by Bobby Cole
He decided to call the sheriff for assistance. They kept a boat ready for rescues and recoveries on the Pearl River. He exhaled and dialed.
Runt loved this part of Mississippi. He had grown up here, hunting with his dad. They had been members of the club for as long as he could remember. He’d even gotten Winston a membership, though he was always slow to pay his dues. None of the members really liked him, but he always brought plenty of beer and liquor, which made them tolerate him.
The club was close to the Nanih Waiya Cave Mound. The rectangular mound measured twenty-five feet high, 140 feet wide, and 280 feet long. The mound had become sacred to the tribe because legend had it that the mound had given birth to the tribe. A small cave not too far from the mound was where Choctaw lore said the tribe’s people emerged from the underworld and rested on the mound’s slopes before populating the surrounding region.
The mound had a fence around it with steps up to an enclosed platform that offered the only view of it. In the past, before the tribe installed these security measures, people climbed all over the mound and dug at night, though they didn’t find much since it was thought to be a ceremonial rather than burial mound. Whatever it lacked as a potential dig site, the giant, earthen mound made up for as the perfect place to hide a body. The tribe, which had jurisdiction over the mound, wouldn’t allow any digging or unauthorized activity. So no one except another illegal digger would ever find anything, and no illegal digger would betray his own activities. Runt had buried the last Indian agent here, and nobody had ever noticed. He’d taken great care to preserve the existing vegetation and to haul off the excess dirt.
Runt was infatuated with the place. The mound was huge and had a surreal appearance, especially when one considered the work that had gone into building it. Mounds were located all over the state—and the South, for that matter—but few were as impressive as this one. During his nighttime visits over the years, Runt had found many projectile points and red jasper beads, as well as a few pipe stems, only a few hundred yards away in a small mound that most folks didn’t know about. Like so many smaller mounds located in fields, time and tractor plows had eroded it, but Runt, being trained by Winston, knew where to look.
Tonight when it got good and dark, he would drive John Allen close to the mound, cut the zip ties on his legs, and walk him to his grave, as it would be too far to carry his corpse.
Runt parked his old Toyota truck in the camp and took notice of the skinning shed. The door was closed, just as he’d left it. Before he left the truck, he texted Gina to see what she was doing, but of course he received no speedy reply. He hoped she would be waiting on him when he returned later, but she was so unpredictable.
Finally tired of waiting for her, he left the keys in his truck, stuck a pistol in his back pocket, and made his way to the shed. He enjoyed the intensity of these moments.
During her drive to the lake, Emma allowed herself to admit that she cared for John Allen, and cried as she worried about what had happened to him. She knew how savage and violent the criminal world could be, how easily people took others’ lives for the stupidest reasons. As an FBI agent, she shuddered when she thought about just how close the average person came to real criminals each day. You could encounter a serial criminal standing in line at a fast-food restaurant, sitting at a red light, or walking through the mall and never know it. There were more criminals than jail cells to hold them, and rarely did convicts stay locked up for their full prison terms.
When she pulled into the area that Hoss had pinned, she saw that it was taped off, and her heart jumped back into her throat. After flashing her badge to gain access, she shot her car into a parking spot and ran toward the scene.
As she neared the water, the diver was adjusting his mouthpiece before wading in. They had a red rope tied to him, which she figured was to pull him back up. Or maybe to pull a body up. She shuddered at the thought. She’d been around numerous scenes like this in her career, but this was a whole new magnitude. She needed to pull herself together and act professional. Her training needed to take over, but it was so hard to push her personal feelings aside.
She slowed down as she approached Hoss, who was standing at the water’s edge. He turned as he heard her approach. There were four boats anchored about a hundred yards away, with the passengers watching the scene unfold.
“What have you found?” she asked, fighting to catch her breath.
Hoss shook her hand, then pointed. “We have tire tracks leading into the water, and you can see the slick that we assume is from some automotive fluids. The diver’s just now going down.”
She stood stone-faced. The recent run in the heat had lifted a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. “Do you think it’s John Allen?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t feel good about it.” Hoss wiped sweat off his face. “It could be some drunk teenagers who lost control of a car. They like to come up here and park. I haven’t seen it, but supposedly a guitar floated up.”
A guitar? Her hands were trembling. “That’s unusual.”
While they waited, she explained to Hoss that there were agents en route to pick up Winston Walker. He nodded his head at the news.
Time crawled as they watched the red rope coiled on the bank slither slowly into the water. While they waited, the sheriff’s boat that had launched at the other end of the lake arrived. The officers held them off about forty yards from the bank until the diver surfaced.
Bubbles marked the diver’s location, permeating the surface in a rhythm all their own. Agent Haden squatted down and crossed her arms. Hoss glanced down at her but didn’t stare. Watching these sorts of events, much less participating in them in any way, was difficult on everybody. Police officers often needed counseling just to cope with what they saw and experienced.
After ten minutes of watching the bubbles, Emma decided they seemed to be coming up faster. She looked up at Hoss, who shrugged his shoulders.
Another few minutes went by, and the officer holding the tether indicated he was coming up. When he surfaced, the sheriff’s boat steered alongside him, and they pulled him into their boat. Once he had his mask off and caught his breath, he stood as the boat motored to the bank.
“It’s his car, all right,” the diver said.
Emma wanted to scream.
Hoss sighed.
“But he’s not in it,” the diver added. “The driver’s-side window is down.”
Hoss and Emma looked at each other. They knew they didn’t have a solid answer. He could be alive and somewhere else, or his body might’ve just floated out of the car.
“Did you feel around the car and in the backseat?” Hoss asked.
“Yes, sir. Nothing,” the diver responded. “Nothing close, anyway.”
Emma was taking deep breaths, trying to think clearly. “Does that car have a trunk?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Hoss answered in a low voice, knowing what she was thinking. “Stay ready to dive again,” he said. “There’s a wrecker on the way, and you can help them hook up to the car. The sheriff’s team will want to drag the area, and they may need some help.”
Emma and Hoss both turned away. They both wanted to see the car. It could give them clues. Emma would call Agent Garner and fill him in, after which she intended to issue a missing person bulletin on John Allen. Before she could lift her phone, though, Hoss said, “While we wait, let me tell you what we learned about one of Winston’s running buddies today.”
Agent Garner and three other agents were approaching Winston’s house as darkness began to fall. Two agents had night-vision goggles, and all of them were armed for a worst-case scenario. Agent Garner had also decided not to tip off the local police for fear there might be an informant. It was completely his call, since the FBI was handling the case.
They had worked out the details before leaving their office by studying the layout of the property with the aid of satellite imagery. They planned to split into two groups, one going around to the front,
the other around back. None of their intelligence suggested they were walking into a dangerous situation, but they were prepared for one.
The night-vision goggles didn’t reveal anything other than a raccoon in the backyard. With constant radio contact, each group moved into position. The group at the rear of the house could see flashing lights inside that they assumed was the television.
“No vehicle, Captain. Over,” the rear group leader whispered into his radio.
“He may not be here. Over,” the captain whispered back.
“See if you guys can get a look at whoever is inside,” Agent Garner whispered in an aggravated voice. “It would be helpful to know what we’re looking at. Over.”
“Yes, sir. Over.”
When the FBI agent peered around the edge of the sliding glass door, he saw an overweight male who appeared to be asleep on the couch, watching a Game of Thrones episode. He observed him for a few minutes, but he never moved. And there was no other activity in the house. On the floor next to him was a beer can that appeared to have been modified to smoke meth.
“I have a white male on the couch; he doesn’t appear to be our target. He is taller and built heavier. I believe he’s been doing drugs. Over.”
“Okay, get ready,” Agent Garner said. “I’m going to ring the doorbell. Watch what he does. Over.”
“Roger, over.”
Agent Garner crept to the front door. He didn’t expect the doorbell to work, based on the appearance of the place. Before he tried it, he looked for security cameras and listened for movement inside the house, but he neither saw nor heard anything. He pressed the doorbell and heard it ring.
The two agents in the back reported they’d witnessed no movement inside the house. The guy on the couch must be passed out.
They decided to breach the front and back doors at the same time. On the count of three, they were inside, the front-door crew clearing rooms while the back-door crew tried to wake up Winston Walker’s guest.
Chapter 32
Emma leaned against a black-and-white police cruiser while she talked to Agent Garner. Winston Walker hadn’t been at his residence, and the person who had been there was so high that they didn’t put much stock in his story that Walker had gone to California and left him to house-sit. They’d finally asked for assistance from the police, and when they hadn’t been able to turn him up at any of his usual haunts, Agent Garner issued an all-points bulletin for Walker and his black Suburban.
“We need to have somebody check flights out of all the airports within a three-hour radius,” Emma said.
“Good idea. I’ll have the office get right on it. Let me know what the situation is after the wrecker pulls the car out.”
Everybody at the lake was watching the wrecker. The diver had just surfaced, and they were about to begin pulling the car up. The sheriff’s department was dragging the area near the car and hoping to not find a body.
Through force of will, Emma kept turning her mind back to the investigation, trying to think of what they were missing. Suddenly, she looked at Hoss, who was leaning against the other end of the police cruiser.
“Is the girlfriend still in custody?” she asked.
“Yes, she should be.”
“I need to talk to her, right now.”
Her urgency and confidence had Hoss straightening away from the cruiser. “Go get in your car,” he said. “I’ll have an officer lead you over there with lights. I’ll stay here and let you know what we find.”
The wrecker slowly dragged the Porsche free of the lake. Water poured from every crack and crevice. Hoss instructed the wrecker driver to pull the vehicle up to flat ground away from the water’s edge.
When they opened the driver’s door, water poured out and soaked the officers’ shoes.
The waterlogged vehicle still looked as if it were in mint condition. It was sad to see such a beautiful car drowned by lake water. It appeared as if it just needed to be dried out, but everyone knew it was ruined.
Hoss had hoped there would be something in the car that would at least point them in a useful direction, but there was nothing inside the passenger compartment that offered a single clue as to what may have occurred, except a pair of boots.
It took the officers a while to open the trunk, only to discover the engine was in the back. This triggered a brief moment of levity that helped relieve some of their anxiety. Moving to the front, it took another five minutes to pop the hood. Before the young officer who’d made the dive raised it, he paused, and he and everyone present looked at Hoss. The young officer didn’t want to open the hood only to see John Allen, and everyone knew it. Hoss nodded at him, and the young officer stepped back to allow Hoss to lift the hood himself. A sigh of relief went up as everyone saw the compartment was empty.
Hoss actually smiled, but his smile quickly faded as he turned and looked at the lake. John Allen could still be out there. Probably was, if he had to guess. And with the elevated water temperature, it would only take a day for his body to float up.
He took out his phone to inform Agent Haden of the latest.
Emma arrived at the tribal police station and was escorted quickly to an interrogation room. As a result of Hoss calling ahead, within three minutes they had Gina sitting in front of her. Her orange outfit didn’t fit her, and Gina wasn’t happy to still be incarcerated.
“Who are you?” she asked in a hateful voice.
“I’m Agent Emma Haden with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” She didn’t bother to show her badge.
Gina was a bit confused. “I told them all I know. They said I could go home.”
“If I have all the facts, that’s true.”
“I’d rather go tonight. I don’t want to spend the night in jail.”
During the course of Emma’s career, she had interviewed hundreds of people. Everyone was a snowflake, each person unique. Some would talk immediately, some were slow to talk, and some never would. She didn’t have time to waste right now.
“You help me, and I’ll do what I can to help you.”
Gina looked her up and down. “What do you need?”
“I don’t have time to play games. I need answers. Do you know Winston Walker?”
Gina nodded. “I know him. Everybody knows him.”
“Have you heard any talk of Winston and maybe your boyfriend kidnapping somebody?”
Gina immediately backed up. “No!”
“There’s a man missing, and we think that Winston Walker is involved. We need to find Winston.”
Gina was struck by the look in Emma’s eyes. These weren’t regular police eyes. She could see the intense concern there. It was a look no one had ever directed her way. Not her parents or any boyfriends, ever.
“Have you tried the Pop A Top or the J & J?”
“Yes, they’ve looked in all his usual places. Has he ever mentioned going to California?”
Gina furrowed her brow. “Nah. Not to me, anyway.”
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“You mean Runt? His real name is Billy, but he ain’t really my boyfriend. I mean, he thinks he is, but he really ain’t. Sometimes when it’s convenient, I refer to him as my boyfriend. It’s complicated.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Gina, a man’s life may be at stake. If you don’t help me . . . let’s just say you’ll regret it. This is way bigger than you and the casino chips.”
Gina was thinking. Her DNA was not programmed to help the police, but this lady seemed different and might help her. Gina was wanting out of jail and to be free of the worry of the casino chips. Runt really didn’t mean much to her. She used him just like every other man to get what she wanted until a better offer came her way.
She cut her eyes at Emma. “You’ll help me get outta here?”
“I will.” Emma was careful to not make a definitive promise that she would get her out. She had promised to help. That she could do and not undermine anot
her agency’s case.
“They got this huntin’ club. I been there a few times on Saturday nights when they had football parties. It ain’t nothing fancy. Do you know where the Nanih Waiya Indian mounds are?”
Emma shook her head no. She had never heard of such a place.
“It ain’t too far from here. Coming from the south, from Meridian, it’s”—she closed her eyes and thought for a few seconds—“the second gravel road on the left past the mound. The road goes straight back to their hunting camp. It’s a buncha trailers. They go hang out there a lot. It’s quiet, and nobody knows they’re there.”
“You think they both could be there?”
“That’s where I’d look.”
“Winston drives a black Suburban, right? What about your—What about Runt?”
“A piece o’ shit, rust-colored, some kinda truck,” Gina mumbled with disgust.
Emma’s heart jumped, and she winked at her. “Thank you. I’ll help you. Just hang on. We may need you again.”
In the hall was a map of the tribal lands and the surrounding area. Emma asked an officer to point out where the Nanih Waiya mounds were. She memorized the directions, then as she was about to leave, she took a picture of the map, just in case.
John Allen had heard the vehicle drive up and forced himself to stand and look out the crack. He saw Runt pull up in his old truck and park. There was no sign of Winston. Judging by the angle of the sun, it would be dark soon. He looked at the sunlight being diffused through the pine limbs and knew he didn’t want to die. He had lost strength but needed to summon what he could to fight for his life.
The sweating had stopped about an hour ago. John Allen was still covered in it, but he could tell his body wasn’t producing more. His skin had goose bumps and was tingling. John Allen recognized this as a sign of serious dehydration. The skinning shed was so hot it was putting him in danger of heat exhaustion or a heat stroke.
He leaned his forehead against the hot tin and watched Runt walk toward him until he passed out of sight near the door. He heard Runt fumble with the lock and chains, then the door swung open.