The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  Still, the outcome for Clay was very much in doubt. Knowing this, the medic driver pushed the unwieldy ambulance to its limits around the curves while those in the back hung on.

  George Mackey limped over to the spot where the young man had lain. The ground was stained with his blood. A few feet away, a smaller stain marked the spot where the shotgun pellets had torn into the killer’s leg.

  Footsteps approached from behind and George turned. Sharon Price looked him squarely in the eye from a distance of three feet. No words were spoken. After a few seconds, George nodded and Sharon returned the nod. Words were unnecessary. It was done.

  85. Epilogue

  Three days later, Chief Deputy Ronnie Kupman sat across from Sheriff Klineman’s desk while the latter studied the papers clipped neatly into a manila file. After several minutes, the sheriff straightened the papers and closed the file, placing it precisely in the center of his desk. He pushed it with two fingers towards his chief deputy as if its continued presence might be infectious.

  “So, George got him,” the sheriff said. It was not a question. It was a statement, tinged with distaste and disappointment, which he was unable to control.

  “Yes, he did. He and the GBI and the Rye County deputy who found the car and the killer.”

  “But Mackey was the one who got him in the end, alone.” Again the distaste with undertones of incredulity.

  “Yes. George got him. Killed him if that’s what you mean.”

  “Yes, about that,” the sheriff said pausing before continuing. “The report states the subject was shot at close range.”

  “Right.”

  “It also says that the trajectory of the round that killed him came from about three feet above and five feet away.” Klineman regarded Kupman carefully, seeking any sign of concern or deception. The chief deputy, however, was completely unconcerned and unperturbed.

  “Also correct, Sheriff.”

  “And the shotgun was on the ground beside the subject…on the left side. He was right-handed?”

  “Yes. From the thrusts of the knife that killed the Rye County deputy and Mr. Sims, it does appear that the subject was right-handed.” Ronnie nodded, smiling at the sheriff’s query as he crossed his legs comfortably.

  Klineman had had enough. “Cut the bullshit, Kupman!”

  “I’m not sure what you mean Sheriff.” But Ronnie Kupman knew exactly what the sheriff of Pickham County meant.

  “The shooting should be investigated! You know as well as I do that this was not a legal shooting.” He stopped to control the anger rising inside, and the heartburn that accompanied it, and then continued through gritted teeth. “George Mackey executed the killer, Leyland Torkman.”

  “He did?” Kupman raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “And you know this because…?”

  “Because my common sense tells me so, and the evidence in the report points in that direction.”

  “Well, the report from Rye County doesn’t…”

  “Don’t talk to me about Rye County. I know Sheriff Siler. He loves his deputies as if they were his own kids. He would accept any report that justified the elimination of the killer of one of ‘his boys’, legalities be damned.”

  “Is that so?” Kupman returned the sheriff’s angry gaze calmly. “Hmm. Well, there’s also the GBI’s report. I believe it says ‘no evidence that the shooting was not legal and justifiable, performed in the due course of attempting to arrest a violent felon who had already committed two known murders and two attempted murders at the time of the shooting’. I’m just paraphrasing, of course, but that seemed to be the gist of the report…as I recall it.” He smiled serenely at the man the voters of Pickham County had made his boss.

  Sheriff Klineman swallowed hard in an attempt to remain calm, or at least as calm as possible. “Well, then we will conduct our own investigation into the shooting.”

  “We will?”

  “Yes. We will, and as I apparently can’t trust anyone else to handle it honestly, I will conduct it myself.”

  “Really? Do you think that is wise, Sheriff?” The question’s tone carried the undercurrent of a threat. Ronnie let that sink in for a moment before continuing in a conciliatory tone. “I mean that George Mackey is a hero in Pickham County. The people love him, the press loves him, and the GBI is standing behind him.” Kupman gave a sighing shrug. “If you try to hang George out to dry on this, it might backfire on you.” And then Ronnie Kupman looked his boss squarely in the eye and said with finality. “I guarantee you that it will backfire on you.”

  “What? What, did you just say?” The sheriff seemed about to come out of his chair. “Did you just threaten me? Speak up! Say that again.”

  Ronnie shook his head in disgust as he leaned forward and spoke, raising his voice for the first time. “Sheriff, I know that you record the conversations that take place in this office. Hell, it’s no secret, everyone knows. So, I’ll say it again. If you try to bring charges against a deputy who has been exonerated by the GBI and who did this county a valuable service, and who is a hero by all accounts, it will backfire on you. I’ll be even more clear…you will regret it.” He leaned back in his seat, continuing. “If you want to take that as a threat, so be it. As far as I’m concerned,” and Kupman raised his voice for the recorder again, “I am offering advice to the Sheriff of Pickham County. As the chief deputy, that is my duty.”

  Chief Deputy Ronnie Kupman took the shooting file off the sheriff’s desk and walked out of the office, allowing the door to thump closed behind him.

  The secret video camera, which everyone knew about, recorded Sheriff Richard Klineman sitting motionless and staring at the desktop for a long while. After a few minutes, his hand reached under the desk and the video went black.

  *******

  Bob Shaklee leaned against the doorframe of the office in a building in Savannah. Located in a quiet office park filled with trees and manicured grass, the building was leased by the state for the GBI. Inside the building, investigators considered the terrible things contained in the case files on their desks and searched for answers. Outside, landscapers mowed the grass and planted flowers, and lunchtime joggers wandered the paths of the park.

  “Forensics are in.”

  Sharon Price looked up from the follow-up report she was writing. Leyland ‘Lylee’ Torkman it turns out was not missed. After tracing the vehicle identification number on the Chevy, she had started the interviews. Work – he did his job, kept his nose clean, and people did not interfere with him. Neighbors – he was an unknown, no interaction with anyone, kept quietly to himself, although Mrs. Abbot across the street always knew there was something ‘strange’ about him. Friends – none. Relatives – none. Criminal history – none, at least none ever recorded, until now.

  “That’s good. Anything?” Her eyes met his, conveying her unspoken concern about what the report might contain.

  “No. Not really.” He smiled back and gave just the slightest shake of his head acknowledging her concern and removing it at the same time. “The rounds that hit the boy were plain enough. We were able to find one of your rounds fired from the truck in a tree trunk at the tree line, but we dug .00 buck shot out of the trees in the woods for three days trying to recreate the scene for the follow-up on the shooting report.”

  Sharon placed the papers in her hand on the desk and looked up and directly into Bob Shaklee’s eyes.

  “And? What’s the follow up?”

  “Nothing much, I guess.” Shaklee broke away from her gaze and looked out the window behind her where beds of geraniums and petunias showed off their colors in the sunlight. “Pretty much like you and George said. Working your search pattern in the area when the call comes out. The deputy from Rye County advises over the radio that he is going to check things out and then you arrive on the scene…”

  “Grover.”

  “What?”

  “Grover Parsons. That was his name, the Rye County deputy. Just a boy really, barely old enough
to be a deputy.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry, I don’t have much on that. Rye County is working that part of the case. He was a brave boy. He did his duty.” Shaklee waited for a moment. It was clear that the death of the young deputy along with everything else was a painful memory. “He did his duty, just as you and George did.”

  “Did we?”

  “Yes. You did.” He waited until Sharon’s moist eyes looked up. “You did your duty, Sharon. Saved the girl’s life and the boy who followed her. Parsons did his duty. He did what any of us would have done, and yes, he paid the price for it. I don’t have an answer for that.” Shrugging as if to ward off the inevitable, he added, “Sometimes bad things happen to good people, no matter what you do.”

  “Yes, sometimes,” Sharon agreed. “And the shooting?”

  “That. Yes, well that seems to be pretty straightforward, doesn’t it? You were in hot pursuit of a killer. He exchanged fire with you. George tracked him into the woods. Another exchange of gunfire. George ended it using the force necessary to take the suspect out before he hurt someone else. One round fired at fairly close rang. Forensics confirms it was from George’s Glock.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Shouldn’t it be?” He was looking out of the window behind Price. “I can’t think of anything else, Sharon. Can you?” His eyes shifted to her face.

  “No,” she said firmly. “But I’ve heard that that asshole sheriff down in Pickham is making a stir. That we didn’t look at all of the evidence. That the shooting was more than just self-defense. He’s calling it an execution, but he doesn’t want to do the investigation himself. Too much political liability.”

  “Really. So, what do you think?”

  “I think George did what he had to do.” The statement and the look on her face indicated the finality of her opinion in the matter.

  “Yes, well I look at it this way. There was a firefight that started when the killer fired on you and continued when George followed him into the woods. There were a number of gunshots, and the bad guy ended up dead. Anything else is pure speculation, and we don’t deal in speculation.” Now the look of finality was on Shaklee’s face. “Like you said, George did what he had to do.”

  He looked out to the landscaped flower beds again. The matter was closed from the GBI’s point of view.

  “So, partner,” he continued. “Have a new case for us. Series of convenience store robberies between here and Macon. Locals, a police chief and a sheriff, are requesting assistance with the investigation. You up for it?”

  “Chief and a sheriff? Geez, how could I refuse.”

  “Good, meet me for lunch, and we’ll go over the case file.”

  Bob Shaklee turned and walked down the corridor with a final wave of his hand. Sharon Price picked up the pages of the report and dropped them in the out basket at the edge of her desk. Case closed.

  *******

  The small group on the porch was quiet. The glasses of sweet iced tea in their hands dripped condensation onto the bare planks where the water soaked in and disappeared.

  The parents of Paula Jean Glover looked across the yard to the trees and the path leading through the woods to the old church and tried to understand the events that had connected their pretty, petite daughter to Mrs. Sims and her dead husband, Harold. There were no satisfactory answers.

  Angel Sims sat quietly, her son’s hand resting on top of hers on the arm of the rocking chair. Other than greetings and small talk about the weather, there had not been much conversation.

  Finally, Paula Glover’s mother pulled her eyes away from the trees and faced them.

  “I...we can’t tell you how sorry we are for the loss of your husband, Mrs. Sims.”

  “There’s nothing to say,” Mrs. Sims replied in a small voice that was almost a whisper. “What’s done, is done.”

  “I know, but somehow, it feels…it feels wrong that you were dragged into this situation.”

  The old woman studied the younger woman for a moment before speaking. “Honey, there is no need for guilt. You lost a daughter. I lost my Harold. A bad man did it, not you. He did bad things to Harold and to your girl, and now he’s gone.”

  There was finality to her words. Nothing would change what had happened. Bad things happened to people sometimes. Too many times, Angel Sims thought, but they happened anyway. She had lived long enough to accept the inevitability of that fact.

  “Your husband tried to save our little girl.” Paula Glover’s father turned his tear stained face towards Mrs. Sims and her son. “I thank you for that.”

  There was nothing more to say. The losses of both families were equally tragic and equally inexplicable. A terrible, bad thing had happened, and the lives of the old man and young girl had meandered through the world until they met in the dark in the church parking lot. There was no meaning, only pain.

  A few minutes later, the dripping glasses were placed gently on the porch, and the Glovers drove away.

  *******

  The out-of-focus form over him slowly took shape. His eyes felt glued together.

  “Cy,” was all Clay could manage to say at the sight of his brother. He felt Cy’s strong grip on his hand.

  “‘Bout time you woke up.” Clay perceived that the smile on Cy’s face was more one of relief than any other emotion.

  “Mama?”

  “She’s fine. Been by your side for a week now. I sent her back to the motel to get some rest. I’ll let her know you’re awake. She’ll want to be here.”

  Clay nodded.

  “The girl. Last I remember…” His voice faded. It was an effort to force the air up from his lungs, over the vocal chords and out of his mouth to speak.

  “She’s alive. Not good though. The things that he did to her. They don’t tell us much, but it was bad. They have her in a room. She’ll be okay physically, lot of cuts and scars, but she’ll heal. They have her in some kind of counseling for emotional and mental trauma. I’ve been checking on her. I knew you’d want to know. I guess it’ll be a while before things get back to normal for her, if they ever do.”

  The look of guilt and pain that flashed across the young man’s face was unmistakable.

  “It’s not your fault brother,” Cy said. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I’m the one who wanted her gone so we could get back to work. She was just a distraction.” He paused and then continued, “I’m the guilty one. Not you. You saved her life they say. You and that deputy in Rye County. That buckshot you put in his leg slowed him down, and the deputy from Pickham killed him. Been in all the papers, not just the Everett Gazette, but the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, too. You’re a pretty big deal.”

  “Don’t feel too much like a big deal,” he managed to whisper.

  “Well, you are.” Cy’s grip on his brothers hand tightened. “I’m proud of you. And something else, I wish I had been…I wish I was more like you.”

  The brothers sat hand in hand until Clay drifted off to sleep again, and Cy could wipe the tears off of his face.

  *******

  In another room, on another floor, Lyn sat in a chair staring out into the hospital courtyard. Ruby Stinson sat beside her daughter, their arms entwined. They spent much of the time like that.

  Lyn seemed to drift off to another place, a place her mother could not go, and it made the burden of guilt heavy for the older woman. She had sent her young daughter out into a world she knew nothing about. It was an act of desperation, but in doing so, she had almost lost her daughter. Still, she did not know what else she could have done. Her father would have beaten her, probably to death.

  She reached up, touched the swollen side of her own face, and then withdrew her hand at the pain. As it was, the old man had beaten her badly after regaining consciousness the night Lyn left. So badly, that she had called the law on him, for the first time. Oh, there had been plenty of other times she could have called, should have called, she knew. But fearing for her daughter’s life and sending her away and then the be
ating…it was too much, the final pain and degradation.

  The old man was in the Pickham County Jail on domestic violence charges where he would probably stay until trial. Word around Judges Creek was that no one would be bailing the mean, son of a bitch out of jail, so they were safe, for a while. It seemed that Carl Stinson’s relationship with the world was no better than with his family.

  Ruby wondered if it had always been that way. There must have been some happy times early on. If so, the memories had faded in the swirl of physical and mental abuse that had become her life.

  The sheriff’s department had put her in touch with a women’s advocacy group. Lyn’s ordeal had received a good deal of coverage in the press, and the group was going to great lengths to assist the mother and daughter.

  The case’s notoriety had put a spotlight on the abuse of women and children. And while the group would have assisted in any event, they were sparing no effort or expense to help the two. She had a hotel room in Athens for as long as Lyn was recovering in the hospital.

  They were helping with something else too. For the first time, Ruby was talking to someone who could help her understand the patterns of domestic violence, and her own self-worth so that the pattern in this case would be broken permanently.

  The counseling for the mother would continue for months. For the daughter, it might be necessary for the rest of her life. Lyn’s counselor had assured her mother that the emotional scars her daughter bore would heal slowly. They might possibly be healed completely, one day, but there were no guarantees.

  The guilt for what had happened to Lyn was overwhelming. She could have acted to stop the abuse years ago. She should have, she knew it. Somehow, she couldn’t. She had been trapped.

  But now, maybe the puzzle could be unraveled. Maybe, with the counseling, she would end the cycle. She was coming to understand that what had happened to her daughter was the result of a long chain of events. Break that chain, and you could change your life. Ruby Stinson’s heart ached for not having broken the chain earlier.