The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  After Sharon had explained the task force involvement and events that had brought her to Pickham County, he had relaxed a bit. Putting his arms around his wife and children, he held them close, happy to see them, but terrified that he had endangered the ones he loved.

  Sharon now stood guard outside, listening to Rince overhead and wondering what was going on back in Everett. Wondering what George was up to.

  “Pickham 2, copy?” Rince held the portable radio with one hand, the other holding the plane’s yoke, maps scattered across his lap.

  “Go ahead.” Ronnie dropped the Alpha two seven niner. They were the only ones on this TAC channel.

  “Got a vehicle moving in the area.”

  “Towards the cabin?” Ronnie leaned forward, his level of concern suddenly rising.

  “Negative, not towards the cabin, but in the area. Been watching for a few minutes. The vehicle made a couple of turns and then turned around and backtracked. Almost like the driver’s lost.”

  “Describe the vehicle.”

  “Blue, looks like metallic blue maybe in the sunlight, big pickup, four by four type.”

  Walking from his office, Ronnie spoke rapidly into his portable radio. “Stay in the area. Keep that vehicle in sight. I am heading that way now.” As an afterthought, he asked, “How’s your fuel?”

  “About an hour, then I have to go back to refuel. I’ll keep an eye on things until you get here, but don’t take your time.”

  “On my way.”

  Ronnie Kupman was already closing the door on his county Ford as he tossed the radio on the passenger seat. He remembered the metallic blue pickup that he and Sharon had noted the day before at the end of the Wright’s street and cruising through Everett. Maybe nothing, he thought. He hoped it was nothing, but the coincidences just kept piling up and every time they did, there was another body.

  71. He Already Regretted It

  “Do you want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Elizabeth Crestline liked starting conversations with a shock. Dropping the “f” bomb was her favorite method.

  Bob Shaklee took the phone away from his ear for a moment, looked at it, and then spoke calmly into the receiver. “Not sure what you mean, Elizabeth,” he said as innocently as he could, careful not to address her as Ms. and definitely not going to call her boss, as she had previously instructed.

  “I mean, I have a sheriff in Pickham County who has no fucking idea what your Agent Price, his chief deputy and another deputy, a George Mackey, are doing. Can you explain that?”

  “Not really much to explain, Elizabeth. Following up on leads with Porter Wright who was the sponsor of the ‘Term Limits’ blog where we found the connection between Marswell and Somerhill. Just tracking things down. Dotting all the ‘i’s’ and crossing all the ‘t’s,’ so to speak.”

  “Not good enough, Shaklee. The sheriff down in Pickham County knows nothing, even less than you are telling me, you know what that means?”

  “What’s that, Elizabeth?”

  “It means you are full of shit!” Her voice rose even more annoyed than before. “I expect a full and complete briefing on the task force’s activities…now.”

  “I don’t know what I can tell you, Elizabeth.” Shaklee was experiencing the calm of a man who has accepted his own execution. He was committed. He would find the killers of Marswell, Somerhill, Farrin, Martz, and any others they didn’t know about, and he would find who was behind the conspiracy. He had accepted whatever that meant to his career. He continued calmly, “Everything I have told you is the truth. We are following up on the leads I have described, if that is not satisfactory, I don’t know what else to say.”

  “So that’s where you stand, is it, Shaklee?” When Bob made no response, Crestline continued in an exceedingly calm and threatening tone. “I’d be looking over my shoulder if I were you. It’s a long fall, and you are standing on a very precarious ledge.” The phone slammed down, ending the call

  Perfect, he thought. Bob Shaklee contemplated Crestline’s threat, and what it meant. He had a family, responsibilities. He was taking a very large risk with his future, with their future. Comfortable with whatever fate awaited him, he was more than a little concerned about the impact it might have on his family. He tried to put the worry out of his mind and focus on the investigation. What could happen next, he wondered. He had only seconds to wait for an answer.

  The intercom on his phone chimed. “Yes,” he said answering, his voice sounding tired to the secretary handling the call.

  “Have a Sheriff Klineman on line one for you.”

  Anyone watching would have seen Bob Shaklee’s shoulders sag with fatigue. He was tired. Tired of the bullshit, and Klineman had a way of bringing bullshit to the forefront.

  “Okay, I’ll take it.” Bob pressed the button for line one and said, “Agent Shaklee.”

  “Shaklee, you want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Klineman was agitated, but at least didn’t use the “f” word…yet.

  “Explain yourself, Sheriff.” Bob was not in the mood for Klineman’s bullshit and struggled to maintain his composure. Klineman was, after all, the elected sheriff of Pickham County. Still, it was getting to be a long day, and Shaklee was not in the mood to suffer fools.

  “Don’t play coy with me, Shaklee! You know exactly what is going on, and I want some goddamned answers.”

  “Not much I can tell you, Sheriff. As I explained before, this is a state task force investigation. We are only disseminating information on a need-to-know basis.”

  “I need to know, goddamnit! My chief deputy is missing. Your Agent Price is not around and can’t be found. I have another deputy off running around south Georgia on some GBI errand, and some detective from Atlanta comes into town and tries to take over our homicide investigation! What the fuck is going on?” It took him longer than Crestline, but he worked himself up to the “f” word after all.

  Shaklee smiled. Making Klineman unhappy was the best part of his day so far. “Sheriff, all of the people you mentioned are on assignment from the GBI task force, and I can’t discuss their activities with you.”

  Klineman’s loss for words was heard simply as a series of sputtering, noisy exhalations over the phone, causing Bob Shaklee to smile once more. “You…you …I will see that you regret this, Shaklee. You hear me! You will regret this!”

  The phone slammed down, ending a conversation with Shaklee for the second time in ten minutes. Regret, he thought. He already regretted it.

  72. Promises

  The very tall, thin man and his less tall, heavily built and imposing companion walked through the Jacksonville airport side-by-side. The tall man wore a beige colored sports jacket over a pastel blue shirt and neatly creased blue jeans. His companion wore blue jeans, no crease and no jacket. A simple short-sleeved plaid cotton shirt clung tightly to his muscular shoulders and biceps. Each had a carry-on bag in hand. They did not speak to each other or to anyone else.

  Walking up to the rental car counter, the thin man slid a credit card and his driver’s license across to the clerk.

  “Yes sir, do you have a reservation?” The clerk scanned the driver’s license and credit card without looking up at his customer.

  “No. No reservation.”

  “All right then, let’s see what we can fix you up with,” the counter clerk said, smiling. He pushed a laminated sheet showing various vehicles for rent across the counter. “We have some budget vehicles, but as you and your companion seem to be…uh …well I think you’d be more comfortable in a larger rental. May I suggest…”

  “This one.” The thin man poked his finger at the picture of an SUV with four-wheel drive. He looked at the clerk who studied the vehicle’s picture under his finger. The clerk looked up and, for the first time, made eye contact with Rodney Puckett. The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a look that said, ‘I will get you anything you want just please don’t hurt me’. Puckett smiled, recognizing the look in the clerk’s eyes. He
never tired of seeing it on the faces of others.

  “Uh, why yes, sir, we can do that for you,” the clerk said nervously, clearing his throat.

  Ten minutes later, Rodney Puckett and Big Bud Thompson walked through the parking garage to the silver-gray, four-wheel drive Chevrolet SUV and threw their bags into the rear. Puckett drove from the garage as Thompson scanned the map the rental clerk had given them.

  “Find the exit to I-95 north.”

  Puckett looked over at Thompson with a sarcastic grin. “Yep, Georgia is north of Florida. Had that much figured out. How far to Everett?”

  Thompson raised his eyes from the map, thinking that maybe it was time to let Puckett know that he wasn’t his bitch boy, then reconsidered. There would be time for that later.

  “Hard to tell on this shitty little map, but looks like maybe a couple of hours.”

  Puckett nodded and merged smoothly into the heavy I-95 traffic. “Couple of hours,” he said, “and we’ll get things cleaned up down here.” He looked over at Bud, figuring he needed to smooth things with the big man a little. No reason to piss him off on purpose. Tough as Rodney Puckett was, he didn’t want to be looking over his shoulder for Bud Thompson. “I know a boat dealer back in Jacksonville. We can stop by and check out some of those big boats, you know like mine.” He smiled. “Hang in there with me, Bud. You’re gonna like the payoff. I promise.”

  Thompson turned his head from the passenger window and gave Puckett a quick nod and what, Puckett was learning, passed for a smile on Big Bud’s thick face.

  Once Sheriff Klineman departed the Crandall murder scene, George and Andy reentered the house, and worked with Sandy Davies to document and gather as much evidence as possible. Now, leaving the Crandall home, George tried to raise Ronnie Kupman on the radio. He was advised by the dispatcher that Pickham 2 was out of service. George pulled out his cell phone and punched the speed dial. No answer.

  Reluctantly, he made his last effort to contact Kupman, calling his office, hoping that it did not lead to a conversation with the sheriff.

  “Sherriff’s office.” Cheryl Peterson’s pleasant, girlish voice, sounding twenty-five when she was probably twice that age, answered the phone.

  “Cheryl, George, here,” he said, almost whispering. Like most people trying to speak privately, he kept his voice low as if anyone on the other end besides Cheryl could hear. Andy Barnes looked over at him with a slightly bemused smile, and George gave him a look that said, ‘What?’ Then realizing what he was doing, he shook his head with a grin to ‘clear the stupid out’ and spoke up. “Cheryl, this is George. Don’t let anyone know I’m asking, but do you see Ronnie around?”

  Knowing exactly which ‘anyone’ George was referring to, Cheryl eyed the sheriff’s closed office door and said softly, “Not here, George. He left about an hour and a half ago. Didn’t say where to. He was in a hurry. He looked serious.”

  George thought this over for a second, concerned. “Did, he get any calls?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” She paused thinking what else she could add. “I know he was on the radio in his office.”

  “Radio?”

  “Yeah, on his portable, but not on the regular Com channel. We could tell that he was on a TAC channel because we didn’t hear the traffic over the radio in the office here. Don’t know who he was speaking to, we were wondering. He seemed secretive, know what I mean? But it might have been that pilot with the GBI. I was walking by and heard him calling someone. Something like ‘Alpha’ and then some numbers with a ‘niner’ in it. You know, pilot talk.” She thought for a second, and then convinced of what she remembered she said, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it had to be that pilot in the airplane. Sounded like that kind of radio traffic.”

  “Thanks, Cheryl. Keep this quiet, okay? Know what I mean?”

  Cheryl knew immediately what he meant. Don’t say anything to the sheriff. “No problem, George,” she said, then added, “He’s had himself locked in his office all day. Keeps getting these calls on his cell phone and runs outside in the parking lot to take them.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, it’s funny as hell. He got a call from some woman in the governor’s office earlier, and ever since, he’s been making calls and taking calls. When he’s in the parking lot, he looks like one of my kids taking a scolding. You know, face kind of red, but afraid to say anything. We all been watching through the window. Funny as hell.”

  “Thanks again for the information, Cheryl. Just between us, right?”

  “Right, George. No problem.”

  Ending the call, George looked at Andy on the passenger side of the pickup’s cab. “Something’s going on.”

  “What?” They were just pulling onto the square in Everett, and Barnes’ looked around wondering what else could happen in this little town that seemed so peaceful. It wasn’t the kind of place where he was used to working homicides. Still, the Crandall murder was a bad one, and then there was the Farrin killing, deliberately run down on the road. Appearances were deceptive.

  “Don’t know, but it involves Rince. We better call Shaklee and find out what’s happening.”

  Andy nodded and pulled out his own phone, punching the number to Shaklee’s office and putting his phone on speaker.

  “Shaklee.”

  “Hey, Bob. Andy and George here. Trying to find Kupman and figure out what’s going on.”

  “You clear from the murder scene?”

  “Yeah,” Andy said. “Not pretty.”

  “Tied to the other murders? To the Wrights?” Perry Boyd’s voice came over the phone loudly, as if he was speaking up to be heard. They were probably sitting around the conference table phone that was their command center.

  “Yeah, I’d say so,” Andy said. “Too big a coincidence not to be.”

  “Any similarities with any of the other killings?”

  “Well, if you mean were there any clues, there weren’t. I would say that is the biggest similarity. No clues, no visible evidence. Different method every time. They used a hammer on Mrs. Crandall.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Shaklee and Boyd sat contemplating what they had just heard. A hammer on Martha Crandall, a hunting rifle on Senator Somerhill, a pickup truck used to run down Timmy Farrin, a handgun in the Marswell and Martz murders, and a staged accident with a logging truck for Stanton James.

  “These guys are creative, if nothing else,” Bob said. “And vicious,” he added. “They do not hesitate to kill, and they know how to cover their tracks. Except for Terrell Perkins, we have no ID on any of them, but they included Perkins, and he was the rookie of the group. Using him might have been their one mistake.”

  “How’s that going?” Andy asked, referring to the Perkins interrogation.

  “Turned up a few leads. We’re tracking them down now,” Boyd said. “Had to bring in Hurst and Poncinelli. We were getting a little shorthanded up here.”

  Andy nodded. “They’re the right ones. They’ll keep things quiet, if you tell them to.”

  “I told them to,” Boyd responded in his straightforward manner.

  “So what’s next?” George spoke up for the speakerphone as he found a parking space on the square. “I’m a little worried about what Ronnie’s up to…and Sharon. Haven’t heard from her all day.”

  “No phone or radio contact out at the Wright’s cabin,” Bob said. “Ronnie had Rince doing some flyovers to make sure everything was all right. He spotted the cabin and Sharon. They were fine. Did some scouting and saw a pickup in the area.”

  “Headed towards the cabin?” The concern in George’s voice was obvious.

  “Well, not directly towards the cabin. Just in the area. Ronnie went by ground to check it out.”

  “And?”

  “And, we haven’t heard anything yet, George.” There was certainly no doubt to anyone on the call that George’s concern for Sharon was more than professional. “Rince had to circle back to Everett for fuel. Ronnie’s ou
t trying to locate the pickup and then head out to the cabin to give Sharon some backup.” Bob paused a moment to let that information soak in and then added more gently, “I promise. George, we’ll let you know the first minute we hear from them…from Sharon out at the cabin.”

  George nodded, without speaking. Looking at Andy’s face, he realized that his overly protective newfound feelings for Sharon Price were obvious to the others. He didn’t care and the others said nothing. They were concerned too, maybe not in the same way, but concerned.

  “So what now?” Andy asked. “Head out to Brunswick and Valdosta like we planned?”

  “Things are moving pretty fast down there and up here, too. Perry and I think you two should sit tight. Stay ready in case we need some support somewhere. You’re the last available members of the team right now. Let’s figure out what is going on, and then we can get to the possible targets in Brunswick and Valdosta. Right now, we are pretty sure that at least one of the killing teams is tied up with the search for the Wrights. Once we know everything is okay there, you can head out to speak with…to warn, the others. But if we need backup down there, you’re it, so stay ready until we know.”

  “Right.” Barnes and Mackey said in unison.

  “George?” Bob said.

  “Yes?”

  “Do me one favor.”

  “Sure, Bob. What’s that?”

  “Stay away from Klineman. He’s a pipeline to Crestline in the governor’s office. I don’t trust her, and I especially don’t trust him.”

  Grinning at Andy, he replied. “Gonna be hard, Bob. Dick and I are pretty tight.”

  “I mean it, George.” Shaklee didn’t mention that his career was on the line on this one. He didn’t have to.

  “Just kidding, Bob. I don’t want to see Klineman a whole lot more than you don’t want me to see him. We’ll disappear, but stay close.”