the children who lived in their hearts and souls.
The next half hour was spent discussing the hilly twenty-five miles they had just ridden.
“One of these days, we have to ride the four gaps,” Quinn suggested.
“For some reason, that already sounds tough,” Louisa replied.
“I’ve ridden three of the four. They’re some of the toughest ascents I’ve ever done. I think you’ll have fun with those climbs, because you’re destined to be an uphill-climbing beast,” Quinn offered “When you’re ready, we’ll ride Squirrel Gap, Willis Gap, Orchard Gap, and Pipers Gap.
The descents are crazy-dangerous, with loose gravel, sharp turns, and some rabid dogs. Some riders who have lost control on the descents have suffered some serious injuries. It’s easy for even experienced riders to overshoot the curves. The cumulative elevation gain for the eighty-two mile loop is eleven thousand two hundred feet! Are you scared yet?” Louisa looked at him with a smile on her face as she got back into the saddle for the ride back.
The ride back took at least a half hour longer than the ride out. Their Garmins were turned off as they surveyed the beautiful mountain vistas they had missed on the way out. They stopped several times to sneak into the bushes and water the flowers.
The sun was getting lower in the afternoon sky as they rode into the driveway at the Chateau. Without a word, they both knew the hot tub beckoned. Quinn set the bikes in the shed as Louisa tipped the top off of the tub. The water was a perfect one hundred and one degrees. Clothes flew in all directions as they scrambled into the tub, wearing only sunglasses to look at the setting sun. The forty jets messaged their muscles and tendons as their fingers intertwined for the full twenty-minute cycle. A halo of contentment settled over the tub.
After the tub cycled out, they toweled off and headed to the kitchen to start their assigned duties on the dinner detail. As Louisa started preparing the greens for the salad, Quinn slowly slid the cork out of a great Cahors from Clos La Coutale that he had fetched from the wine cellar. As he sipped his wine, he turned on the six o’clock news and was shocked to see a breaking news segment on WXII, the Winston-Salem NBC affiliate station. The reporter was standing outside the parking lot at the entrance to Devil’s Den.
“Louisa, come here,” Quinn called. She picked up her wine glass on her way into the living room and sat next to him on the ottoman. The picture of Pete Preston tied to the iron grate flashed on the screen.
“Oh, my fucking word!” Louisa yelled out as she stared at the TV. “What sick motherfucker is responsible for that?”
Somehow she knew instinctively that she and Quinn would be drawn into the tragedy.
* * *
Tim and Susan were back at their apartment when the first phone call came. Susan looked at her cell phone and saw the name Shannon, Tim’s cousin, who lived in Wisconsin.
“Hello Susan, I just had to call you. Have you watched TV at all this afternoon?”
“No, we haven’t. We just came back from the horrible place where Pete’s body was found.” She started to sob.
“I’m so sorry for you and Tim. I hate to tell you this, but you need to turn on the cable news channel. They’re showing a terrible picture of Pete.”
“Tim, turn on the TV right now and find the cable news channel,” Susan blurted out. Tim found the remote and scrolled through the channels. He stopped on a cable news channel showing the anchor talking while a gruesome picture of Pete appeared behind him. Pete’s lower abdomen and groin were blurred. Tim and Mary stared at the screen. Susan dropped the phone as she slumped into the chair behind her. She sobbed uncontrollably.
Tim picked up the phone. “Shannon, this is Tim. Susan can’t talk anymore. We’ll call you back when we can. Thanks for the call.”
“Tim, I’m so sorry. You and the kids are in our prayers.”
Tim flipped through different channels and saw what he dreaded: The picture and story was on every TV news program and, he suspected, gone viral on the Web. He turned on his laptop and navigated to several news sites. The country now saw the horror of what was found at Devil’s Den. He understood that his family’s tragedy would now become a national, if not global, obsession.
He had seen other families plead for the return of their missing children on the Today Show in the morning or Oprah in the afternoon. He had felt the pain those families felt. Now he felt the dagger of reality sticking in his gut. He looked at his wife and knew that they had to keep the glimmer of hope alive for Katie’s safe return. He understood the power of the media to enlist their audience to help with the search for Katie. He was now convinced that Katie was somewhere nearby.
He was sure of it.
His mind drifted to what he would do if left alone with Pete’s killer. His vengeful thoughts were interrupted when his iPhone rang. “This is Tim.” he answered.
“Tim, this is Father Tony. Have you been watching television?”
“Yes, we have, Father. It’s just horrible.”
“It is, Tim. What kind of sick person would take and pass along such a terrible thing? I feel sick to my stomach about all of this. Have you talked to Sheriff Pierce about the picture yet?”
“No, not yet, Father. I plan to call him soon to find out what he may know. It looked like the deputies had shut off access to the trail while we were there. I just can’t imagine who could have taken the picture.”
“Tim, many of the parishioners have called me and suggested that we have a prayer vigil at the church tomorrow night. There are so many people who want to help.”
“Oh, Father, of course, we’ll be there.”
“Good. Plan on having dinner with us at five, and then we’ll go to the church and pray.”
“Thank you, Father, for thinking of us. We need your prayers and help.”
Tim
hung up and told Susan of Father Tony’s offer of the prayer service. “We’re blessed to have such a caring and thoughtful priest so near us now. I just know something good will happen through him and the church,” Susan said as she wiped at her nose.
Tim dialed his phone as she was talking. The sheriff picked up immediately.
“Tim, I’m sure you’ve seen that terrible picture by now.”
“We’re so sick that some twisted freak would do such a thing. Susan hasn’t stopped crying since she saw it.”
“Tim, I understand. We have the investigators working overtime trying to determine who posted the photo. Jim Craig from the state police has his best internet forensics expert on it. We believe that the pool of possible idiots who posted the picture is small. We might have some idea by late tomorrow. Also, I spoke to Dr. Kahn, our medical examiner. He expects to be finished with his work by Tuesday.”
“Thank you, sheriff. Do you think the hikers who found Pete might have taken the picture?”
“ We thought of that, Tim. We sent two deputies over to Galax to see what kind of cell phones they have and let the forensics team determine if the picture could have come from those cameras. I’d be surprised if it was one of our officers at the scene. But I’ve been surprised before.
Tim, there is one other thing. We plan to hold a press conference after lunch tomorrow in the conference center at the government center. The local, regional, and national people have all gotten a hold of this. Unfortunately, it’s going to be media zoo. Our county administrator, our board chairman, and Johnny Berry from the state police will all be here. If you and Susan can be at my office at noon, we can have lunch and talk about what will happen when the bottom-feeders from the press descend upon us.”
“We’ll be there, sheriff. We need as much attention as we can get to get everyone in this part of Virginia and North Carolina looking for Katie. When do you think the M.E. will determine the cause of death?”
“I hope we’ll have that information tomorrow, and I agree, Tim, that we need all the help we can get. We’ll see y’all tomorrow. Please call me if you get too many people knocking at your door, trying to get an interview.”
“We’ve been lucky so far, sheriff. We’ll call if people start finding us.”
“OK, Tim that should work. I’ll call you if anything else breaks.”
“Thank you, sheriff. See you tomorrow.”
Tim filled Susan and Mary in on what was going to happen. They discussed the media frenzy that was in the making. They understood too well the voracious American appetite for sordid tragedies. The sadness of this deficiency in the national psyche was about to come home and roost on their collective shoulders.
“Tim, please give me your phone.” She looked at the card in her hand.
“Who are you calling?” Tim asked.
“I’m calling the lady we met at church who led us to that Devil’s Den place. I overheard her talking to the sheriff, and she told him that just she retired from the FBI. I want to invite her and the man she was with—I think his name was Quinn—to be with us at church tomorrow evening. She struck me as a good Catholic and a very nice person.”
Tim nodded his head in agreement. Susan dialed Louisa’s number.
“Hello, this is Louisa.”
“Louisa, this is Susan Preston. Is this a good time for us to talk?”
“Yes, yes, by all means, Susan.”
“Did you see Pete’s picture on TV?”
“ We did, Susan. It’s just terrible. Quinn and I couldn’t believe it when we saw it on the evening news.”
Susan started to sob. “Louisa, Father Tony is having a prayer service for us tomorrow night at church. Tim and I would like you and Quinn to be there with us. We don’t have any friends here and would really like to have you pray with us.”
“Oh, Susan, of course we can be there. What time does it start?”
“Father Tony is having us over at five for dinner. We’ll go to the church after. I think six o’clock probably would be best.”
“Susan, we’ll be there at six. Is there anything else?”
“Well, actually, there is. The sheriff is having a press conference at the government center tomorrow at one o’clock. I guess TV people from all over will be there.”
“I’m not surprised,” Louisa answered.
“Do you think you and Quinn could be there with us?”
Louisa didn’t see that coming but knew what she had to say. “Susan, I really would like to, but…I can’t. And neither can Quinn. This is a very sensitive time for the sheriff and the state police. They don’t need the press picking up on the fact that Quinn and I are involved in the investigation in any way, shape, or form. We’ll be happy to help you and Tim in any way we can, but we have to keep out of this investigation. Do you understand?”
Susan replied, “Of course, I understand. That makes sense.”
“Good, we can talk about it when we see you at church tomorrow night,” Louisa told her.
“Thanks, Louisa. See you then.”
Susan hung up and gave the phone back to Tim.
Mary said, “I called Rob Larson at Larson’s Funeral Home at home and filled him in on what happened. He’ll make all the arrangements once we know when Pete can be moved. There are direct flights on Delta from Greensboro to Detroit if you don’t think we should drive.”
Susan looked at Tim. “I think we need to fly because we need to get back here as soon as we can,” she told him.
“Honey, I agree. Mary, we’re going to lean on you to take care of a lot of this while we’re dealing with the press and the police,” Tim said.
“Not to worry. I’ve got help from friends and family in Detroit. I’ll make all the arrangements,” Mary said as she took Tim’s hand and gave him a hug. They both started crying.
* * *
Monday morning started early at the sheriff ’s department. The M.E. had called Sheriff Pierce late Sunday night. The sheriff was already at his desk when the M.E. arrived at seven.
“Cup of my best coffee, Doc?” Sheriff Pierce asked.
“By all means, my friend, and make it strong. It’s been a long twenty or so hours. The good news is that we have preliminary facts you can work with. Frank, the boy was strangled to death. We recovered threads of the white rope that was probably used.
However, he also had a severe gash at the bottom of his skull. It looks like he fell backwards into an object with a sharp edge. That probably knocked him out, but he was still alive at that point. Soon thereafter he was strangled with the rope. Interestingly enough, Frank, the killer tightened the noose just enough to kill the child. He didn’t want to make a mess of the boy’s neck.”
“Was he sexually molested?” the sheriff asked.
“No, Frank, he wasn’t. There was no evidence of anal penetration. His penis was cut clean off at its base. I just don’t know what to make of that.
The child had been fed and bathed during his captivity. That tells me that the killer planned to keep him alive for some time. No evidence of physical abuse or marks from struggles. We checked his body for any skin or hair that wasn’t his and found nothing under his fingernails or anywhere else. Totally clean.
The wrists and ankles had abrasions from the wire used to hold the body to the grate. We’re analyzing the wire in the lab. It looks the common variety you can buy at any hardware store.”
“So, Doc, in the end, the child was strangled to death with a white rope?”
“Frank, I think our analysis will show it was a smooth cord as opposed to rough twine you would fine in common rope. My bet is that what we recovered will match up with filaments from a sash that’s used to, say, tie curtains.”
Just as he finished, the door to the sheriff ’s office opened. “Gentlemen, good morning to you both,” said Libby Thomas, chairperson of the Carroll County Board of Supervisors, as she took the chair next to Dr. Kahn. She had served on the county board for several years and had been chairperson for the past t
wo years. She was a successful businesswoman who came from old Carroll County money. Her family owned the largest agricultural operation in the area. She was known for her legendary short fuse and didn’t suffer fools gladly.
“Sheriff, what do we know on this not-so-fine Monday morning?” Libby asked, unsmiling.
“I’ll let the good doctor tell you what we have as of right now,” the sheriff replied.
Dr. Kahn briefed her on all the information he had just given the sheriff. She slumped down a bit in her chair as he went through the details.
“Sheriff, how is the poor family taking all of this?” she asked as she shifted her gaze to him.
“As best as can be expected under such horrible circumstances. I’ve tried my best to be transparent with them and offer as much support as I can. When they told me they’re Catholic, I introduced them to Father Tony at the Catholic Church on the Parkway. He’s been very supportive, and they’re comfortable with him.”
“What progress is being made in the investigation?” she continued.
“Libby, to be brutally frank, there isn’t much to go on. We recovered a good semen sample near the motel, but nothing has matched up in the national database search. The Surry County Sheriff ’s Department passed along a tip that one of their sexual perverts might have been in Fancy Gap the night of the abductions. Unfortunately, he’s gone missing. His mother, who is the snitch, thinks he’s hiding out somewhere in West Virginia. There haven’t been any calls or credit card charges to follow up on.”
“Who do you think took that horrible picture?” she asked them both.
The sheriff answered first, “I don’t think it was one of ours. We checked with the hikers who found the body. We checked their phones and phone records and didn’t find anything that would link them to taking or sending the picture. The lab folks are analyzing the picture to see if they can tell exactly what time of day the picture was actually taken.”
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