by D P Lyle
Jimmy pointed. “His property line is just inside the tree line there, over that way to county road, and then up to the rail line easement. But that’s just this parcel. He owns a patch work of land around here.”
Cutler knew Clovis owned large parcels of farmland spread over two counties but she never could keep all the boundaries straight. Not that it was important to know. Until a leg popped up on one of them anyway.
“He aware yet?” Cutler asked.
“I called but he wasn’t home. Probably out working one of his other fields. I called his cell. Didn’t answer that either. Left a message.”
“Jimmy.” A shout from deep in the trees. Spicer. “Got something here.”
He did. Spicer, Grace at his side, stood over the upper half of a body. Mostly anyway. Essentially skeletal, with only small bits of dried flesh here and there. No internal organs, left arm missing, a partially denuded right arm hanging by a couple of dried tendons. What flesh was left showed similar tattooing as she had seen on the leg. Half of the empty rib cage was missing, the remaining ribs splintered and crushed from the pigs’ feasting. No head in sight.
Cutler knelt. “Definitely pigs,” she said.
“How so?” Jimmy asked.
She reached down and picked up half a tusk. Obviously broken during the feeding frenzy. She handed it to Jimmy.
He examined it. “Looks like a young one.”
She nodded, took the tooth and slid it into her shirt pocket, then returned her attention to the remains. “Got half a hand and three fingers. Maybe the ME can get some prints.” She looked up at Spicer. “Good work. Anything else?”
“Nope.” He nodded toward a shallow depression at the base of a pile of limestone. “Looks like the body was buried there.”
Cutler walked that way. The grave site had been disturbed by excavation marks from where the pigs had retrieved their meal.
“Expand your search,” she said. “Maybe we can find more remains.”
“Will do.” He scratched an ear. “I’d bet dollars to donuts the pigs ate the rest.”
Cutler hoped that wasn’t true. The more body parts they found, particularly if they could locate the head, the better chance they had of identifying the victim. “Keep looking anyway.”
Spicer gave a quick nod. “Will do. If there’s anything else to find, Grace’ll find it. You can bet on that.”
She watched Spicer and Grace melt into the trees, the dog leading the way. She turned to Jimmy. “Call Sara and Ray. Get them out here. Photograph the scenes and remains and then sift through the soil. You call the ME?”
“Sure did. They’re sending a crew down.”
She nodded, then walked to where the families stood. She knelt to get down on the kids’ level.
“You guys doing okay?” she asked.
Silence. None of them lifted their gaze from the ground.
“Pretty scary finding that, wasn’t it?”
No response, though she detected a slight nod from Misty.
“I hear you guys saw the buzzards and came to see what was dead.”
A quick glance from Billy but nothing else.
“Talk to the chief,” Dennis said.
Billy wiped his eyes with a pair of balled fists. “We didn’t do nothing.”
Cutler smiled. “Sure you did.” Three pairs of eyes snapped up toward her. “You found this…person.”
“We was just curious,” Benjie said.
“And that’s good. Maybe you’ll grow up to be detectives some day.” The eyes looking at her brightened. A little anyway. “Good cops are always curious.”
That seemed to break the dam.
“We saw all those buzzards,” Misty said. “A bunch of them. More than I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah,” Billy said. “We knew it must be something big. Maybe a cow or something.”
“Never thought it’d be somebody,” Benjie said.
“Not to mention you weren’t supposed to be over here,” Ben Crane said. “This far from home.”
Tears welled in Benjie’s eyes, “It was farther than it looked. We thought it was just over by those trees. But when we got there we still had a piece to go.”
“That’s why you can’t find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” Cutler said. “It keeps moving away from you.”
“That’s exactly what it was like,” Billy said.
“That’s no excuse for being here,” Dennis said. He looked at Cutler. “They aren’t supposed to cross the tracks. And definitely not the county road.” He looked at his son. “Not for any reason.”
“But, Dad…”
Dennis raised a finger. Billy fell silent.
Cutler smiled. “Well, you did break the rules. But I’m glad you did.” She stood. “Otherwise we might’ve never known about this.” She saw Wally Spicer and Grace come through the trees a couple of hundred feet away, then turn and disappear into them again. She looked back at the kids.
“Are we in trouble with the law?” Benjie asked.
“No.” Cutler smiled. “This person—that you found—had a family and friends. I’m sure they’re missing her. Wondering what happened. Once we identify her we’ll be able to let them know.”
Benjie smiled—almost.
Cutler looked at the parents. “You guys can head on home. If I have any more questions, I’ll drop by.”
She watched as they drove away. She didn’t envy the kids. Grounding was definitely in their future. But she was indeed glad that they had stepped over the line.
CHAPTER 6
Cain returned home to collect Harper for the drive to Leiper’s Fork. A trip that raised ambivalent feelings. Sure it would be good to see General Kessler again. It had been many years. On the other side of the world, each with sand and grit in their hair, eyes, everywhere; Cain with fresh blood on his hands.
But, under these circumstances? Kessler obviously adored his granddaughter. And with her parents succumbing to premature deaths, he and Miriam had essentially raised the girl. If she was truly missing, and not off on some college kid’s adventure, they would be crushed. Even a tough, old bird like Kessler.
Cain heard the hiss of the shower coming from Harper’s room, indicating she had finished her workout. He knew she’d be ready to roll within minutes of stepping from beneath the spray. Harper wasn’t one to primp. Or waste time.
Three years ago, a year after they had started their consulting—that nowhere near covered what they actually did—not sure there was a word for that—they had purchased the entire top floor of St. Germain Place. Before it was built out. They designed the space as a single unit with four bedrooms, an office, and a well-equipped gym that included a throwing area for Cain to remain proficient with his knives. A shooting gallery for Harper and her weapons would have been nice, but that would have violated a dozen city codes. It was all wrapped in 360-degree views of the city’s heart, the football stadium, and the Cumberland River.
“What’s this about?” Harper asked as Cain pulled from the underground parking.
He had called her as he left Milner’s office, telling her to get ready for a road trip. Probably just for the day but, as usual, to prep for a couple of more. You just never knew.
“Cindy Grant. General Kessler’s granddaughter has gone missing.”
“Gone missing in a bad way?”
“Maybe.”
Cain avoided the interstate, as traffic there was unpredictable and most often snarled, instead following a more direct route. Highway 431, then 46, which melted into the one-street village of Leiper’s Fork. Calling it a village was a stretch, the “downtown” area being a couple of blocks long and the stores and restaurants sparse. Beyond, the highway resumed, becoming Old Hillsboro Road, a two-lane blacktop that wound through rolling fields and thick stands of pines and gums and oaks. A half mile south of town, General William Kessler’s estate came into view.
“Impressive,” Harper said.
As Milner had described, its stone construction b
rought to mind a medieval castle. Backed up against a hillock of dark-green pines, it possessed a commanding view of the General’s acreage, plenty of that, and the valley below. Civilian life had been good to the Kesslers. Cain knew their money had come from real estate and shrewd investing. Not to mention the various boards the General sat on.
They were buzzed through the gate that stretched between two thick river rock columns and continued up 200 yards of winding drive that ended at a paved parking circle. A stone archway led to a pair of massive wooden entry doors. As Cain reached for the buzzer, one door swung open.
Miriam Kessler. Thin, gray hair trimmed short, she wore black slacks and a lemon silk shirt. Cain knew she was sixty-eight but she appeared a dozen years younger. Less so today. Miriam had been at the General’s side through everything. Countless state dinners and military processions. Now she devoted her time to charities and fundraising.
“Bobby Cain,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”
“How are you, Miriam?” They hugged.
“We’ve definitely been better.”
“I don’t think you’ve met my sister, Harper.”
“I’ve heard about you though,” Miriam said, shaking Harper’s hand. “Please, come in.”
Cain and Harper entered and she closed the door.
“Thank you for coming,” Miriam said. “On such short notice.”
“Anything for the General.”
“It’s been a tough week,” Miriam said. “Bill is beside himself.”
Cain remembered Miriam as always appearing fit, healthy, alive. Now, she wore a haggard, exhausted mantle. Stress lines cut into her face, her hair gray and tired. Her eyes held an irritated redness and a hint of puffiness. She looked like someone enveloped in a personal hell. Yet through that mask a glow of strength and resiliency persisted. Like so many military wives, she was a warrior.
“Bill’s in his study.”
She led them through a voluminous foyer and into a great room, which was exactly that. Ceilings that soared 25 feet above them, maybe more, and a massive stone fireplace, large enough to park a car inside. Plush sofas, antiques everywhere, and twenty-foot windows filling one wall.
“Can I get you something?” she asked over her shoulder. “I’m sure Bill will want some lemonade.”
“That would be fine,” Cain said.
They entered the General’s equally impressive study. Kessler stood and came around his desk, hand extended, now silhouetted against cathedral windows that looked out over rolling hills of green grass and wads of thick pines. He wore gray slacks and a dark blue shirt. His hair silver, eyes deeply blue.
“Bobby Cain,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has.”
They shook hands. Cain introduced Harper and they took seats facing Kessler who again settled into his oxblood leather chair.
“Wish it were under better circumstances,” Kessler said. “Did you have any trouble finding us?”
“None at all.”
“Good, good.”
Miriam returned with three glasses of lemonade.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“No,” Kessler said. “Thanks.” He offered her a sad smile.
“Then I’ll leave you to talk business.”
Kessler watched her go, waiting until the door closed behind her. “She’s taking this harder than me. And that’s pretty hard.”
“I imagine so,” Cain said.
“You know about loss.”
Cain stared at him.
“First being abandoned at—what was it? Two months?”
“That’s what I was told.”
“The murder of your adoptive parents. While you were overseas.”
Cain nodded.
“And you, Harper. Abandoned, actually sold, by your mother.”
“You’ve done your homework,” Cain said.
“As I’m sure you have. And will.” Kessler studied them for a beat, sighed. “The upshot is that I know each of you understand loss.”
“From what I was told, your granddaughter is missing,” Harper said. “That doesn’t mean something has happened to her.”
“I wish that was true.” He folded his hands before him. “But I’m a pragmatic man. Always have been.” He glanced at the door again. “I know the odds of her being alive are remote. Essentially nonexistent. It’s been a week now and she hasn’t responded. Her cell phone no longer receives calls. Something has happened. Something…unpleasant.”
Cain wanted to reassure him but knew he really couldn’t. Mainly because the odds dictated he was correct. Still, he tried. “She’s a college kid. They do stupid things all the time. Like going away and forgetting to call.”
“Not Cindy. Even when she was in Europe a couple of years ago, she called. Every day. Like clockwork. It’s in her nature.”
“Do you have any evidence that something’s happened?” Harper asked.
“Specifically? No.” Kessler shook his head. “I did call her roommate. A girl named Kelly Whitt. She said Cindy told her she was going to Colorado for a few days. She hasn’t heard from her since she left.”
“Did she?” I asked. “Go to Colorado?”
“She didn’t fly. Or take a train. Or rent a car, or use any of her credit cards. And her cell phone went out after about forty-eight hours. It’s last known position was in Nashville.”
Cain was impressed, but not surprised. A retired General who had spent much of his life in intelligence, who ran dark ops in many of the most treacherous places on Earth, could get his hands on just about any information he needed.
“Milner was a bit cryptic when we spoke. Exactly why are we here?” Cain asked.
“Because I want you to find her. Or discover what happened to her.” He hesitated. “And make things right.”
“I’m sure Milner told you that we don’t do missing persons.”
Kessler leaned back in his chair, spun it slightly so he could gaze out the windows for a beat. He sighed; a deep, mournful sigh. “Let me ask you something,” He swiveled back around. “How many knives do you have on you right now?”
“That you could find? Three or four.”
Kessler nodded. “The tools of your trade.”
Cain remained silent.
“Let me tell you a story,” Kessler said as he leaned back. “There was boy. Raised by a wandering gypsy band. Became an expert with knives. At a very early age. He put on knife throwing exhibitions all over the South. Part of the traveling show. He also became an expert second-story thief. He had many talents.” He steepled his fingers before him. “An arrest, an orphanage, and an adoption followed. Then on to the US Army. He was eighteen.” He scratched the back of one hand and then re-steepled his fingers. “His military career was destined to be bland, normal. But then his SEREs training drew some attention. If memory serves, he stayed off the radar for a week. And then suddenly appeared in his CO’s office. Something like that, anyway.” Kessler offered a half smile. “Ruffled more than a few feathers.”
Kessler had definitely done his due diligence.
“But our hero’s shenanigans attracted the attention of the Pentagon, a few other agencies. And his military career took a sudden turn. Ranger School, Seal and Delta training, followed by various Special Ops missions. Intelligence gathering, communication and supply disruptions, and a few targeted eliminations. Most, but not all, sanctioned.” He held Cain’s gaze a beat. “Yet, each necessary.” Kessler leaned back again, arms folded over his chest. “Then his parents were murdered. By three men. Each later met an unexpected and not so pleasant demise.”
Again, Cain said nothing.
“Our protagonist in this little tale then left the military. But not, for lack of a better term, special ops. Only his employers changed. Private, rather than military. His methods? Well, let’s just say the military—his gypsy family, too—trained him well.”
Still, Cain remained silent.
“Then, there’s another tale.
Child sold to an itinerant family. By her alcoholic, half-Cherokee mother. Smart, precocious. Family disrupted when their past caught up to them. Orphanage, adoption, also military. Intelligence, PsyOps, CIA. Our heroine proved quite adept at running off-the-grid ops. The kind that could slam you in front of a Senate subcommittee.” He gave a half shrug. “Then, a chance reunion. In a hell hole.”
Cain wasn’t really surprised that Kessler knew his background in intimate detail. They had a history. Kessler had run several of Cain’s missions. But Harper? Kessler didn’t know her. No military connection. Yet, Kessler had gone deep.
“So, let’s get down to it,” Kessler said. “I know—I can feel it in my bones, and my bones are always right—that I will never see Cindy alive again.” Another glance toward the door. “I know that for a fact. She didn’t run off somewhere. Forget to call. This isn’t money driven. Not a ransom. This is something much worse. More final.”
“Are you sure we’re the right people for the job?” Cain asked.
Kessler leaned forward, his fists balled on his desk before him. “We’re soldiers. Each of us. Trained to do the tough jobs. The ones no one else will do.” He locked on Cain. “I know about Afghanistan. I know about the ones that killed your family in Tyler, Texas.” Now, his attention turned to Harper. “I know about deeply secret CIA ops. Most well below the threshold of visibility. I know much of the work you’ve done together over the past few years.” His fists relaxed. “So, yes, you’re the ones for this mission.”
Mission? Interesting word choice. But not unexpected coming from Kessler.
Cain nodded. “What do you want us to do?”
Kessler’s blue eyes took on an extra intensity. “This is a military operation. A war, if you will. One where we, not the enemy, dictate the rules of engagement. You know me. Know I’m more of the General George S. Patton school. Stonewall Jackson, too. Never wait. Take the battle to the enemy. I want Cindy found. Dead, alive, whatever, I want her found. I want those who took her to feel the full weight of their actions. If she’s been harmed, I want those responsible harmed. If she’s been tortured, then pain and mortal fear should come their way. If she’s been murdered, I want them to suffer a similar fate.” His face darkened. “That’s what I want.”