The Hunters Series: Volumes 1-3

by Glenn Trust

  “Sorry,” she said. “I know I sound silly.”

  “Nope. Not at all,” Lylee said bringing the smile under control, pushing the laughter deep inside where she wouldn’t see it and maybe realize that all was not right. “So, you’re headed to Canada then. That’s why you were with that truck driver, huh? Ride to Canada?”

  Lyn’s face changed slightly. The memory of what had happened, or almost happened if it hadn’t been for this man, was a sharp pain.

  Lylee saw the change. It was what he had intended. Remind her of what he had done to help her, to protect her.

  “Yeah. He was gonna give me a ride north. Not all the way, but closer. I guess I was pretty stupid.”

  “It’s never stupid to follow your dreams,” Lylee said smiling again, this time at the corniness of what he had just said. This was too good. Follow your dreams. Reach for the stars. Climb every mountain. And so on and so on. Her innocence was delicious, irresistible. He savored it. Soon he would feed on it.

  “So are you still going to Canada?” he asked.

  Lyn sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. I called a friend. He might come pick me up. I don’t know if he got the message or if he’s coming.”

  Lylee sensed it was time.

  “Listen,” he said, “Sorry I can’t give you a ride to Canada, or north, I’m headed out west through Atlanta. Got to get where there’s some wide-open spaces. I’m from Texas, you know, and I miss the plains after a while.”

  There was just the slightest bit of disappointment on Lyn’s face. Perfect.

  He continued, “Hey,” he said as if the thought was a surprise to him. “I’ve got some travel brochures of where I visited in Canada if you want them. Might help you decide where you want to go. Canada’s a big place you know. Anyway, the pictures are pretty.”

  “I’d like that. I’ve only seen some stuff on television and in a couple of school books,” Lyn said.

  “Okay, then,” Lylee nodded his head smiling. He looked at the check the waitress had left on the counter, pulled some money out, and dropped it on top. Without looking at Lyn, he stood up and started walking away. “C’mon, I’ll get them for you,” he said almost indifferently over his shoulder.

  Lylee didn’t have to see to know that Lyn had hesitated only for the briefest of moments before standing up and following. He kept his head and eyes forward. His indifferent, matter-of-fact way enhanced his harmlessness. Lylee knew it instinctively; he didn’t have to think about it.

  And he didn’t have to look back as he pushed the door open, walked outside, and turned right towards the corner of the building. He heard the door open right after him and knew that the girl was following.

  Lyn’s split second of hesitation had faded almost instantly. She walked after the man, Bruce. Yes, she had met some bad men. Her daddy had hurt her and then Henry, but most of them had been good to her. The brothers Clay and Cy, big Leon and Bob the truck drivers, and now Bruce. He had even saved her from Henry. It seemed like there were more good ones than bad ones, and she began to get a little of her confidence back.

  She watched Bruce walk ahead of her, his hands pushed harmlessly down in his pockets. He was softly whistling. He seemed happy and at ease.

  Lylee was happy. He was very happy. He looked down at his feet shuffling slightly as he walked to appear even more harmless.

  Coming up to the car, he walked around to the passenger side, which was nearest the rear of the building. He had positioned the car so that it would provide cover from anyone who might be outside and look their way.

  “They’re just in the glove box here. I’ll get them.”

  Lyn stopped at the rear of the car. Lylee continued walking and then stopping by the passenger door, he exclaimed in disbelief, “Damn! Look at that.”

  “What,” Lyn asked surprised.

  Lylee looked up at the sky in mock frustration and anger. “I can’t believe it. I go inside to grab a bite to eat, not gone more than thirty minutes, and look at this. Someone took a key or something and scratched up the side of my car.”

  He knelt down by the door shaking his head and said, “I’ll bet it was that guy that tried to get you into his truck.” Shaking his head he said, “Yeah, gotta be him, trying to get even, that jerk.”

  And then Lyn made the final mistake, the big one. She stepped too close to the un-caged animal that was Leyland Torkman.

  Moving forward she looked at the side of the car, as Lylee stood up to show her. “Where?” she said. “I don’t see…”

  Lylee’s movements were swift and fluid. His right hand pulled open the passenger door. His left hand emerged from his pocket with the knife.

  Lyn gasped as she was pushed hard against the car. Something sharp pressed against her chest.

  Lylee pushed the knife hard against her ribs. Leaning against her with his body, anyone who saw would think he was just trying to knock off a piece there in the parking lot, something that had probably happened more than a few times back on this deserted side of the building. His face was next to hers. His lips almost touched hers.

  Lyn looked into the fierce, sparkling eyes. A small, terrified sound tried futilely to escape her throat.

  “Not a sound,” Lylee hissed at her through lips that barely moved. “Not one sound, or I will cut you deep and hard. I promise it will hurt. You understand?”

  Lyn could only look at him with wide, panic-stricken eyes. The memory of his attack on Henry flooded into her consciousness, and she knew what he was capable of.

  “Do you understand?” Lylee said each word slowly and deliberately. “Nod, if you do.”

  Lyn nodded her head once slowly. The sparkling eyes narrowed as they stared deep into hers.

  Holding the point of the knife firmly against her, Lylee reached down with his right hand and pulled a plastic tie wrap from the car seat. It was exactly like the one found by Deputy George Mackey at the StarLite.

  He quickly wrapped the tie around Lyn’s right wrist, tightened it, and then used the knife point to push her into the seat. Pulling another tie out, he ran it through the one on Lyn’s wrist and then around the frame at the bottom of the seat. Lyn’s right arm was now secured to the car. The tie bit into her skin if she moved.

  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 hun
t 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 tha
t 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.”