All The Dead Girls
Page 19
There were no sirens yet. Excellent.
As Sanders approached the Camry, Holly opened the rear door.
“Give me the gun,” Sanders said as he put Veronica in the backseat.
Holly handed him Chapman’s partner’s pistol and climbed behind the wheel.
“If she wakes up, don’t let her see your face.” Sanders shut the door, then got in his Impala, and started the engine.
Had he left any incriminating evidence behind?
He quickly checked his pockets to make sure nothing had fallen out of them.
As Sanders drove by Holly’s car, his burner cell rang.
“Just checking to see if you still have your phone,” Holly said.
Sanders moved into the right lane and reminded his daughter that they were getting off I-59 onto Martin Luther King Highway.
“It’s about nine miles away.” He took off his ski goggles, looked in the rearview mirror, and saw Holly following him two car lengths behind.
“Why don’t you want Veronica to see my face?”
“The cops are going to talk to her. I don’t want her to know what we look like.”
A minute later Sanders heard sirens in the distance. Thankfully, the responding cops wouldn’t be able to see the damaged side of his car.
They were about twenty-one miles from where he planned to temporarily park his Impala. He had decided against leaving his car in Eutaw, the next town north, because every street in it was within a mile of the county sheriff's office.
Red and blue lights flashing, sirens whooping, three Greene County Sheriff's Office cruisers roared past on the southbound section of the highway.
Did the local sheriff's office have a helicopter? The population of Greene County was less than ten thousand and Sanders doubted its sheriff’s office could afford a chopper.
Sanders began to breathe a little easier when they turned off Martin Luther King Highway onto US Route 43. He heard no helicopters.
2
At five minutes to two, they arrived in Ralph, a small unincorporated community fourteen miles southwest of Tuscaloosa. Sanders pulled onto a residential side street called Timbertop Lane and parked in front of an empty lot. Holly stopped behind him and got out of the car.
“Can you open the trunk?” Sanders asked her, slipping his badge into his pocket.
There were two bullet holes in the roof of the Impala. He certainly couldn’t return the car to the rental agency.
He put his ski goggles and the guns in the duffel bag and then placed it in the trunk of Holly’s Camry.
“Are you going to leave your car here?” Holly asked as Sanders unrolled the cover over the top of the Impala.
“No. We’ll take it to Dallas and have it crushed.”
Sanders had a friend in Dallas who owned a junkyard and he planned to ask him to crush his rental car. Since driving the Impala was risky, he was going to rent a pickup truck and a car hauler trailer to transport it to Dallas.
Sanders put the cover over the car, secured it with the cable lock so it couldn’t be removed, and climbed behind the wheel of the Camry. Holly got in the backseat.
“Where are we going now?” Holly asked.
“Tuscaloosa.”
As he unzipped his hoodie, Sanders saw that it had blood stains on it. He took off his hoodie and bulletproof vest and checked his face in the rearview mirror. There was no blood on his face, his left cheek and temple were bruised.
He started the engine, made a three-point turn, and then drove back onto US Route 43.
“Turn off your phone,” Sanders said, switching off his cell.
Holly did as told and then opened and removed the zip ties from Veronica’s wrists and ankles.
“Is she alive?” Sanders asked.
“Yes.”
3
Fifteen minutes later they reached Tuscaloosa. Sanders turned off US Route 43 onto Joe Mallisham Parkway and pulled into the parking lot of Palmore Park. The lot had only two other cars in it and there were no people in sight. Sanders took Veronica out of the Impala, laid her on the grass under a tree, and got back behind the wheel.
Holly had suggested dropping Veronica off near a hospital, but Sanders had rejected the idea, saying that hospitals had cameras everywhere.
“Are you tired?” Sanders asked Holly as they left the park. “Do you think you can drive for another three hours?”
“I think I can.”
“I suggest you return your car in Jackson. It’s about three hours away from here.”
“Okay.”
Sanders didn’t want Holly to return her Camry in Tuscaloosa because it was close to where Chapman and his partner had been killed.
He drove to a U-Haul dealership on Hargrove Road, about three miles from Palmore Park, and rented a pickup truck and a car hauler trailer.
If the cops asked him what he had needed the car hauler for, he would say he was going to transport Holly’s rental car.
How long would it take the CIA to find out about Chapman’s death? Did his partner work for the CIA, too?
Would the CIA take over the investigation into Chapman’s murder?
Was the CIA going to terminate Chapman’s killer? Sanders realized he wasn’t sure Chapman’s threat was empty.
Sanders stopped at a grocery store a few blocks from the U-Haul dealership and bought two twelve-packs of water bottles and eight bottles of 5-Hour Energy. He gave Holly one twelve-pack of water bottles and three energy shots.
When he arrived at Timbertop Lane, Sanders made a U-turn at the end of the street and parked across from the Impala. Holly pulled over to the curb in front of him.
There were no police cars in sight and no helicopters overhead.
Sanders opened the cable lock, removed the cover, and drove the Impala onto the hauler. After he secured the car, he and Holly put the cover back on and then got in their vehicles.
Dallas was five hundred and sixty miles away, so they could get there in about ten hours.
4
It was half past six when they arrived in Jackson. Holly dropped the Camry off at the airport, and then they stopped at a diner near the Outlets of Mississippi mall.
At eleven o’clock, after they crossed into Texas, Holly sat behind the wheel of the pickup truck so Sanders could get some rest.
They arrived in Dallas at half past one in the morning. Sanders threw his Glock and Chapman’s partner’s gun into Lake Ray Hubbard, and then they went to his house. They had decided that Holly would stay with her father until she found a new apartment. Sanders parked the pickup truck two blocks from his place, afraid that the CIA agents would be waiting for him there.
The next morning Sanders hauled the Impala to his friend’s junkyard, where it was crushed into a cube. Later that day, he called the rental company and reported the car stolen.
Chapter 52
1
Tanner had said he would arrive in McLean by eight a.m. on Wednesday and Peter Sheridan expected him to call around that time, but he never did. Sheridan tried Tanner’s cell and encrypted phone twice, and each time his calls went straight to voice mail. When Tanner didn’t contact him on Thursday, Sheridan figured something was wrong and told Tanner’s immediate supervisor, Ben Weaver, to investigate.
A search of police records revealed that a man named Michael Chapman (which was the alias under which Tanner lived in Dallas) had been shot to death on Interstate 59 near the town of Boligee, Alabama, on Tuesday afternoon. There was no doubt that the guy was Gordon Tanner: his fingerprints matched Tanner’s and he looked exactly like Tanner. The police had no suspects. According to witnesses, the killer wore ski goggles and drove a black Impala.
Tanner had been driving a U-Haul truck when he was attacked. Sheridan guessed that the donor Tanner had told him about had been in the back of the truck (he found no mention of her in the case file; perhaps she had escaped after Tanner was killed). Tanner had been travelling with a guy named Patrick Schlegel, who had been killed, too. Tanner’s and
Schlegel’s bodies were at the Greene County Coroner's Office in Eutaw.
Who had killed Tanner? Had he been assassinated by a foreign government?
Weaver also found out that Tanner was the prime suspect in the murder of a Plano man named Ralph Zimmer, which had taken place in New Orleans. Zimmer wasn’t on the CIA’s kill list. The fact that Tanner had made an unauthorized kill on American soil didn’t concern Sheridan.
“Go to Eutaw and get Gordon’s and Schlegel’s bodies,” Sheridan told Weaver. “Tell the sheriff that the FBI is taking over the investigation. Take all the case files and records.
“Contact the New Orleans PD and make them erase from their records everything that has to do with Gordon. Tell them to inform the media that Michael Chapman was cleared of suspicion.” The director of Black Ops leaned back in his chair. “What do you think happened? Do you think a foreign government is behind this?”
Weaver shrugged. “It looks like a hit job. I believe it’s possible it was orchestrated by foreigners. We’ll get to the bottom of this, sir.”
2
The intercom buzzed, and the secretary said, “Mr. Ben Weaver is asking to see you.”
“Okay. Let him in,” Sanders replied.
It didn’t take the CIA long to figure out that he might have been involved in Chapman’s murder.
“Good morning, Jim,” Weaver said when he came in.
“Good morning.”
Weaver shut the door and sat down in a chair in front of Sanders’s desk. “How are you doing, Jim?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you know why I’m here.”
Sanders shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“I have a question for you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Where were you last Tuesday between twelve p.m. and two p.m.?”
“I was in Birmingham.”
“Birmingham, Alabama?”
“Yes.”
“Michael Chapman was murdered last Tuesday.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Do you have any information about Mr. Chapman’s murder?”
“No.”
“He was killed a few miles from Birmingham, by the way.”
“I hope they catch his killer.”
“Michael Chapman was a hero. Countless lives were saved thanks to his work.”
Does Weaver actually think Chapman was a hero, or is he trying to trick me into saying that Chapman was a serial killer?
“I wish I could help you, Mr. Weaver.”
“A few hours before Michael was killed, you told me he’d kidnapped one of your daughter’s friends, didn’t you?”
“I was wrong.”
“You killed Michael to save Eric McCormick, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“You tried to save Eric, but you failed. They found his body last night.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Who ordered you to kill Michael? Was it the Russians?”
“I didn’t kill Mr. Chapman.”
“This is a very serious matter, Jim. You could be charged with treason.”
“I didn’t kill Mr. Chapman.”
“I know you killed him, Jim.” Weaver got up. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Watch your back.” He opened the door and left the room.
Sanders didn’t think Weaver was going to send someone to kill him: serious organizations like the CIA didn’t threaten their targets. Weaver was probably just venting.
What if he was wrong?
Well, he would be pleased to blow Weaver’s goons’ brains out.
Thanks for the warning, asshole.
THE END
Dead Girls was inspired by the story of Dmitry Baksheev and his wife Natalia, a Russian cannibal couple who were caught after losing a phone with pictures of body parts on it in 2017. They were accused of murdering and eating up to thirty people in southeast Russia.
ABDUCTION
Sample chapters
Description
They kidnapped her family. The ransom: 400 tons of gold.
On July 21, Jane Shepard's eight-year-old daughter, Angie, and husband, Michael, vanish from her car without a trace while she's shopping at a grocery store.
Days later, she is shocked to learn that according to state records, Angie and Michael died in a motorcycle crash on July 17. The police believe that her family's abduction is just a figment of her imagination, but Jane knows it's not true. She begs the detectives to keep the investigation open.
When she becomes the prime suspect in a murder case, Jane grows convinced that she's been framed by her family's kidnappers. As she searches for answers, she uncovers a conspiracy masterminded by a top U.S. government official hell-bent on breaking into the top 100 richest people in the world.
To save her family, Jane has to find a treasure worth billions of dollars buried somewhere in South America.
The problem is, she has no idea where to look.
Buy Abduction on Amazon.com
Chapter 1
1
The next morning Jane Shepard would watch the surveillance video and wonder why Angie and Michael’s abduction wasn’t on the tape. The parking lot camera had to have caught it.
It had to!
Why the hell wasn’t the kidnapping on the tape? She had not hallucinated Angie and Michael’s disappearance, she was sure of it.
2
Where are they?
It was about a minute after Jane found Michael’s phone that it occurred to her that Michael and Angie might have been abducted.
Jane had bought a birthday card for her mother at the grocery store, and she had been looking at it as she dialed her husband’s number. There was a picture of a bulldog wearing a party hat on the card, and the image was so funny Jane couldn’t help smiling. She was still smiling when she heard Michael’s phone ring inside the car.
He had left his phone in the car. He had never done that before.
The phone lay on the floor, which was strange: Michael would never have let his phone sit on the floor; he would have picked it up right away. The smile evaporated from Jane’s lips.
She ended the call. As she picked up her husband’s phone, Jane saw that the key was in the ignition.
Why had Michael left the key in the ignition?
He might have forgotten to remove it.
The driver’s window and the right rear window were open. Had Michael been too lazy to roll them up?
Jane had slipped Michael’s phone into her jeans pocket and scanned the parking lot. Michael and Angie had been nowhere in sight.
Maybe Michael didn’t pick up his phone, pull the key from the ignition, and roll up the windows because he was kidnapped?
Her amazing husband and her precious, beautiful daughter had been abducted.
Jane pushed the thought away. Michael and Angie must have gone for a little walk and she would see them soon.
An old woman with blue hair walked past Jane’s car, wheeling a shopping cart loaded with groceries. She looked carefree and happy.
Jane glanced at her watch. 3:48. It had been about twenty minutes since they had arrived here.
She removed the key from the ignition, opened the door, and got out of the car. “Angie! Michael!” she shouted.
No answer.
“Angie! Michael!”
The grocery store shared the building with two other businesses: a Chinese restaurant and a dry cleaners shop. There were no customers in the restaurant; Jane didn’t find Michael and Angie in the dry cleaners, either.
Where are they?
The hot July sun beat down on her, but she felt cold, seized by the chilling fear that something terrible had happened to her husband and daughter.
They’ve been abducted. Michael didn’t put up a fight because the kidnappers were armed with guns.
Or maybe they’ve been run over by a truck.
Maybe Angie needed to go to the bathroom, and Michael took her to the grocery store restroom?
Her heart beating fast, Jane hurried into the grocery store.
“Excuse me, do you have a restroom?” Jane asked the cashier at the express register, a young woman in rimless glasses.
“Yes. It’s there.”
Jane looked where the cashier was pointing; the restrooms were located next to the customer service counter. “Thank you.”
Sweeping her eyes around the store, she called, “Angie! Michael!”
No answer.
Jane trotted to the restrooms, opened the door to the ladies’ room, and entered, sweat trickling down her face despite the air-conditioning. The room reeked of disinfectant.
“Angie!”
No one answered. Jane checked both stalls and found them empty.
She should have taken Angie with her into the store.
Jane opened the men’s room door and called, “Michael! Angie!”
There was no answer.
Jane exited the store and walked up to a short, thin man who was standing outside the entrance with a large donation can in his hand. The can had FOOD FOR THE HUNGRY printed on it.
“Excuse me, can I ask you a question?” Jane said.
“Sure.” The man smiled.
Jane pointed to Michael’s Lexus and said, “You see that black car?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see anyone get out of it?”
The man shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
“Have there been any fights in the parking lot in the last thirty minutes?”
“No.”
“Have you seen a little girl in a pink T-shirt and blue shorts?”
“No, I haven’t. Sorry. Is she your daughter?”
“Yes.”
The kidnappers must have followed them to the grocery store.
Hopefully, the parking lot security camera had caught the license plate of the kidnappers’ car.
Thank God for security cameras.