by Glenn Trust
“There, right there. That’s just about how tall he was.”
George looked at Brent beside him. “Good. That’s good. So I’m six feet one in my shoes and he was about three inches shorter than me, so that would make him…”
“Five ten,” Brent interjected.
“That’s right, about five feet ten.” George looked back at Beth. “Now Beth, how was he built? Kind of heavy set like me or thinner like Brent?”
“Thinner,” she said confidently. “Muscular, but thinner. More like Brent.”
“Ok. Good.” George looked at Brent, “Thanks for the help.”
Brent nodded and went back to the rocker.
“All right, Beth, we’re almost done. Was there anything else about him? Mustache, beard, scars, tattoos? Anything?”
“No, not really. His nose was kind of thin, and his chin too, but nothing really stands out.”
“How about his voice? Did he talk to you?”
Beth’s eyes narrowed for a second, and then she looked up at George. There was a slight look of fear in her eyes. She nodded.
“Yes, he talked to me. I thought he was nice. I mean he was kind of good looking…and nice and…” Beth’s chin quivered slightly, “Was he dangerous, I mean could he have…”
George broke in quickly, “Tell me about his voice, Beth. Was it deep or high pitched? Did he have an accent? Did he talk funny, or lisp or anything?”
She shook her head.
“It was just a normal voice not real low or high. He sounded like he was from the south, but different from around here. Not a Georgia accent, but not from up north, you know?”
“Good,” George said with a smile. “Maybe someplace else in the south, Louisiana or Texas maybe?”
“I can’t say. I’m not very good at that, accents and all. I know it was southern. I can’t say from where though.” Beth looked into George’s eyes. “What did he do? Is he really bad?”
George put his pad back in his shirt pocket. “Sit down, Beth,” he said.
George sat back on the sofa and continued. “Yes. We think he is really bad. He hurt a girl really bad, and we need to catch him. What you told us will help us catch him.”
Beth’s eyes were watering. She may have been from the country, but she was not stupid. From the deputies’ questions and their seriousness, she was becoming aware that she had probably been very lucky in her encounter with the man.
“The girl, the one he hurt, did he…I mean is she…dead?”
George looked her in the eyes. “Yes, she is dead. And we are going to catch him before he can do it again.” Then he added softly, “You might want to think about working another shift. I mean one where you aren’t alone at night all the time.”
Her face told them she was already thinking about that.
George and Ronnie stood and walked to the door. They turned and saw Brent standing with his arm around Beth. Her shoulders moved slightly up and down. She was sobbing.
“Thanks, Beth, for the help. This is important,” George said, and Ronnie nodded simultaneously.
Beth and Brent nodded back.
There was nothing else for the deputies to say. There was information on George’s pad that had to get out. They turned and walked through the front door.
The day outside the doublewide was clear and sunny. A small breeze stirred the dust in the driveway.
Ronnie turned to George and said, “Get it out, George. Be quick. Catch the son of a bitch.”
“Yep,” was the only reply.
46. No Place for the Girl
Lyn walked unsteadily into the truck stop between the two truck drivers, Bob and Leon. Bob looked around for a quiet place they could put the girl while they figured out what to do next. The breakfast crowd in the cafe had cleared out, and the lunch crowd was coming in.
“Leon, take her over there, that empty booth in the corner. Get some coffee or something. I’ll be right there. Gotta do something first.”
Leon, the big trucker, looked down at Bob and nodded. He didn’t seem to say much. Lyn noticed that Big Leon was content to let Bob, who was clearly the more energetic, take the lead and direct things. Gently guided by Leon’s large hand on her elbow, they walked towards the booth.
Bob walked through the store to the driver’s lounge opposite the cafe and stood in the door for a moment wondering what to do about the girl. Drivers were sprawled in chairs watching a television high on a shelf in a corner, or sloshing down coffee from a pot on a table and talking. The girl didn’t belong here. The drivers weren’t necessarily bad, or good for that matter. It was just not a place where the young girl should be. She didn’t belong. He thought of his own daughters and took the cell phone from his belt.
Dialing 911, Bob waited a minute, spoke for a minute, and waited some more. Then, turning from the lounge, he put the phone back on his belt and walked through the store towards the cafe. Todd, the surly clerk, was mouthing off to an old woman who had asked where the restroom was.
For the fiftieth time in five minutes, Bob thought ‘This is no place for the girl.’ Spotting Leon and the girl at the booth in the cafe, he walked to them feeling better about the call he had just made.
47. A Visit to Roydon
It was turning into a long day. Working on less than four hours of sleep, George Mackey sipped his third large Diet Coke since he had arrived at the Minit Mart to review the video. Now his bladder was filling, but the pressure was keeping him awake as he made his way south on the interstate back to Roydon.
Bob Shaklee had radioed that he was checking the Roydon locations; two motels, two gas stations and Pete’s Place, George was enroute to help. Shaklee and his partner, Sharon Price, had divided the two investigations with Price focusing on the Sims case, and Shaklee heading up the murder of the girl. George and Ronnie Kupman were assisting both as best they could.
Heading up the exit ramp into Roydon, George turned right and towards Pete’s Place first, for two reasons. First, Shaklee’s Crown Victoria was parked outside, and he didn’t want to leave Bob there alone for long. Second, he had to take a leak, bad. The three Diet Cokes were ready to come out.
Parking the pickup at the end of the building, he exited softly, listening for trouble. All seemed quiet. Like every deputy in Pickham County, George had answered a number of calls at Pete’s Place. It could be, generally was, a rough crowd. He should have warned Shaklee.
He walked along the front of the building, peering through the dirty windows to spot any problem inside as he approached. Not much was visible from the outside. George was more familiar with the place at night, when the lights inside made it easier to see what was happening. Better to avoid any unpleasant surprise when you jerked open the door. As he approached the door, he noted two Harleys and a beat up Dodge truck parked in front. It was quiet today at Pete’s. At the other end of the building was a shiny Cadillac Escalade belonging to Roy Budroe, owner and daytime bartender.
All seemed quiet, so George yanked the heavy steel door open and walked in. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. A heavyset man with his fists balled and planted on the bar leaned close to Bob Shaklee, who was standing by the bar with his notepad in one hand and staring straight back into the big man’s face. Two men in leather jackets stood close on either side of Shaklee, leaning against the bar.
George checked the Harleys off in his head accounting for their owners. In a far corner, two scruffy men in dirty blue jeans, torn tee shirts, and ball caps sat staring at the beers on their table, clearly not wanting any part of what was going on at the bar. The Dodge pickup was now checked off. The caddy was Roy’s. All present and accounted for.
It was plain that Roy had been saying something to Shaklee when George jerked the door open.
“What’s up, Roy? Have you met my friend, Agent Shaklee of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation?” George walked up to the bar, stopping about ten feet short. He looked at the two bikers who stood up straight and returned his gaze defiantl
y.
“You boys move away from the bar.” George’s tone was flat, even, and firm. The bikers looked at him now a bit uncertainly. “Now,” George repeated with emphasis.
They looked briefly at Budroe, who gave a short nod, and then moved towards a table by the door. George turned his head following them.
“Uh, uh boys. Not there. Go grab a table over there near them other fellas so I can see you all at once.” They hesitated for only a second and then moved to the corner where the pickup boys were seated. They picked a table and sat, turning their chairs so they both faced the bar.
George turned his head back to the bar. “Sorry, Roy. Were you saying something? Seemed like I kind of interrupted when I came in.” He smiled pleasantly at Budroe.
“What do you want, George?” Budroe’s gravelly voice filled the room.
“Well, didn’t Agent Shaklee explain? Or did you give him time to explain? Are you being uncooperative with law enforcement again, Roy? I know we’ve talked about that before.” George shook his head in mock disappointment.
“Stop the horseshit, George. We know who he is ,and he ain’t got no jurisdiction here.”
“Really?” George replied with mock seriousness. “Roydon seceded from the state did it, and just forgot to get the word out?” He paused looking deep into Budroe’s beefy face. “I don’t think so, Roy. So, unless you want to be digging out from under the ton of shit that’s about to land on your head, pay attention and answer Agent Shaklee’s questions.”
Shaklee, who had about enough of the local, good old boy bullshit, interrupted, “Listen up, Mr. Budroe, the GBI is working a case in support of the Pickham County Sheriff’s Department. This is official business, and you are expected to cooperate.”
Budroe’s response was blunt and to the point “Bullshit.”
That was it. In a move that surprised even George, Shaklee dropped the notepad and reached rapidly across the bar, gripping Budroe’s wrists so that he could not take his balled fists from the bar top. George saw Budroe’s arms flex and knew he tried to lift them, but they didn’t budge under Shaklee’s grasp.
Bob leaned into his face before he spoke. “Let’s make sure you understand. I’m with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. This shithole of a town is in Georgia. The GBI has jurisdiction. You have any questions about that?”
One of the bikers had started to rise when Shaklee grabbed Budroe. A cautioning shake of George’s head in his direction, and he sat back down. George watched the little drama being played out on the bar top.
Budroe, not sure what to do, finally spoke. “What do you want?”
Shaklee released the big man’s wrists and picked up his notepad. “We have a few questions to ask, and then we’ll be on our way.” He then went through the description of the suspect they were seeking, “White male, five feet ten or so, light brown hair, driving a faded or primer painted mid-nineties model GM car. Possibly a Chevrolet. Wearing a ring with a steer’s head or Texas longhorn on it.”
Budroe indicated that he hadn’t seen anyone like that, at least not anyone that would draw attention.
Bob smiled. “Good, now we can go.”
“Wait a minute for me, Bob. Something I need to do.”
George walked by the bikers and into the restroom. A couple of minutes later, he walked out with a smile on his face.
Walking to the door with Shaklee, he called back over his shoulder, “Thanks, Roy. Never saw a better place for taking a piss.”
Outside in the bright sun, they squinted across the street at the two motels, one on each corner. Shaklee glanced sideways at George.
“Thanks for the backup. Could have got ugly in there.”
“No need. It’s pretty much always ugly in there. Been trying to clean it up for years. You handle yourself pretty good.”
Shaklee shrugged, “Old habits. Spent eight years policing the south side of Atlanta before going with the state.”
“Shows,” George replied with greater respect for the GBI man.
“Yeah, well,” Shaklee nodded across the street. “It’s getting late. I suggest that we split up. You take that motel across the street, and I’ll take the one on the other corner.”
“Sounds good. After that we can start checking up and down the interstate.”
They got into their vehicles and drove across the street. Five minutes later, George was interviewing a very large, heavily tattooed woman wearing a short top with string straps that showed her large, bare, bulging midriff. The cellulite dimples and stretch marks made it difficult for George not to stare.
The woman claimed to be the manager of the Roydon Inn. The interview was going nowhere. She knew nothing, and no linen or bedspreads were missing. Then Bob Shaklee called him on the radio.
“Pickham County 301, this is State 115.”
George reached for his radio. “Go ahead, 115.”
“George, you need to come over here. The StarLite Motel, across the street.”
“On my way.” George walked out without another word to the large, manager woman.
For her part, manager woman just shrugged and flipped the channel on the old nineteen inch television in the office to ‘Judge Judy’. She was glad to see the law go. Wasn’t good for business.
48. Coming of Age
Leon Tills stood quietly by the young girl. His large hands roamed restlessly in and out of his pockets while his partner, Bob Sully, talked to the Savannah PD officer. Lyn, standing next to Leon, was dwarfed by the huge man. She appeared even smaller and frailer, while Leon looked even larger.
Ever since they had encountered the young girl, they had been trying to decide what to do with her. Leon, for his part, was given the task of looking out for her, which meant “standing watch” over her. His hulking presence was sure to discourage any other potential problems like Henry from approaching Lyn. He accepted this task willingly. Although he and Bob were partners, Bob was the thinker and talker, Leon was the doer. Leon was okay with that. He was a damned good truck driver, but Bob was the planner, always thinking ahead. He was better at talking to people, so Leon was comfortable letting him take care of that sort of thing.
Right now that meant that Bob talked to the police officer while Leon stood protectively over Lyn. They stood alone about ten feet away from Bob and the officer. The thin, hard looking man that had kicked Henry’s ass hadn’t come in with them, although he had said that he would. Nobody missed him though, and no one was going to talk about the little incident in the truck lot, especially Henry.
Leon thought about the hard man that had beaten old Henry. No doubt, Henry had deserved it. If he hadn’t stepped in, there was no telling what Henry might have done to the young girl. But there was something strange about him, Leon thought. Even though Henry was after the girl, they had felt that they needed to protect Henry from the man trying to save her. Leon didn’t have words to explain it. The thin hard man had a meanness about him. You could see it in the way he had attacked Henry. Leon was glad the man had been there to make sure the girl wasn’t abused by Henry, but he figured that if he and Bob hadn’t come along, he might have killed Henry.
Leon shrugged to himself. Maybe that was what Henry deserved. Leon had a daughter of his own, and he didn’t know what he would do if someone tried to abuse her the way Henry would have done the young girl. Still, he knew that he and Bob would have had their hands full stopping Henry’s assailant if he had turned on them while he was kicking the dog shit out of Henry.
Leon looked over at Bob and the officer as Bob raised his voice.
“What!” Bob said, incredulously.
“Sorry, sir. That’s how it is.”
“But look at her,” Bob said. “She’s a child.”
“Nope. She’s eighteen,” the officer replied. “Not a thing I can do. She can go where she wants and do what she wants, ‘long as it’s legal. Hanging out in the truck stop isn’t against the law.”
“But she almost got raped.”
“You know t
hat for a fact?” the officer asked, eyes narrowing.
“Well no, not for a fact, but if this other fella hadn’t come along and stopped it, there was this trucker that was gonna put her in his truck and I know it wasn’t gonna be good for her.”
“Look, I’m on your side. Where’s this other fella? Where’s the trucker that was going to rape her?”
“Well they’re gone now, at least I haven’t seen them around here for a while,” Bob replied, knowing that it was over and done as far as Henry and his attacker were concerned.
“Well,” the officer continued, “No suspects and no complaint from the girl equals no crime. Really, nothing I can do buddy.”
Bob took a deep breath and looked down at the floor.
“Miss,” the officer said to Lyn making his point “is there anything I can do for you? Get some help, call someone, get you a ride somewhere? Contact your parents? Family? Anything?”
Lyn looked up. She hadn’t spoken since the officer had arrived and asked her name and what had happened. She had said that nothing was wrong anymore and that the two truckers were just trying to help her, but she was fine now.
“I’m fine, sir,” she said. “Really, I’ll be okay. I’m just waiting for a friend to pick me up. These men helped me, but I’m okay now.”
The Savannah PD officer looked at Bob and Leon and shrugged. “Sorry guys. Wish there was something I could do. I know it’s hard. There’s hundreds like her out on the roads. Just not much we can do about it.”
The officer turned and walked away. Bob looked at Leon and then looked at the floor. Leon, the stalwart, just looked back and stood protectively near Lyn.
“You know, we are going to have to leave in an hour or so. Have to get our loads down the road,” Bob said to Lyn.
“I know. Thank you for helping me.”
Bob shook his head fighting down his frustration.
“You don’t understand. You’ll be alone here again. Something could happen. There might not be anyone here to help.” Bob looked around to demonstrate to Lyn that she really would be alone. “This is a big place,” he said motioning with his hands, “and bad things can happen. I mean you saw that, right?”