by Glenn Trust
Leaning over her, Lylee hissed again, “No noise or I will hurt you and then I will kill you.” He pushed the knife harder into her ribs, hard enough to break the skin. He knew there would be a little blood but not much. Just enough to make her believe and remember. Then he kissed her hard on the lips biting her lower lip on the inside as he did so. It drew blood. He savored the salty taste. Anyone who might have seen the kiss would think that they were off to find a private place for some truck stop sex.
Lylee closed the door and walked quickly to the driver’s side. With the door handle removed from the passenger door, Lyn could not have escaped even with both hands free. She didn’t try. Traumatized by this final betrayal, beaten, and alone, she sat trembling. A numbing emptiness crawled over her. Although the man had caused no serious injury to her yet, she felt as if life was leaving her. Her body was an empty shell. She was already going somewhere else.
Lylee sat down and started the car quickly. The engine purred powerfully. Pulling away from the building, he drove around to the front. The girl in the seat beside him was silent, dazed.
The fat clerk from the cash register, Todd, was outside puffing a cigarette as they drove by. Seeing Lylee, he quickly looked away.
Watching the car drive out of the lot headed towards the entrance ramp of the interstate, the kid took a deep breath, glad that the creepy guy was gone. He was sorry to see the thin, pretty girl go. Probably wouldn’t be much to look at the rest of the day.
The car was quiet inside. Lylee lit a cigarette. Looking over at the girl, she appeared to be catatonic. He put his hand out and rested it on her thigh. The muscles in her leg quivered and trembled, and the tingling thrill inside him increased. This would be special. He would take his time with this one. This hunt and the capture had required all of his skill and cunning. He had been exceptional, and the kill would have to be special. He would savor it. Drink it in. Drench himself in it. It would be delicious.
55. A Chance in Hell
The ride to the county jail in Everett was uneventful. After a couple of miles, Vernon Taft peeked his head above the door and looked around. Satisfied that none of the Roydon locals were following, he sat up. In the rearview mirror, George could see that Vernon’s face twitched nervously, his head bobbing and swiveling on his neck constantly, checking passing cars and trucks for any threat. George knew that this was not an overreaction and that the things he had told Vernon to coax him to cooperate were not an exaggeration. He would be a marked man in Roydon, likely already was. It would not have mattered what Vernon had told them. Fuck off. Bite me. Eat my shorts. The result would have been the same. Suspicion would follow him, and suspicion in Roydon was as good as a conviction. Eventually, old Vernon would turn up missing. It wouldn’t be a big deal. Time would have passed so that there could be no immediate connection to today’s encounter with the law, but he would be gone and no one would see him again, including his sister in Valdosta. The end of Vernon Taft, pure and simple.
After a few miles, he began to relax. The nervous twitches remained, but his constant turning and bobbing, surveilling the passing cars, and road slowed.
“So, was it the girl?”
“What?” George’s eyes jerked abruptly to the mirror, peering intently at Vernon.
“The murder. Was it the girl?”
Pulling onto the shoulder of the highway, George jerked the car to a stop. “What are you saying, Vernon? You said you didn’t see anyone with the guy in the Chevy.”
“Did I? Well I was pretty nervous.” Dammit. His own big mouth had just turned everything upside down. “I mighta seen more.” Stopped on the shoulder of the road, Vernon’s head started turning and bobbing again, and his scared shitless quotient rose by a factor of ten. “Do we have to stop? Can’t you just keep driving?”
“Vernon, don’t fuck with me. I’ve had just about all of your bullshit I can stand for one day. You got something to say, say it. Otherwise, I’ll wheel this truck around and drop you at Pete’s Place.”
Vernon’s face blanched. “You wouldn’t do that, Deputy.”
“I would and I will. You know something more, talk. Now.”
“Okay, okay. Well, I did see that there was a girl. Couldn’t see her when he was parked by the office. But I stood there in the dark in the office and watched. He pissed me off with his attitude, he was kind of …scary. But I knew he couldn’t see me standing in the dark. I think he could do bad things.”
“No shit, Vernon. What do you think we been talking about all afternoon?” George waited, looking at him expectantly in the rearview mirror.
“Well, like I said, I could see it was a girl. When he got to the room, he opened the door and bent in the car sort of. I thought he must have been waking her up. Maybe he was untying her or something.” He paused momentarily, expecting some comment from George. All he received was a cold, hard stare. “So, anyway, I could see it was a girl he pulled out of the car.”
“Did she walk or did he carry her?”
“She walked. She had her head down, and it was pretty far so I couldn’t really tell what she looked like. Dark hair, brown maybe. He moved her into the room pretty quick and stayed real close. Kinda looked like he had his hand on her tit.”
George let all of this sink in. Vernon Taft had been the last known person, other than her killer, to see the girl alive. It seemed to make it all worse somehow. No memory, no farewell to family, no last words to be remembered, just Vernon standing in the dirty, dark motel office watching her being dragged into a dingy motel room. And then nothing.
His eyes jerked back to Vernon who looked more nervous than ever. “Did you hear anything? Any sounds or cries for help?’
“No, George. Honest, I didn’t. Those block walls are pretty thick, and they were down at the other end of the place.”
“And you didn’t even think to call the sheriff’s office or try to help her?”
“For what?” his voice had the tone of an unfairly persecuted saint. “Men take girls in that place all the time. We don’t, uh…interfere.” Vernon seemed pleased that he had thought of such a big word. “That’s why they come to the StarLite. You know that Deputy.”
George took a deep breath. “All right, Vernon. What else can you tell me?”
Vernon thought for a moment. “Well, that old Chevy, it had a Texas tag on it.”
George was instantly attentive again. “You sure?”
“Yep. I know my tags.”
“Did you get the plate number?”
Vernon’s response was nervous. “Well, no. I didn’t. We don’t keep such records there at the StarLite.” George’s look of exasperation lasted only a second before Vernon added, “But there was a bumper sticker on the car, right rear.” George was all ears. “One of those funny kind. It said, ‘If you can read this bumper sticker, get off my ass’.” A small chuckle escaped from star witness, Vernon Taft, until he noticed the look on George’s face.
“Yeah, that’s real fucking funny, Vernon.”
George yanked the radio microphone off its cradle and within a few seconds had given the additional information out over the air. It would soon be broadcast around to the other police and state agencies. Texas tag and a bumper sticker. Now at least they had a chance, as opposed to no chance in hell, of finding the car. And the animal driving it, George thought.
“You still gonna take me to my sister’s place?” Vernon was clearly terrified that the deal might be off. “I was gonna tell you all of it. That’s why I started talking to you Deputy. I didn’t want nothing bad to happen to the girl. Hell, it could have been my own sister. I was just scared there in front of Roy Budroe and his gang. I just needed to get away from there.”
Realizing that there was probably some truth in Vernon’s admission, George sat still for a moment calming himself. Then, looking hard at Vernon in the mirror he said quietly, “Vernon, I will take you to jail and put you into protective custody tonight. Tomorrow you will be taken to Valdosta to your sister’s place,
but you better remember this. You are a material witness to a murder. You stay at your sister’s where we can find you. If you leave…” George paused to make sure that Vernon was paying close attention. “If you leave, I will hunt you down, Vernon. And when I find you, you will wish to holy hell that Roy and his boys had found you first. You understand me, Vernon?”
Vernon Taft nodded. He understood.
56. Meeting of the Minds
The four tramped through the sheriff’s outer office, past the desk deputy, receptionist, and office staff. Curious heads looked up and nodded politely as they passed. There was no acknowledgement. The day had been long. The results of the two murder investigations, while making progress, had not provided any identification of the killer or any other definitive lead. Sheriff Klineman had become more agitated as the day progressed. Finding fault with nearly all of the actions taken by the GBI and his own deputies, he was not a happy sheriff.
Granite faces and eyes focused ahead, they passed through without speaking. Ronnie Kupman, the last man through, closed the office door behind them as the others shuffled into the seats around the small circular conference table. There was quiet while everyone gathered their thoughts. The sheriff spoke first.
“Let me begin by saying that the lack of coordination and cooperation today has disappointed me. The citizens of Pickham County deserve better.”
“Really?” Shaklee’s tone was bemused, feigning real curiosity. It was clear by the expressions on Sharon Price and Ronnie Kupman that they all knew what was coming, and they were all annoyed. Shaklee noticed that there was something else on Kupman’s face. Disgust maybe. “Would you like to elaborate on that comment Sheriff?”
“Yes, I would. First, you begin the investigations by insinuating that there is a Klan problem in Pickham County; an insinuation that is an insult to all of the good people of the county.” Price, who was tired of the day’s bullshit which had mostly emanated from the sheriff, nearly came out of her chair, but Shaklee waved her down while Klineman continued. “Do you have any idea the issues that such an accusation could raise in the county?” Klineman paused as if waiting for some acknowledgment from the group. Stony expressions greeted him. Glancing over at Kupman, Shaklee noted that the look on his face was definitely one of disgust mixed with something else. Contempt.
Hearing no comment, Klineman continued, “Second, a body is found in our county with no proof that the murder was committed in our county, and you immediately postulate that we have a serial killer wandering the county. Such assumptions are not indicative of good investigative work and would certainly send the wrong message if they became public.”
“What message would that be?” Price asked, her annoyance growing.
“That Pickham is not a safe place. A good place for people and families.”
“Really? A safe, family place like Roydon?”
“We may have our problem spots. I’m sure every county in the state does, but in general…”
“Sheriff,” Price could not contain herself any longer,” a place like Roydon does not exist unless someone turns a blind eye to it. What happened in Pete’s Place today, overt threats to a GBI investigator, is indicative of just how much attention you’ve not paid to that particular problem spot.”
“Agent Price, I am not going to bandy words with you and I would remind you that I am still the chief law enforcement officer in this county. Now, getting back to the point, I’ve seen this before, when investigators assume that a certain theory of the crime is correct and eliminate all other possibilities, never exploring avenues of investigation that might be more productive and ,” there was a pause while the sheriff considered the next word, “…and beneficial. Case files are replete with unsolved crimes because investigators would not look beyond their preconceived theories, or they prosecuted the wrong person, adding miscarriage of justice to their poor investigative skills.”
At that comment, Sharon Price was out of her chair standing over the others at the small table. “Are you insane? Or are you living in another universe? We asked the questions that needed to be asked. No insinuations were made. If you are that sensitive about the issue of the Klan, maybe you should check around your county and clean up your own house if necessary.” Price took a breath before speaking her next words, and she spoke them through gritted teeth, trying to control her anger. “Any fool would see that two murders in Pickham County on the same night might possibly be connected; especially since there are not more than a couple of murders a year in the entire county. Good investigators would ask the necessary questions and follow the necessary leads. That doesn’t mean that there are no other possible scenarios, but as this one is the most likely, it must be eliminated or proven, and quickly, before moving on to other possible theories. That’s what we’re doing.” Still seething, Price took a deep breath and sat down again.
The thought occurred to Ronnie Kupman that Klineman might be taping the conversation to edit later, ensuring that he was seen only in the best possible light by the voters of the county and removing himself from any connection with the possibly unfruitful murder investigation. It was the kind of thing that Klineman would do. There was something in the tone and manner of his words that made them seem to be intended for someone beyond this room. He knew that, in reality, the sheriff was primarily concerned with the sheriff first and the department secondarily. He would want to ensure that both came out on the other side of the investigation without any black eyes or embarrassment, and if possible, having successfully found the killer; finding the killer, being the last of the three priorities. Kupman glanced discreetly around the room wondering, until his eyes found the sheriff whose face seemed to have taken on a serene quality with Price’s outburst. Was that what he had wanted?
“Okay, okay,” Kupman interjected. “Let’s calm down. It’s been a long day and night, for that matter. We’re all on edge. It’s understandable.” Eyes still fixed on Klineman’s face, Kupman saw that he was watching Price, his hands clasped together on the table like a Buddha in a brown uniform.
“Is that all, Sheriff?” Shaklee asked, wanting to hear it all before making any comment.
“As a matter of fact, it is not.” Six eyes focused intently on him as he gazed around at the group. “In addition to the lack of coordination and taking the investigation in directions that I do not approve of or agree with, you have insisted on involving a member of this department in your investigation whom I consider to be a marginal law enforcement officer at best. You have acted against my wishes and against my better judgment. In the spirit of cooperation, I have said nothing throughout the day, but I feel it is time for this office to exert more control over the investigation.”
Whom? Who the hell says ‘whom’? Bob Shaklee’s expression was bemused. Ronnie Kupman, used to the sheriff’s frequent bombast and pomposity, showed no surprise. Sharon Price could do nothing but glare at the man, her loathing for him evident on her face. She couldn’t have cared less what words he used. As far as she was concerned, they were all bullshit.
“Dick.” Klineman’s head spun around incredulously to face Kupman at the use of his first name with no title attached. The flush in his face indicated that he was not pleased with the familiarity in the midst of the ass chewing he was intent on delivering. Unperturbed, Ronnie Kupman continued. “I suggest that you finish stating your concerns and then allow Agents Shaklee and Price to respond.”
“Chief Deputy, are you taking sides with them?” Klineman nodded to the two agents.
“I don’t believe there are any sides to take. Just want to hear what everyone has to say,” Kupman replied smiling. He seemed supremely at ease, while the sheriff‘s look of serenity had been replaced by a rosy flush.
“Fine. You and I will speak later.”
“Whenever you like, Sheriff.” Ronnie smiled pleasantly.
Turning back to the GBI agents, Klineman continued, “As I stated, George Mackey is a marginal deputy with marginal skills. In my opinion, the inve
stigation is going down paths that are leading you away from apprehending the killer, partly because of his folksy, overly dramatic interpretation of the evidence. And frankly, relying on Mackey’s interpretation of evidence calls into question your own judgment. Finally, none of this is serving the best interests of the citizens of Pickham County and that is my primary concern.” This last statement was enunciated in a clear, firm voice, slightly louder than the rest of the sheriff’s remarks. Kupman and Shaklee couldn’t help exchanging raised eyebrows and simultaneously looking around for the recording device that they were sure was present.
Klineman, no doubt assuming that they were shocked at his firm control of the situation, continued. “As of this moment, I am going to take supervisory control of the investigation.”
“Really?” Shaklee said coolly, looking directly into the eyes of the sheriff. “And if we continue on the investigative ‘path’ we are on, what will you do?”
“I will have you relieved.”
Shaklee almost laughed. “Is that a fact? Perhaps I should enlighten you as to our roll here. We have been pulled into this investigation because we have the resources to support local, rural departments. Departments like yours, Sheriff.” He paused to let that sink in. “If you didn’t need us, we wouldn’t be here. Frankly, our superiors would love to get us off this case quickly. We have quite a substantial caseload as it is. But here’s the rub. We are what you get. There is no bullpen for you to go to and request another team. On top of that, there is enough evidence to suggest that the perpetrator is not from Pickham County, which, in effect, makes it a GBI case. In fact, with the additional evidence that Deputy Mackey has provided, it appears that the killer may be passing through from Texas, or some other state. That being the case, we would expect him to travel through a number of Georgia counties and cities, and that definitely makes this our case.” Shaklee stopped to let all of this register with Klineman.