The Burial Place

by Larry Enmon

  The first drops of rain streaked their windshield as Rob found a good turnaround spot and cruised past the entrance again on the way back to town. They grabbed a couple of rib plates to go from Hemphill BBQ and swung by a supermarket where Rob bought more beer and Frank picked up a couple of bottles of red. By the time they got to the marina and resort, it was well after eight.

  The cabin on the water was well appointed, with stained pine boards on the walls and ceiling, clean and comfortable. After showers, they met in Frank’s room. Rob dragged in his cooler and situated it just inside the door.

  Frank sat propped on pillows with his laptop, staring at Google Earth.

  “Hey, check this out,” Frank said.

  Rob twisted the top off a beer and studied the screen.

  Frank pointed at the picture. “Once you enter that gate, you have a choice about twenty-five yards down the drive—left or right. Take a left and you’re heading straight to the house. Turn right and you’re driving deeper into the woods toward the gas wells and lake. See?”

  Rob took a swallow. “Uh-huh.”

  Frank moved his finger down the road to the right. “If we could get on the road leading to the gas wells, we’d be able to cut across these woods and have a good eyeball on the house.”

  Rob sipped the beer. “Makes sense.”

  Frank closed the computer and grabbed a plastic glass and the bottle of red. They meandered through the living area to the outside porch. The rain had passed, leaving the night with a clean, fresh smell. They gazed at a starry canopy, leaned their chairs against the wall, and listened to the sound of the lake and woods. Fireflies flickering along the water’s edge reflected back tiny green lights. Like fish winking at them.

  “Had no idea how beautiful this part of Texas is,” Rob said. “Never been here before.”

  Frank took a long sip of wine and then motioned to a light in the distance on the other side of the lake. “Know what that is?”

  Rob eyed the light. “Nope.”

  Frank brought the glass to his lips again. “Louisiana.”

  * * *

  Brother John stepped from the porch and looked at the house. No one stirred—all silent. He strolled in the tree shadows down the drive, stopping once and listening. After he was sure no one followed, he marched down the road. He always met him a little after ten o’clock. The dark outline of a person appeared from the woods.

  “Nice evening, isn’t it, John?”

  Brother John fell on the man’s shoulder, sobbing. “I don’t know what to do. Help me?”

  The man embraced him, but remained silent.

  “I’m tired of this charade,” John said. “It’s gone on too long. I want to just tell them. I’m no prophet—you’re the prophet. You have the blessing, not me.” After a minute, John stepped back and wiped his eyes. “Mama knew our strengths and weaknesses. She knew what she was doing, but I don’t. You take over now. I’ve done enough.”

  The man leaned against a tree. “Yeah, she knew what she was doing. Always said you had the gift of gab, and I had the gift of prophecy. She knew that together we’d make a fine pair. It won’t be long before the last trumpet sounds. When this little piece of earth is all that’s left, that’s when the hard work starts. We still have lots to do.”

  Brother John didn’t want the responsibility anymore, but he understood it was his and his alone. He’d taken them this far. Like Moses leading his people through the wilderness, John needed to finish God’s calling. He straightened up and threw his shoulders back.

  “Okay, tell me what you want me to do.”

  Brother Luther put a firm hand on John’s shoulder. “First thing is to decide what to do about Katrina.”

  32

  Frank woke early with too much on his mind. He made coffee and opened the porch door to the new sunrise. The pine air had a crisp feel.

  Is she still alive? Are we too late?

  His questions unanswered, he strolled into the kitchen with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, leaving the front door open. After refreshing his cup, he switched on the local news.

  “Nice morning, huh?” Rob said, staggering into the living area.

  “Yeah. You hungry?”

  “Sure, we can swing by McDonald’s on the way to the compound,” Rob said.

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” Rob asked.

  “’Cause there’s not one in Hemphill.”

  Rob glared. “A town without a McDonald’s? Are we still in America or what?”

  An hour later they sat in their car at the entrance of a park service road and gazed in the direction of the compound. Rob finished off his cold ham-and-cheese sandwich and downed the last of his coffee. “We need a better plan for breakfast tomorrow,” he said. “Two-day-old sandwich from a convenience store is no way to start the day.”

  Frank leaned forward and squinted, looking down the Farm to Market Road. “What we need is a better setup location. We can’t even see the entrance. Any ideas?”

  “We could go overland, through the woods.” Rob grinned. “Or rent a boat and try an amphibious assault.”

  Frank didn’t bother looking at him. “You love that Marine talk, don’t ya?”

  “What do you think, cracker?” Rob asked.

  “Let’s drive past the gate again.”

  Rob drove slowly toward the entrance of the gravel road leading to the house. The gate was open this morning. As they neared, a white pickup pulled out and headed in their direction. When it passed, the driver didn’t look their way. The man was young, with short hair and a yellow hardhat. A sign on the driver’s door read “RemTex Energy Services.”

  “Who’s that?” Rob asked.

  “Probably someone who inspects the gas wells. They check pressures and volume levels every few days. Look for stuck valves and leaks.”

  Rob shot a glance his way. “How do you know so much about gas wells?”

  “Read it in a book.”

  The gate was still open but they didn’t drive in. Frank had a better idea. “Nacogdoches is about an hour west of here. Let’s take a drive over there.”

  Four hours later, Frank pulled up to their cabin driving a new GMC white rental pickup truck. In the seat were two yellow hardhats and a freshly made magnet sign that read “RemTex Energy Services.” Rob pulled up beside him in their city car. They emptied the bags of work clothes on Frank’s bed, and each changed into beige coveralls and steel-toed brown boots.

  “You look ridiculous,” Rob said.

  Frank stuffed his hair under the hardhat. “How about now?”

  “Doesn’t help.”

  Frank slouched in the passenger seat as Rob drove them back to the compound in the truck, watching the pine forest zip by on either side of the road, a heaviness settling in Frank’s stomach that had nothing to do with the crappy sandwiches they’d picked up at the convenience store on the way. Whether Frank liked it or not, this was his baby.

  Frank had called Terry on the way to Nacogdoches, and Terry had given them the green light, but he didn’t sound encouraging. Rob wouldn’t complain or criticize—he’d be there no matter what. Terry had told Frank the Texas Rangers were sending a man to Hemphill to meet them that day or the next. Frank could do without any outside interference. Neither the FBI nor the Texas Rangers nor the local sheriff had the emotional attachment he did to this case—to Trina. If she was in that house, he wasn’t leaving without her.

  Rob held up his nasty sandwich and made a face. “You know, we could have eaten at that Chinese buffet in Nacogdoches. Wouldn’t have taken a half hour.”

  Frank didn’t answer. When they pulled through the open gate, he pointed to the right and they cruised through the woods on the white gravel road. Traces of blue appeared through the brush as they got closer to the massive lake.

  After about a quarter mile, Frank said, “Park here.”

  “There’s no gas well. They’re farther down,” Rob said.

  “Yeah, but this is the shortest dista
nce through the woods to the house.”

  They trekked up a small hill through thick bushes and vines. Rob had a compass and kept them heading southeast. After about ten minutes, the house came into view. Rob lifted the binoculars and scanned the yard.

  “No movement, but nice house and landscaping. Looks like an old plantation in the South,” Rob remarked.

  He handed the binoculars to Frank and slipped out his Copenhagen box. He got a pinch and dusted his fingers on his coveralls.

  “Okay, we’ll—jeez!” Frank jumped as a green snake slithered between his legs.

  “Relax. It’s only a grass snake,” Rob said. “Probably more afraid of you than you are of it.”

  Frank moved to the left. “I seriously doubt that.”

  They maintained the surveillance until a little after five. Several long-haired men went into and out of the house, but there was no sign of Trina—or, for that matter, Brother John. The two large dogs presented a potential problem, but Rob mentioned that he might have a solution.

  At exactly 5:17 PM, Frank’s phone buzzed.

  “This is Pierce.”

  “Sheriff Lewis here. Got someone sitting in my office wants to meet you and your partner.”

  “Would that someone be a Texas Ranger?” Frank asked.

  “You Dallas guys must have ESP. Yeah, he’d like to say hello. Think you could drop by?”

  “Sure, Sheriff. We’ll be there in about half an hour.”

  Frank pocketed the phone. “A ranger wants to meet us at the sheriff’s office.”

  Rob lay on his stomach with his elbows spread, holding the binoculars. He sat them down and rubbed his eyes. “Good for me. I’d go blind if I looked through these another hour.”

  They gathered their gear and drove to meet Sheriff Lewis.

  When they strolled into his office, the sheriff’s mouth fell open. “You boys decide to take on an extra job while visiting?”

  The ranger, with short hair and cowboy hat, grinned while examining their clothes.

  “We’ve gone native, that’s all,” Frank said.

  “Boys, meet a buddy of mine. The ranger who works this county, Harold Parker.”

  The ranger stood and they shook hands.

  “Been telling Harold about your suspicions,” Sheriff Lewis said. “From your clothes, I reckon you’ve been snooping around.”

  Frank wasn’t sure where this might go. He didn’t want to give anything away, so he kept it short. “I reckon.”

  Ranger Parker nodded. “We’re not trying to take anything away from you guys. It’s your case. You work it as you see fit. We’re all big boys here. Just don’t put the sheriff and me in a position—if you know what I mean.”

  “You mean don’t do anything to embarrass you?” Rob asked.

  “It’s not just that,” Sheriff Lewis spoke up. “If you screw around and we get a call from them about folks trespassing on their land, that leaves us little choice but to appear, at least, to run you off. Lots of times people around these parts don’t bother calling. They just take a shot at the trespassers, and that usually makes their point.”

  Frank glanced at Rob. “We won’t screw up.”

  “Got a call from the FBI man who works the Lufkin area,” Sheriff Lewis said. “Said he was ass deep in a bank robbery investigation. If we need the feds, he wants us to call him.” The sheriff smirked. “You think we need the feds?”

  “Nope,” Frank said, “we got this.” No one was going to stand in his way of rescuing Trina. Federal agent involvement just added an extra layer of complication. That was the last thing he wanted.

  The sheriff chuckled. “Y’all are a lot smarter than ya look. Especially in those clothes.” His expression darkened. “You two city boys could find yourselves in a world of shit out here in the woods. Folks disappear in those river bottoms every hunting season. Sometimes we never find the bodies. Wouldn’t want to explain to your chief what happened to you. Take care you know what’s in the bushes behind you.”

  * * *

  After walking out of the sheriff’s department, Rob didn’t have a good feeling. “I think they just delivered a not-so-subtle message.”

  “Yeah, it’s the same as always. Everyone’s willing to share in the credit; no one wants to take the risk. What else is new?” Frank said.

  Frank slipped into the passenger seat and opened his notepad. Rob started the car and pulled out of the lot.

  Rob glanced at his partner, an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. This wasn’t Frank—not the one he knew. The “I don’t give a damn” guy he’d worked with for years had transformed into an obsessed fool, ready to charge ahead without thought or consequence.

  He searched his memory for ground zero, the epicenter of his partner’s massive personality change. With a start he realized it was the day they’d interviewed Ms. Mayor about her daughter’s disappearance. Was it something Ms. Mayor had said? No, that wasn’t it. She’d been a bitch. Frank hated bitches. Dora, her assistant, had talked to them, but she hadn’t seemed to affect Frank in any way. What he’d said when they finished searching Trina’s apartment seemed to be the first outward sign.

  She’s not hiding. Someone took her.

  Rob glanced at his partner and opened his mouth to ask, then closed it without uttering a word. Frank hovered over the notebook with his brow knitted. With him in this mood, Rob would never get anything out of him. Rob turned on the road leading to their cabin. Tonight would be a better time to talk.

  33

  Katrina gazed at the dark forest from her second-floor bedroom. She had looked everywhere for a gun. Guys like them hunted deer, squirrels, and quail. There had to be shotguns, rifles, and maybe even a pistol somewhere. But she couldn’t find them. Of course, she hadn’t checked the men’s rooms. They kept them locked during the day, when she could search undetected.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, something strange was going on. Ever since the secret meeting outside the other day, she’d been treated like a leper. They no longer made eye contact. Their demeanor appeared different, and no one talked around her anymore. She couldn’t figure it out. She hadn’t said or done anything, other than being her snarky self. Maybe that was it.

  No, it feels bigger than that.

  They might let Emilie out any day now. When they did, she’d be ready to run. Katrina would go with her, but they needed an edge of some kind—a weapon to fend off the dogs and guarantee some degree of safe passage.

  Tonight’s sermon had been especially boring. The Freak wasn’t up to it, she could tell. His disinterested manner of delivering “God’s word” had almost put a couple of them to sleep.

  The feeling of impending doom seeped into Katrina’s spirit—that feeling you got walking alone through a deserted parking lot late at night, just before you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. Katrina shivered and put it out of her mind. Stay focused, think positive, and don’t give in to doubt. She took a breath and let it out slowly.

  Good try, but it didn’t work. She just wanted to wake up in her own bed, wrapped in her favorite blue blanket, and for this all to have been a nightmare. The prayer slipped out without her even thinking about it.

  “Please, God. Send us a rescuer.”

  * * *

  On the way back to their place, Rob stopped off for a six-pack and Frank picked up a couple of bottles of red. After dinner and a shower, Rob knocked on his door.

  Frank answered wearing a towel and holding a glass of wine.

  “Sorry,” Rob said, “but I’m married.”

  Frank didn’t take the bait. “I’ve finished. Just hadn’t got around to dressing yet.” Frank motioned. “Come in and sit a while. I’ve been looking over the case file.”

  Rob grabbed a beer from the cooler and meandered inside. Frank had disassembled the file and had each report, photo, and statement stacked in neat piles on the extra bed.

  “What are you doing?” Rob asked.

  “Just rereading everything. Making sure
we haven’t missed something.”

  Frank’s eyes looked sleepy. One of the bottles of red lay upside down in the trash and the other was half empty.

  “So, come up with anything?” Rob pulled up a chair.

  Frank dropped to the edge of the bed and sipped his wine. “No. Nothing.”

  No one spoke for what seemed like a long time. Finally, Rob asked the question he’d been holding for days. “What is it about this case?”

  Frank raised his head. “Huh?”

  “What’s different about this one? You’re letting it get to you. That’s not your style. You’ve worked dozens of missing-persons cases—some involving young girls. But this one’s become personal. I don’t believe it’s because Trina is the mayor’s daughter.”

  A twisted grin formed on Frank’s lips. He stood with a slight wobble, refilled his glass, and strolled to the chest of drawers. He rifled through his wallet and pulled out a small photo. After inspecting it a second, he glanced at Rob. Frank’s pondering look lasted another couple of seconds before he ambled over and laid the picture in Rob’s lap. Frank lay on his bed while Rob examined the worn and tattered photo.

  “Pretty girl,” Rob said. “Friend of yours?” Before Frank could answer, Rob pulled the picture closer. He shuffled through the photos on the bed, finding one of Trina. He held them side by side.

  “These two could be twins,” Rob said, staring at Frank.

  Frank sighed. “There is a remarkable likeness.”

  “Likeness, my ass. They must be sisters. Who’s this?” Rob held up Frank’s photo and tilted the beer bottle for a long swig.

  Frank flashed a wandering smile. “My wife.”

  Rob spit the beer halfway across the room, and a little dribbled out his nostrils. “Whoa! Your what?”

  Frank took another big swallow of red and laid his head on his pillow. “My wife.”

  Rob’s mind vapor-locked. So many questions he couldn’t process in the order he wanted to ask them. “You’re married?”

  “Used to be. Not anymore.”

  “Never figured you for the marrying type, Frank. How come you never said anything when we first met and I asked you?”