Eyes of the Predator: The Pickham County Murders (The Hunters)

by Glenn Trust

  Shaklee leaned forward into the truck. “One more thing you might consider, Vernon. At this point, we know that this room is connected with a major felony. Your failure to cooperate and provide a description of the person who rented the room constitutes obstruction of an investigation, and I can assure you that the GBI takes that very seriously and will not hesitate to prosecute anyone who stands in the way of the investigation. And then there is the fact that your actions make you an accessory to…,” Now Shaklee paused for effect. “An accessory to murder.”

  George and Shaklee watched the blood drain from Taft’s already pale face.

  “You didn’t know that, did you Vernon?” Shaklee continued. “We’re investigating a murder and that makes you, as it stands now, an accessory to murder. And I mean the big one. Capital murder. Murder in the first degree. And maybe you haven’t forgotten that Georgia still kills murderers. Frankly, it’s one of the things I love about the state, and my job.”

  Vernon finally managed to get something out. “You asshole.”

  Shaklee smiled, “Been told that before, Vernon. Hell, it’s probably true.” Then looking him hard in the eye, Shaklee added, “But don’t doubt me. I will prosecute you as an accessory to murder without hesitation.”

  Shaklee moved back from the door. George’s turn. Taft was almost at the breaking point; one more straw on his frail, alcoholic back, and he would crumble.

  “Well, Vernon, I think Agent Shaklee has made it pretty clear where we stand. By the way, weren’t you gone for a while doing time? I don’t mean any soft time in the county jail, you did some drug time, didn’t you?” George knew full well that he had, having already had dispatch run a GCIC criminal history check on Mr. Taft. “Keep in mind that you won’t be a trustee washing cars this time. You’ll be doing hard time, maybe waiting for the needle. Think it over, Vernon. You only have one play here.”

  Vernon Taft sat trembling in the back of Deputy George Mackey’s county pickup. His chin fell onto his chest and a long sigh wheezed out of his bony chest.

  “I don’t know much, but what can I get if I talk? Can you get me away from here? I won’t last long in Roydon if they think I cooperated with the law on anything.” He looked out the window towards Pete’s Place.

  “You tell us everything you know, and I will see that you get to someplace safe.”

  “Sister in Valdosta. That’s where I want to go.”

  “Okay, your sister’s place in Valdosta. You can dry out and figure out what to do from there. Of course, we will want to know exactly where you are in case we need anything else.” George left out the part about testifying in open court when they caught the killer.

  Vernon Taft, alcoholic, former small-time drug runner, country boy gone bad turned shady old man, sagged in the seat and nodded his head. “I saw him, the man who rented the room.”

  “Right. Anyone with him?

  “No, he was alone least as far as I could tell.”

  “Talk, Vernon.” And Vernon did. George pulled out his notepad.

  Five minutes later, Vernon Taft, recently of Roydon, Georgia, had related everything he remembered about the thin, severe man who had rented the room at the far end of the StarLite Motel. True to his word, there wasn’t much he could add to what the authorities already knew. White male, light brown hair, medium build, thin face. He paid in cash. Vernon hadn’t paid attention to any rings that he might have been wearing. In fact, the man didn’t go to his room until Vernon had gone back to the cot in the clerk’s office.

  One thing though, the man didn’t know that as he backed and then pulled his car over to his room, Vernon had stood in the darkened office and watched, mostly because he was annoyed at the man’s threatening attitude. Vernon was able to note that the car he drove was a 1992 Chevrolet with faded burgundy paint that showed gray primer through on the hood and roof. Vernon knew this because he had owned the same make and model back in the nineties when they were new. He had run drugs up and down the interstate in his Chevy. Yes, it was a Chevy, old, but it ran good. Was that enough to get him protection from Roy Budroe?

  The information only corroborated what they already knew, but George assured Vernon that he would be enroute to the Pickham County jail that very evening, and would stay there in protective custody until they could arrange transport for him to his sister’s place in Valdosta. For the first time since the arrival of Bob Shaklee and George Mackey at the StarLite Motel, Vernon relaxed. In fact, he all but collapsed in the back of George’s pickup. Peeking out of the side window, he could see that the crowd milling around outside of Pete’s Place had grown.

  “Hey, deputy,” he called through the cracked window. “Got a smoke?”

  “Sorry, Vernon. I got a chew. You can have some if you want, but you can’t spit in the truck.”

  At that moment, Ronnie Kupman stepped forward and pulled a smoke from his pack of Marlboros, opened the door, and handed it to Vernon, pulling out a lighter at the same time. Vernon leaned forward, sucked the flame into the cigarette, and then sank contentedly back into the seat.

  “Damn, Ronnie. He’s gonna smoke my truck up now,” George commented on Ronnie’s act of compassion.

  Kupman looked unsympathetically at the tobacco juice streaks down the side of George’s truck. Changing the subject, he said, “You’ve had a busy day George.”

  “Yeah, we had some luck.”

  “Luck maybe, but good police work.”

  Sheriff Klineman, who had watched the interview with Vernon Taft, and who had been restrained from interfering by Ronnie Kupman, walked up and spoke to Bob Shaklee, completely ignoring his deputy.

  “Great work, Agent Shaklee. Seems our murderer is not from Pickham County or Georgia after all. What else do we know that can pin him down?”

  “Well, by ‘pin him down’, do you mean apprehend the murderer, or make sure that he is not in any way associated with Pickham County?”

  The sheriff reddened, something that was becoming a common occurrence. “I don’t appreciate your tone or the implication that I may not have the best interests of the public at heart. I am deeply concerned about ensuring the safety of the public here in Pickham County. To think otherwise would be a slander to my office and, frankly, to me personally. Is that your intent?” It appeared that Sheriff Klineman was a bit testy and had had a long day as well.

  “Not at all Sheriff. May I suggest that we go back to your office and review the cases? We have made progress, but there is work to do, and we need some rest. We’ve been working this since the Sims murder last night and everyone is tired.”

  “Agreed,” Klineman replied and then turned to George. “Deputy Mackey, you are relieved. We have covered your shift tonight. Take tomorrow off.”

  “Excuse me Sheriff,” Shaklee interjected. “Deputy Mackey has been instrumental in furthering the investigation today. It would be appropriate to have him assist in the debrief to you and Chief Deputy Kupman.”

  “Not necessary, not necessary at all, Shaklee. Deputy Mackey has been a big help, and we appreciate that, but we trust that you will be able to brief us fully on the investigation.” He turned to George. “Mackey, you are relieved.”

  George shrugged and turned away, then seeing a nervous Vernon Taft in the back of his pickup said, “Sheriff, mind if I take Vernon here to the jail on the way home? We need to make arrangements to transport him to his sister’s place in Valdosta.”

  Klineman turned, deeply annoyed.”Why would we do that deputy?

  “Because we promised him we would,” Shaklee interjected. “And because if we don’t, you may well be working another murder here in Roydon.” He jerked his head towards the crowd across the street.

  Klineman turned, eyeing the crowd in the lot at Pete’s Place. He would definitely have to clean that place up at some point, he thought. “Fine then. Mackey, transport your witness to the jail and place him in protective custody. After that, you are relieved. We will arrange transport tomorrow.”

  George turn
ed towards his truck without a word of acknowledgement.

  “Meet me at my office as soon as you are done here, Shaklee,” Klineman said, turning towards Timmy Farrin who was waiting patiently by his van, recorder in hand.

  “What a prick.”

  A look of mild surprise on his face, Ronnie Kupman turned towards Bob Shaklee. Shaklee, for his part, wished he could recall the three words he had just spoken. Klineman’s self-centered arrogance had managed to crack his professional veneer. It was an uncomfortable realization to Shaklee, who worked hard at being a true law enforcement professional, above the pettiness and politics. The chagrin was etched into the expression on his face.

  Chief Deputy Kupman nodded in understanding and simply said, “Yep.” Then he turned and followed his sheriff.

  George Mackey neither heard, nor saw any of this. He simply pulled his truck from the lot of the StarLite Motel heading back to I-95 and the jail in Everett. In the back seat, Vernon Taft laid down trying to make himself invisible to the crowd in front of Pete’s Place. He felt as though they could see him through the sides of the truck.

  52. Regrouping

  Big Leon ambled across the lot to his rig and climbed up. Lylee Torkman watched from the side of the truck wash building at the other end of the fuel pumps. He leaned against the brick wall, puffing one of his generic no-name cigarettes.

  Even at a distance, it was clear that the big man was concerned for the girl. Well, he should be, Lylee thought. A momentary surge of adrenalin gave him a visceral thrill. He had watched from a distance as the girl had used the cell phone that the big truck driver had handed to her. Lylee had stayed away from the truck stop’s main building. He had already carelessly exposed himself too much on this runaround and had no intention of meeting the police officer that the truckers had summoned. It was time to regroup, to shake off the two careless mistakes he had made that day, and make sure there were no others. He thought carefully, formulating his plan. The intervention of the two truckers had saved the girl, for the time being. But their meddling in his confrontation with Henry only made his appetite for the girl grow into a raging, undeniable need. He would have her.

  When the officer left without the girl, another plan began coming together. The two truckers would leave, sooner or later, and the girl would be alone. He would be ready.

  Lyn had watched quietly from inside the store as Leon and Bob walked to their rigs. The tractors rumbled to life and belched exhaust from their stacks and then slowly moved out of the lot, Bob first, then Leon.

  Loneliness settled heavily on her narrow shoulders. Standing just inside the front door of the truck stop store, she looked out through the dirt specked glass. Her presence there was like one of the specks on the glass, invisible unless you focused on it. She was invisible. There was bustling activity all around, but she was invisible. It seemed that the rest of the world looked through her and around her as if she were not there.

  The call to Clay made her feel even lonelier. Would he get the message? Would he show up at the truck stop? She shook her head to clear the despair. Nothing was working out. Canada. What a stupid idea.

  She turned and walked back towards the cafe to wait. There was nothing else to do. Taking a seat on a swiveling stool at the end of the counter, away from everyone else, she waited for the girl behind the counter to notice her, but she didn’t. She was invisible.

  But someone did see her. In fact, Lylee Torkman saw almost nothing else.

  Making his way along the edge of the parking lot, Lylee found his car. He had left it in the gravel between two rows of parked trucks. He started the car and rolled slowly up and down the rows, thinking and slowly making his way closer to the main truck stop building. Coming to the end of the lines of trucks in the gravel lot, he drove past the back of the building. The car rolled slowly, almost idling, past the garbage dumpster and rear loading door. Coming to the other side of the building, he turned left and was able to park in a spot along the building’s side wall, just adjacent to the rear of the building. There were no vehicles parked on that side of the building. Trucks parked out in the lot. Cars were all parked directly in front. This side of the building was a quiet, out-of-the-way spot. All of the activity was near the building’s entrance. It was not so secluded that someone might hesitate to walk to the car, but there, where the sidewall joined the rear, no one would be paying attention.

  Lylee sat there for a few minutes. There was no traffic. Leaning forward to look up through the windshield, he scanned for cameras. He could see none. Finally, he stepped out of the Chevy. Leaning back and stretching as he turned, he scanned three hundred and sixty degrees. Building corners, light poles, everywhere. No cameras. Phase one of the plan was completed.

  Of course, ‘plan’ was really a misnomer. This was a stalk and a hunt. Like all hunts, there was a dynamic element. He could set the trap, but what would follow would be fluid and changing, depending upon the actions of the prey. Each bounding spring of the gazelle caused the lion to change and adapt its attack. It was a part of the hunt that thrilled him.

  Confident in his skills, he had honed them on his runarounds for years. They were sharp and ready. A tingle of anticipation went up his back at what was about to follow.

  Walking quietly down the side to the front of the building, he moved quickly. Timing was important. He had to move quickly without seeming to care. Although the side of the building was secluded now, the dynamics of the hunt meant that could change. A passerby might pull in near his car looking for a blow job from some truck stop whore. An employee might go there to take a smoke break. Things could change. Right now, they were as near to perfect as he could get them, but that would not last. Phase two had to be executed without delay.

  Lylee walked through the front door and scanned the store quickly. She was not there. Moving to the doorway that passed from the store into the cafe, he saw her instantly. She was seated at the far end of the counter. There were three empty seats to her right and then a cluster of drivers, drinking coffee and talking loudly. The waitress was leaning against the counter laughing and talking with the drivers, coffee pot in hand. Lylee could see that she hadn’t noticed the girl at the end. Without thinking about it, this was automatically factored into the plan.

  Walking across the cafe to the counter, he took a seat. Leaving the one directly next to the girl open, he took the one beside it. Close enough, but not so close as to startle the prey.

  “Well, hello again.” Lylee’s face bore the broad, charming smile he could turn on and off at will.

  Lyn looked up from her lap. She was startled to see the man who had saved her from Henry. The memory of the violence of his attack on the big man was slightly eerie. She had been almost as frightened of him as she had been of Henry.

  “Hello.” Her voice was timid and soft. She returned her gaze to her lap.

  Lylee saw the apprehension in her eyes. He talked as a distraction and to diffuse her concerns. “Listen,” he said, “I wanted to apologize. I know I got a little carried away out there earlier with…”

  He took a deep breath as if he were struggling with his feelings and went on.

  “Well, with that big truck driver. You know, I saw him…and he was going to, well it wasn’t good what he wanted to do, and I just…well I just lost it, you know. I couldn’t control myself.” Lylee lowered his head and looked down at his own lap as if struggling with what to say and how to explain it to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Lyn saw him lower his head. She said, “That’s okay. It just scared me.” She raised her head and looked at him.

  Lylee, kept his head lowered, not looking at her. He knew that she was now looking at him. “I just, well,” he continued in a contrite way, “It’s just that my sister was attacked once by some men. They did… things to her, and I…well, anyway, I just lost it when I saw that guy with you. I knew what would happen. I couldn’t stand it, so I…well you know. You saw.”

  Lylee lowered his head more, closed his eyes briefly and
shook his head as if to clear the memory of his fictitious sister.

  Lyn smiled just slightly at him. “It’s okay. It scared me, but I’m glad. I mean I’m glad you did what you did and helped me.”

  Lylee raised his head and looked her in the eye. This time he put a look of gratitude on his face and gave her his soft caring smile.

  “Those other two men were looking for you. You know the ones who stopped you from…well you know, those men who came by,” Lyn said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Yeah, I know,” Lylee said. He shook his head again. “I just had to clear my head and walk around for a while. I was pretty pissed…sorry, I mean I was pretty mad, and I needed to calm down.”

  Lylee looked directly at Lyn. The charming smile was back. She smiled back at him for real this time.

  “Look,” he said lightly as if to change the subject, “do you want something to drink or eat. My treat.”

  “No that’s okay. I was going to get a Coke, but the waitress hasn’t seen me yet.” Lyn shrugged and looked down again.

  “Oh she hasn’t, has she?” Lylee said taking control like her big brother. He turned towards the waitress laughing with the truck drivers. “Miss,” he said loudly, “we’d like to order.”

  The waitress looked up, turned, and placed the coffee pot on the hot plate behind her. Pulling an order pad out of her apron, she said indifferently, “What can I get you?”

  53. “I’ll call you later”

  Clay released the trigger, and the circular saw whined down to silence once more. He carried the freshly cut lumber to where Cy was framing up the header on a door. In the dense, dead silence, he heard the beep from his cell phone.

  Dropping the lumber next to Cy, he reached for the phone on his belt. He had a missed call, two actually, from the same number. It was not a number Clay knew. There was also a voice mail message.

  Clay dialed in to retrieve the message. His heart pounded when he heard the timid voice.