by Mark Tufo
“Why’s that?” she asked, growing suspicious.
“Because it’s off the books,” Scott said quietly. “In fact, it’s not just borderline, it’s completely illegal. But as far as you’re concerned, it’s not. I’m ordering you to do it. I’m telling you that I have the warrant, so you are covered.”
“Scott? What the hell are you talking about?” She was more than worried.
He shut the door to the office and faced her. “Justin tells me that he and the Ranger are convinced that Jerrod Miller is either next or somewhere on the list to be killed by this lunatic. Now, ghost or not, we need a way to keep eyes on this clown.”
Denise nodded, “Okay, agreed.”
“He mentioned something about having state of the art security and in this county, when it comes to the über-wealthy and paranoid security systems, there’s one guy that knows it or trains those who do it. I’m sending you out to see him and figure out a way for us to tap into Miller’s so we can have eyes on the bastard at all times.”
Denise was shaking her head now. “What makes you think this clown will do that?”
“Because he owes me. Trust me, I didn’t want to call in my marker for an asshole like Miller, but I’m forcing myself to look at it as a way to take this nutjob psycho off the streets.”
“Fine. Tell me what to do,” she said, steeling herself.
Scott went to his desk and wrote down directions. “There’s a place in the middle of nowhere. The guy lives in a bunker. He acts like one of those survivalist nuts because he is one. His name is Bobby Bridger. Tell him I sent you.” He handed her the directions. “If you don’t identify yourself and tell him that you are there for me, he will kill you,” Scott emphasized each word.
Denise hiked a brow but nodded. “Okay. You sent me. Got it.”
“Tell him what we’re up against and…just tell him I’m calling in my marker.”
“I’m on my way.”
Scott sat on the edge of his desk and shook his head. “How the hell do I get myself talked into this sort of mess?”
He realized, this was one of those times that he really missed hearing Amber’s voice calling out to him from the dispatch station, answering his rhetorical question.
*****
Maria woke with a start, gasping for breath, her hand automatically going to her throat. Her head jerked around rapidly as she took in her surroundings and the memories quickly faded as both her heart rate and her breathing quickly came back to normal. She turned bleary eyes toward her alarm clock then swung her legs off the edge of her bed. She rubbed at her neck again and couldn’t imagine what had caused such a horrific fright, but she was thankful that she was awake. She didn’t want to be caught sleeping when she was supposed to be working.
She quickly donned her working clothes and slipped from her room. She crept along the hallway toward Mr. Miller’s room and slowly opened the door. She listened intently and heard him stirring in his bed. Pulling the door to, she let out the breath she had been holding and made her way back to the kitchen. She slid in behind the counter and braced herself against the countertop. Her head throbbed from lack of rest and she feared that even aspirin and caffeine couldn’t fight it.
She popped the top on the aspirin bottle and slipped a few into her trembling hand. Washing it down with cold water from the tap, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had been hovering over her shoulder since she woke.
Maria checked the roast in the slow cooker and double checked the time. She went to the fridge and began pulling out other items to go along with it. Perhaps if she threw herself into her work she could shake the dread.
The doorbell ringing caught her attention and she quickly wiped her hands on her apron and headed for the door. She looked out the peephole and saw the two officers that had previously taken Mr. Miller. With dread creeping up on her again, Maria turned in quick circles debating what to do. Should she wake Mr. Miller or answer the door? The doorbell rang again and she instinctively grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open.
“May I help you?” she asked nervously.
“Mr. Miller please,” the man said.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Miller is preoccupied,” she said sheepishly and tried to shut the door. The man stuck his foot in the door and gave her a look that made her even more nervous.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I must insist.”
Maria gave him a fearful look, but nodded, pulling the door open for the pair. “I will go and get him for you. Please wait here.”
Justin and Sheryn stood in the foyer once more, waiting on him to come to them. They stood and stared at the same art, the same statues, the same rich paneling. It seemed forever before Jerrod Miller stepped out and greeted them. He was in jeans and a t-shirt, house slippers on his bare feet. He looked as if he had just woke up.
“Can I help you?”
“We were sent to pick up the items you got from Mr. Culley and Mr. Wineguard,” Deputy Zimmer said, his face all business.
Miller stiffened slightly and he stared at the man, his black eyes were swollen and made it unclear if he were squinting or simply trying to stare them down. “Did you bring a warrant?”
Sheryn stepped forward, “We don’t need a warrant to retrieve stolen property, Mr. Miller. However, if you’d like us to disturb a District Court Judge and get one, it may make things go that much worse whenever your case does go to court. I’m sure if you cooperated fully and simply handed them over, we could put in a good word for you.” She smiled so sweetly that Jerrod was almost tempted to get the real items.
His mouth tightened into a line and he nodded. “Fine. Come with me.” He turned and padded down the hall. Justin and Sheryn fell into step behind him.
“I’m terribly sorry if we disturbed your sleep, Mr. Miller,” Sheryn said. “Were you up late?”
Miller nodded. “My face and body hurt so bad from the beating I took at your station that I had trouble falling asleep. I eventually broke out some old painkillers from when I had some dental work done.” He paused and gave her a dirty look. “Unfortunately, they knocked me out.”
“I understand completely.”
“Since I couldn’t sleep and I figured you’d want these pieces anyway, I boxed them for you already,” he lied again. “They’re on the table.” He pointed to a cardboard box filled with old, rusty looking memorabilia.
Justin walked up and flipped open the tops of the box. He shuffled through the box and found the two .45s, an old cracked leather gun belt, a couple of rusty old spurs and some other bric-a-brac. “This is it?”
“Every piece,” Miller stated, nodding.
Justin glanced over his shoulder and saw the real collection behind him. He let out a low whistle. “Man that is some collection you got there.”
Miller turned and nodded. “Thank you. It took me many years to acquire those pieces,” he said proudly.
“Wow, there must be close to a thousand items,” Sheryn mumbled.
“Over twelve hundred, actually. And, I have receipts for every bit of it,” he said a little too excitedly.
Sanders raised a brow on his last comment, but she really didn’t care about his collection. She was only interested in the pieces he had gotten from Culley and Wineguard. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Miller.” She extended her hand. Miller stared at her a moment, then took her hand and shook it.
Justin had already picked up the box and was headed out of the study. “We’ll be in touch,” he called over his shoulder.
Justin carried the box to the rear of the cruiser and popped the trunk. As he set the box inside, he shut the trunk and got inside the car. Sanders was already waiting for him. “Did that seem a little hinky to you?”
“Hinky? Is that one of those technical Ranger terms?”
She shot him a serious look that stopped the teasing. “Yes, it seemed ‘hinky’. Too damned easy.” Justin started the cruiser. “And did you get a look at the rest of his collection? Nearly everythi
ng in there was museum quality, and what does he hand off to us?”
“Rusted pieces of crap,” Sanders stated as Justin put the car in gear and pulled away from the house.
“Before we go back to the station and let the Ghostbusters do their thing, we’re taking a little detour.” Justin said.
“Ghost town?” Sanders asked.
“Ghost town,” Justin said.
*****
Ben rang the doorbell and almost jumped when Jana answered it before he could remove his finger from the button. “You startled me, Ms. Mattox.”
“I saw your police car, Constable. And who are your friends this time?” she asked in a saccharin-sweet voice.
“These are friends from UCLA.” Ben made introductions after they were all ushered into her cozy living room. He explained that it would really help if she would allow the nice professors access to her research material. Jana was only too happy to share her work again and quickly pulled out the large cardboard box with all of her research on Sheriff James ‘Two Guns’ Tolbert.
She quickly put on a pot of coffee and they all took seats at her dining room table as the group began setting up work stations. Jana dumped the material in the middle of the table and two UCLA researchers and Ben began going through the papers. Jana came in a few minutes later with a tray full of coffee cups and joined them. “What exactly are you kids looking for?”
Calvin looked up from the pile of papers and pushed his glasses back up his nose, “What fuels this guy for one.”
“The details surrounding his death,” Quinn added.
“I’m just digging up anything that deals directly with Tolbert and handing it over to them,” Ben admitted sheepishly.
“I see.” Jana drummed her fingers as she thought. “You know…” she stood up and walked over to her closet. “I toyed with the idea of writing more about him, but the whole ordeal really was just a blip in the history books,” she spoke over her shoulder, “So to speak.”
She rummaged around in the top of her hall closet and pulled down an oversized hat box. “Had I realized then just how important this information would be, I’d have organized it a bit better.” She pulled the hatbox down and blew the dust off of it. “I hate to admit it, but I was a bit enamored by the good sheriff and his story.”
She set the box on the table and lifted the lid. The group stood to look over the edge. “Tin types, letters, personal ledgers, even one of the sheriff’s log books from the old jail. I guess you could say I became a fan,” she admitted somewhat embarrassed.
“Oh my…” Quinn lifted a photograph of Mary O’ Dell and held it up to the light. The faded sepia photo took her breath away. “She was so beautiful.”
“Oh yes, she was,” Jana responded sadly. “It’s no wonder he was so enamored with her.”
“Where did you get all of this?” Calvin asked.
“Tolbert’s family,” she said proudly. “He had a cousin or…something. He was a Texas Ranger. Shortly after James was killed, the cousin came to town looking for those responsible. He never found them because the town folk wouldn’t talk.” Jana slowly rose and stepped to the window, staring out at the horizon. “He cleaned out all of Tolbert’s personal effects and sealed them in a trunk. The family held on to them for years. When they found out I was writing the book, they offered it to me.” She turned and faced the crowd, tears rimming her eyes. “Truth be told, I think they were tired of keeping up with this after all the years.”
“So sad,” Quinn echoed the other woman’s sorrow.
Jana stepped back to the table and reached into the box. “You wanted to know what fuels his rage?” she asked. “You might want to read these.” She handed the group a short stack of yellowed papers.
“What is that?” Ben asked.
“These were letters that he had written to Mary. They had only been courting a short time, but…” she sniffed back a tear, “…his love for her knew no bounds.”
“Well, that makes sense,” Calvin said. “Avenging a lover that is wronged could well fuel a rage that knows no bounds.”
“But a rage this strong?” Quinn asked. “We’ve never had readings this strong before.”
“Well, we know it’s a ghost because of the ecto. There was no sulfur, so it can’t be a demon.” Calvin shook his head. “Regardless of the power behind it, at least we know what it is.”
“But can we stop it?” Ben asked.
Calvin sighed. “I guess that depends on how successful your co-workers are.”
*****
Eckerson trudged toward the Little Hope Church with Foo dragging up the rear. Casper followed hesitantly, shaking his head. “We shouldn’t be here. Roger was killed because we messed around out here, we really shouldn’t be here.”
“We get it, Wineguard. But we’re here to stop this thing from killing any more people, so step it up,” Foo said.
Eckerson stood on the dilapidated steps and looked out at the ruined grave yard. “My God, would you look at this.”
“Probably a good thing the state wouldn’t come in and rebury them, huh?” Jon said. He glanced back behind them and saw Ginger by the SUV holding one of her devices and slowly swinging it back and forth.
“I’d call it providence. Otherwise, we’d be out here digging them back up.” Jeff hopped off the porch. He looked out at the piles of dirt and exposed graves. “Which one was it?” he asked Casper.
“All of them”
“Which one?” Jeff asked again.
“All of them!” Casper repeated.
“He means, which one did you get the goodies from that you sold to Miller?” Jon asked, jerking Casper’s chain tighter.
“There was a bunch of them,” Casper admitted. “We got a little bit from a bunch of them. Mr. Miller wasn’t happy with most of it, though.”
“The good stuff, Wineguard. Where did you get the good stuff? The guns, the gun belt, the spurs, the badge? Remember what we talked about?” Jon clarified.
“Oh yeah.” Casper’s face lit with recognition. “Umm…” he paused to think. “That was after I went to take a piss and we found the other one. The mother lode.”
“And it was….?” Eckerson asked, waving him along.
“Around back. It ain’t in the graveyard itself. It’s behind the church.”
Jon sighed and began marching alongside the church building. Eckerson brought up the rear as they worked their way toward the rear. As they rounded the back corner, they looked out over all of the tall grass and could just make out where it had been worn down in places. Casper did his best to point with his hands shackled to his ankles. “Over there.”
The trio walked to the area he pointed to, with Ginger slowly bringing up the rear. “Why’d you fill it in?” Eckerson asked.
Casper stood frozen with his mouth hanging open. He kept looking side to side and shaking his head. “We didn’t,” he whispered.
*****
Denise rolled up slowly to the address that Scott had given her. She looked at the cattle guard with no mail box or any other markings and shook her head. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her gut told her NOT to drive in, but she slowly pulled the cruiser onto the property. As soon as she entered the property, her police radio began spurting nothing but static. She adjusted the squelch and shivered.
“Great. A jammer.” She turned the radio off and continued her slow roll up the rough drive. “Probably military grade.”
She drove until she saw a hill with a door in it. She stopped the car and stared at the door, unsure if she was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing. She put the cruiser into park and turned off the ignition. Opening the door, she slowly stepped out and walked to the front of the car. Should she knock? If this guy is as good as Scott led her to believe, he already knew she was there.
She sighed heavily and decided to just wait. She leaned against the fender of the car and crossed her arms over her chest. She waited a few more moments then glanced around. She couldn’t see o
r hear anybody.
Taking a chance, she announced loudly, “Scott Evans Sent me.” She waited for a response but heard nothing. She was almost ready to get back into the cruiser and head back to the station, then remembered what else Scott said. “He said he was calling in his marker.”
“So he sent you?” a voice said from behind her that made her jump.
“Good grief, don’t do that. Denise turned, her hand starting to go for her service weapon. She had to force herself not to slap leather. She was seeing a part of the woods itself that had come alive, a set of bright green eyes staring back at her.
“You are?”
“Sgt. Denise Burress.” She slowly extended her hand. Bridger ignored her gesture and headed for the door. “Yeah, nice to meet you, too.”
“Follow me,” he growled as he stepped into the darkness.
“Oh yeah. Follow the big scary tree man into the dark hole in the ground. Right.” She glanced over her shoulder and shook her head. “Scott, if I survive this, I’m SO kicking your ass.” She stepped away from the cruiser and followed the moving bush into the dark hole.
Once inside, she was surprised at just how much light there was. Her eyes quickly adjusted and she could see the large man pulling the ghillie suit from over his head. She saw the corded muscle of his arms and the broad expanse of his chest and found herself holding her breath as her eyes devoured him.
“What does Scott want with me?”
Denise didn’t hear what he said, but she wished that he would keep talking. His deep voice made her tingle inside and her eyes were getting glassy as she continued to devour him with her stare.
“Sergeant?”
“Hmm? Yes?”
“What does Scott want with me?” he asked again, his face stoic.
“Oh. Um, he needs your help in defeating a security system.”
Bridger paused and gave her a cautious stare. “You’re telling me that Sheriff Scott Evans wants my help in defeating a security system?”
“Yeah. He says that you’re the best.”
“He’s right about that,” Bridger admitted, facing her and crossing his large, muscular arms over his chest. “But why doesn’t he go through proper legal channels?”