by Glenn Trust
The coffee he craved would have to wait until he was on the road. George lifted the pickup keys and an old khaki windbreaker from a hook by the front door. Thirty seconds later the tires of the county truck were spitting gravel as it pulled from Fel Tobin’s driveway.
Redemption for his sins was not something George Mackey expected, but he would not be late again.
64. Uncertain Status
A gust of wind caused the rain to rattle against the window behind Clay Purcell. The room’s fluorescent lights reflected off the glass and aluminum window frame. Outside there was only black. The storm blocked any moonlight or starlight that might have made its way to the window.
He had been in the room for over an hour. The trooper who had brought him in sat at a desk across from him completing paperwork of some sort.
Not long after arriving at the state patrol post, Clay had impatiently asked the trooper, “Am I arrested?”
The trooper had looked up from his paperwork and said simply, “No.”
“Well what then? Can I go?”
“No.” The trooper’s tone was even and firm.
“I’m not under arrest, and I can’t go. What if I just decide to leave?”
“Don’t.” The trooper, the little silver nametag on his shirt said ‘Collins’, looked up from his paperwork and stared into Clay’s eyes. The look said it all. Clay was not leaving, and Trooper Collins would make sure of it.
Clay just nodded and resumed looking around the small office from his chair. What Trooper Collins did not say was that Clay’s status at this point was unclear. At the least, he was a possible material witness to two homicides, and they needed all the witnesses they could find right now. At the most, well that was to be determined. He seemed to know quite a bit about the old Chevy and its driver. Criminal files were full of suspects who had tried to appear helpful and to be on the side of law enforcement in order to evade detection or capture. In Clay’s case, maybe he was telling the truth, maybe not. But Trooper Collins knew that he was not the one to make that determination, and until the GBI investigators arrived, he would make damn sure that Clay Purcell kept his ass in that chair.
The room that the non-arrested Clay sat in was painted government tan over cinder blocks. The furniture was institutional metal gray. A hallway on one side led to several small rooms. They had to be small, Clay knew, because of the dimensions of the building he had noted as he entered.
A door on the other side of the room was closed. Clay wondered where it led. He had heard that the patrol had barracks for troopers who were posted away from home and wondered if there were more troopers, off-duty, on the other side of the door. There had been a couple of other cruisers in the lot as they had entered the building.
As he pondered the possibility of additional troopers sleeping in the building somewhere, a radio on a shelf behind the desk crackled.
“Post 12, from State 115.”
Trooper Collins turned and pulled the mike from the clip on the side of the radio.”
“Go ahead, 115.”
“Post 12, we’re thirty miles out, ETA twenty. Is the subject standing by?”
Realizing that he was the ‘subject’, Clay looked up and into Trooper Collins’ eyes. Yep, he was still standing by. No doubt about that.
Collins returned Clay’s look and nodded as he spoke. “Ten-four, subject standing by.”
Clay was a little concerned about being the ‘subject’, but he was more concerned about Lyn. It was clear the patrol and GBI were working on something big, and it seemed that Clay had stumbled into the middle of it. And if he was in the middle, what did that mean for Lyn?
Trooper Collins shuffled his papers, but he remained focused on Clay. He would have to cooperate with them. Hell, why wouldn’t he cooperate with them. They were the Georgia Patrol and the GBI. If there were something wrong, they would be the ones to take care of it. They would be the ones to help Lyn. Those would be Cy’s words for sure. They made sense but somewhere inside, Clay wanted to hurry back to his hunt.
Hunt. Things had changed for him. This had started as a search. But now? Yes, that’s what this was feeling like now, a hunt. He wasn’t sure who the hunter was, but there was an uneasy feeling that Lyn had somehow become the prey.
65. California or Bust
The rain slackened as they approached Columbia, South Carolina. The cool night air caused the mist to rise eerily from the wet pavement. But eerie was not a word that troubled Lylee Torkman. In the eyes of most others, he was normally the eeriest person around.
On the outskirts of the city, he pulled the Chevy off the interstate and into the parking lot of a small, deserted convenience store in a shabby part of town. He could see an older, heavyset woman reading a magazine behind the counter. She squinted out the window at the headlights that pulled up. He knew that in the glare of the lights, she could make out no details in the car from inside the store.
Lylee glanced around. The lot was empty. The street was empty. The rushing of traffic on the interstate was the only sound. He looked at the girl beside him.
“We need food. I’m going to get us something to eat. You stay still and quiet. You hear? No sound. Nothing. Any noise and I will kill that old lady, and then I will kill you.” He lifted the knife that was never far away and let the tip rest under the girl’s left breast. After a moment, he lifted the breast with the tip of the knife and smiled as she winced. He added as an afterthought, as if she might not understand, “I’ll make it hurt. Hurt bad. So don’t move and no sound. Got it?”
He expected an answer, and Lyn struggled to give a nod that demonstrated her understanding while still maintaining her resistance. The best she could do was to look him briefly in the eyes while giving one quick up and down jerk of her head. It was enough to plaster one of the sick smiles on his face. She was becoming accustomed to those smiles, and more frightened by each one.
Moving suddenly, he was out of the car and through the door of the store. She could see him inside rapidly gathering up bags of chips, candy bars and sodas. He dropped them on the counter, paid the clerk, and was back in the car. He could not have been gone more than two minutes.
Lyn had watched him frantically trying to decide what to do and if she should attempt to escape. It was useless. Her right hand was still strapped to the frame of the seat. The door was locked and could not be opened from the inside; there was no one around, except for the old woman in the store who probably couldn’t even see if there was someone else in the car.
As it was, he was back, and she was still there. He pulled open a bag of chips and popped a can of Coke, munching a handful of chips as he backed away from the store.
A minute later, they were back on the interstate. With one hand, he held the bag of chips in front of her as he drove. When she made no move, he looked at her and shook the bag. “Eat. Don’t know when we’ll be stopping again.”
Lyn reached up and took a chip from the bag. She had forgotten how long it had been since she had eaten and how hungry she was. Quickly, she reached up and grabbed another chip before the bag moved away.
Lyn could see that they were circling a city on a large highway, an interstate. The signs said Columbia, and she knew this meant she was in another state. She had never been in another state, not even Florida which was not many miles from her home in Pickham County.
After a while, she saw a sign that said Augusta. She knew that Augusta was in Georgia.
Lylee watched her, and the grin was back. It seemed always to be there when he hurt her or she was confused or scared.
“Figure out that we’re not headed to Canada, did you?”
Lyn stared out the window at the interstate signs that said I-20 Augusta, Georgia.
“Well, I figured we could take a little detour. Did you know that if you get on I-20 here and drive west, you can go all the way to west Texas and hit I-10 east of El Paso? From there just keep heading west and you end up at the Santa Monica pier in California. What’s that the old p
ioneers used to say? California or bust.” He made the little snickering sound that caused her flesh to crawl.
Lyn made no reply. In her heart, she knew that she had no more chance of seeing California than Canada. All she could do was stay alive as long as possible and hope for some chance of escape.
66. Waiting
Sharon Price wheeled the unmarked, silver-gray Ford into the lot of the state patrol post, splashed through a puddle, and came to rest beside an old pickup parked by the front door. The car rocked to a halt. They had taken one car so that they could more easily discuss the case and developments with the young man who had been stopped by the patrol. George would be bringing his county pickup.
“Nice landing.” Bob Shaklee was unbuckling the seatbelt he had snugged down when they left Everett. Bob was a better driver than he was a passenger, but they both knew that Sharon was the better driver when it came to getting somewhere quickly, and they had gotten to Statesboro very quickly. He couldn’t deny that.
Walking briskly to the building, they peered into the bed and interior of Clay Purcell’s pickup as they passed. There was nothing remarkable inside.
“Looks innocent enough,” Price commented.
“Yeah. He seems to know a lot about this though,” Shaklee replied, referring to Clay’s knowledge of the old Chevy and the physical description of the driver, details he claimed to have picked up at the truck stop. “We’ll see.”
The door squeaked open and then clattered shut. Clay looked up from his seat across from Trooper Collins and eyed the two persons who stood there for a moment taking in the surroundings.
One of them, the male, looked over at the desk across from Clay. “Trooper Collins?”
“Yep.” Collins stood. “You Shaklee?”
Bob nodded affirmatively.
“Come this way and I’ll fill you in.”
Bob Shaklee followed him into the hallway to Clay’s right and then into the first small room where they closed the door. Clay was left alone in the office area with Sharon Price. She regarded him intently, as if waiting for him to say or do something. Her silent gaze continued for what seemed like a much longer time to the young man, but was probably no more than thirty seconds. The intensity of the look mixed with the silence and absence of any conversation made Clay uncomfortable in the extreme. Just as he was about to speak and at least fill the room with something besides her silent stare, the woman smiled and took a step towards him.
“My name is Sharon Price.” She held her hand out. Without thinking, he shook it as she continued her introduction. “My partner and I are with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation…GBI.” She pulled the leather badge and identification case from her waist and held it up for inspection.
Clay nodded. “I know. The officer told me you were coming to ask me some questions.”
“Did he tell you what we wanted to ask you about?”
“Not much. He stopped me for speeding.”
“Were you?”
“Yeah, I guess I was,” Clay nodded and gave a slight, boyish grin. In the land of NASCAR, a speeding ticket was almost a badge of honor for young men, and Clay was no exception. But the seriousness of the reason why he had been cruising the interstate returned to him, and the grin evaporated.
“So you were speeding and the trooper stopped you, and you told him why you were speeding.”
Clay nodded.
“Tell me.”
Bob Shaklee and Trooper Collins watched on the video monitor in the small room they had entered as Clay recounted the day from giving Lyn a ride at the diner, to the phone message she had left him, to his search for her at the truck stop.
Sharon Price waited until he had finished before speaking. “Do you still have the voice message?”
“Yes, ma’am. On the phone.” Clay nodded towards the desk where Trooper Collins had been seated.
“Do you mind if I check the voice mail on the phone?” The words were spoken very clearly and louder than she had been speaking, which put a look of surprise on Clay’s face.
“No. Go ahead,” he replied, nodding slightly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Purcell. Are you saying that you are giving me permission to check the voice mail on your cellular phone? If you are, please speak clearly for me.”
The look of surprise faded. Clay realized he was being recorded. “Yes,” he said, raising his voice and speaking self-consciously in clear, separate syllables. “I give you my permission to check the voice mail.”
Price smiled and spoke more softly as she walked to the desk to retrieve the phone. “Thanks, Clay.” Flipping the phone open, she found the voice mail button quickly. “Password?”
Clay told her, and Price punched the keys with familiarity. She held the phone to her ear and then asked, “Who’s Cy?”
“That’s my brother,” Clay said with a sigh.
“He doesn’t sound happy.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Does he know about all this?”
“Yeah. Everything except getting stopped for speeding and…” Clay looked around the small state patrol office, “And being here.”
“So Cy was with you all day.”
“Yes, until I left to go back to the truck stop. He’s pretty pissed off right about now.”
Price smiled at him, “Yes he is. Where’s he at now?”
“Motel in Savannah. Where we stay during the week while we’re on the job.”
Price noted the name of the motel that Clay gave her. It was a budget place; the kind that tradesmen and truck drivers stay in on the road. Then she punched up the next voice mail. Her eyebrows furrowed as she listened intently to the young girl’s voice. When it was done, she replayed it, turning the volume up, and putting the phone on speaker so that Clay could hear, along with the video recording device.
The sound of Lyn’s timid, frightened voice filled the room, and the look of anguished concern that came across Clay’s face was unmistakable. When the playback ended, Price saved the voice mails and ended the call. She looked up at the camera in the corner of the room by the ceiling. A moment later Trooper Collins came into the room.
As Price walked towards the small room where Bob Shaklee waited, she spoke over her shoulder to Clay.
“Be back in a few minutes, Mr. Purcell. Please wait here with Trooper Collins.”
Clay glanced at Collins who had retaken his seat behind the small desk. Collins nodded at him, and he nodded back. Yep, he would just wait here with Trooper Collins. It seemed like a good idea.
Collins picked up the radio microphone and repeated the BOLO that he had given earlier, adding a few details and directing that the information be passed to surrounding states and jurisdictions. Listening intently to the entire description broadcast by Trooper Collins, Clay made mental notes. In addition to what Clay had told them, he learned that the man with Lyn was wearing a Texas longhorn ring. He wondered how they had come upon that bit of information. When Collins was done, Clay asked, “Can I go now? I really want to get out and see if I can find her. I won’t speed and I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Trooper Collins’ face had lost the hardness that had been there earlier, but it was still firm. “No son. You need to sit here for a while. There may be some more questions. We have units out looking all over the state. You can do more good helping us here.”
It was all Clay could do not to go through the door and to his truck. He had cooperated, and he didn’t think they could hold him legally. But where would he go? It seemed like they had a plan at least. He had nothing. He would sit and wait, for now.
67. Someplace, Away
An hour and a half after turning west on I-20, Lylee’s senses told him there was enough distance between him and Pickham County. It was time to get off the interstate system and onto roads where the old Chevy would blend in and where he could make a quick change of direction if necessary.
Taking U.S. 441 north from the interstate, the old Chevy proceeded quietly through the dark, empty streets o
f Madison, Georgia. The old antebellum mansions spared by Sherman on his march to the sea stood elegantly silent as the Chevy passed by. Lyn had never seen homes like that. They reminded her of the movie ‘Gone With the Wind’ she had seen on television once. An hour later he had skirted the city of Athens, home of the University of Georgia, on side roads and then picked up 441 again as it headed to the north Georgia mountains.
As the distance from the busy interstate increased, Lylee’s senses relaxed. He knew that on the old country roads the old car would not draw attention. If someone had seen him abduct the girl at the truck stop, and had been interested enough to take the time to report the act, the local authorities would likely have only given the information to the state patrol. He was familiar enough with the workings of law enforcement in its various forms to know that the likelihood of the description of the Chevy, the girl, and himself making it to some rural, north Georgia deputy this quickly was remote. He leaned back and stretched contentedly as he drove. It was time to start looking for some place to stay. Unlikely as it was that they would be identified, he wanted to be off the road come daylight with the car parked somewhere out of sight.
Then, as the daylight hours passed, he would see how thick the young girl’s shell was. He knew she was putting on a show of strength, preserving her identity, and exercising what little control she had in order to make it harder for him to kill her. He smiled at that. She knew very little about her captor. Her resistance only made his hunger for her deeper. The end would be the same. He would feed and be satisfied, and she would pay the price for her attempts to resist. But she was right about one thing. He needed to break her first, to crush the hope from her chest and to feel her trembling terror vibrate from her body electrifyingly into his. That would be the moment. The end would come for her then.