The Hunters Series: Volumes 1-3

by Glenn Trust

  At that comment, Sharon Price was out of her chair standing over the others at the small table. “Are you insane? Or are you living in another universe? We asked the questions that needed to be asked. No insinuations were made. If you are that sensitive about the issue of the Klan, maybe you should check around your county and clean up your own house if necessary.” Price took a breath before speaking her next words, and she spoke them through gritted teeth, trying to control her anger. “Any fool would see that two murders in Pickham County on the same night might possibly be connected; especially since there are not more than a couple of murders a year in the entire county. Good investigators would ask the necessary questions and follow the necessary leads. That doesn’t mean that there are no other possible scenarios, but as this one is the most likely, it must be eliminated or proven, and quickly, before moving on to other possible theories. That’s what we’re doing.” Still seething, Price took a deep breath and sat down again.

  The thought occurred to Ronnie Kupman that Klineman might be taping the conversation to edit later, ensuring that he was seen only in the best possible light by the voters of the county and removing himself from any connection with the possibly unfruitful murder investigation. It was the kind of thing that Klineman would do. There was something in the tone and manner of his words that made them seem to be intended for someone beyond this room. He knew that, in reality, the sheriff was primarily concerned with the sheriff first and the department secondarily. He would want to ensure that both came out on the other side of the investigation without any black eyes or embarrassment, and if possible, having successfully found the killer; finding the killer, being the last of the three priorities. Kupman glanced discreetly around the room wondering, until his eyes found the sheriff whose face seemed to have taken on a serene quality with Price’s outburst. Was that what he had wanted?

  “Okay, okay,” Kupman interjected. “Let’s calm down. It’s been a long day and night, for that matter. We’re all on edge. It’s understandable.” Eyes still fixed on Klineman’s face, Kupman saw that he was watching Price, his hands clasped together on the table like a Buddha in a brown uniform.

  “Is that all, Sheriff?” Shaklee asked, wanting to hear it all before making any comment.

  “As a matter of fact, it is not.” Six eyes focused intently on him as he gazed around at the group. “In addition to the lack of coordination and taking the investigation in directions that I do not approve of or agree with, you have insisted on involving a member of this department in your investigation whom I consider to be a marginal law enforcement officer at best. You have acted against my wishes and against my better judgment. In the spirit of cooperation, I have said nothing throughout the day, but I feel it is time for this office to exert more control over the investigation.”

  Whom? Who the hell says ‘whom’? Bob Shaklee’s expression was bemused. Ronnie Kupman, used to the sheriff’s frequent bombast and pomposity, showed no surprise. Sharon Price could do nothing but glare at the man, her loathing for him evident on her face. She couldn’t have cared less what words he used. As far as she was concerned, they were all bullshit.

  “Dick.” Klineman’s head spun around incredulously to face Kupman at the use of his first name with no title attached. The flush in his face indicated that he was not pleased with the familiarity in the midst of the ass chewing he was intent on delivering. Unperturbed, Ronnie Kupman continued. “I suggest that you finish stating your concerns and then allow Agents Shaklee and Price to respond.”

  “Chief Deputy, are you taking sides with them?” Klineman nodded to the two agents.

  “I don’t believe there are any sides to take. Just want to hear what everyone has to say,” Kupman replied smiling. He seemed supremely at ease, while the sheriff‘s look of serenity had been replaced by a rosy flush.

  “Fine. You and I will speak later.”

  “Whenever you like, Sheriff.” Ronnie smiled pleasantly.

  Turning back to the GBI agents, Klineman continued, “As I stated, George Mackey is a marginal deputy with marginal skills. In my opinion, the investigation is going down paths that are leading you away from apprehending the killer, partly because of his folksy, overly dramatic interpretation of the evidence. And frankly, relying on Mackey’s interpretation of evidence calls into question your own judgment. Finally, none of this is serving the best interests of the citizens of Pickham County and that is my primary concern.” This last statement was enunciated in a clear, firm voice, slightly louder than the rest of the sheriff’s remarks. Kupman and Shaklee couldn’t help exchanging raised eyebrows and simultaneously looking around for the recording device that they were sure was present.

  Klineman, no doubt assuming that they were shocked at his firm control of the situation, continued. “As of this moment, I am going to take supervisory control of the investigation.”

  “Really?” Shaklee said coolly, looking directly into the eyes of the sheriff. “And if we continue on the investigative ‘path’ we are on, what will you do?”

  “I will have you relieved.”

  Shaklee almost laughed. “Is that a fact? Perhaps I should enlighten you as to our roll here. We have been pulled into this investigation because we have the resources to support local, rural departments. Departments like yours, Sheriff.” He paused to let that sink in. “If you didn’t need us, we wouldn’t be here. Frankly, our superiors would love to get us off this case quickly. We have quite a substantial caseload as it is. But here’s the rub. We are what you get. There is no bullpen for you to go to and request another team. On top of that, there is enough evidence to suggest that the perpetrator is not from Pickham County, which, in effect, makes it a GBI case. In fact, with the additional evidence that Deputy Mackey has provided, it appears that the killer may be passing through from Texas, or some other state. That being the case, we would expect him to travel through a number of Georgia counties and cities, and that definitely makes this our case.” Shaklee stopped to let all of this register with Klineman.

  “Now let me speak frankly to you…Dick.” Klineman’s face turned a deeper more purple shade of red, almost maroon, Shaklee thought. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your reelection. An old man and young woman have been brutally murdered in your county. You might want to consider the effect on the good citizens of Pickham County and your political future if those crimes go unsolved.”

  “I won’t tolerate…”

  Shaklee cut him off. “You will tolerate it Sheriff.” He smiled at the sheriff and spoke calmly as if reasoning with a petulant child. “You have no choice. We have the resources and you don’t. We can make things very uncomfortable for you in the press should there be a lack of…shall we call it, mutual aid.”

  Klineman could do nothing more than blink. It was clear by the expression on his face that he was trying to absorb the fact that Shaklee had just threatened him.

  “But I will give you this promise,” Shaklee continued, looking around the room for the recording device he suspected was activated. He raised his voice a couple of decibels to make sure that what he said was picked up by any unseen microphone. “I give you my word Sheriff that when this case is solved, and I believe it will be, you will personally receive full credit. If the investigation is a dead end, the GBI, meaning I, will take the hit for it in the press. There will be no fallout for you.”

  “I don’t understand.” And the look on Klineman’s face showed that he truly could not grasp the reality of what he had just heard. Honesty and accountability were foreign concepts to him.

  “Understand this,” Sharon Price threw at him. “We will give you full credit for solving the case. If we fail, we will take all of the blame. I know that’s hard for you to comprehend, but there it is.”

  “One other thing,” Shaklee continued smilingly. “In the spirit of mutual aid, we would like to have one of your staff assigned to work with us on the investigation. As you have pointed out, there are a number of investigative avenues to pursue. W
e could use the help.”

  Trying to recover some of his dignity, Klineman squared his shoulders and cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, I think having one of my staff assigned as part of our mutual aid agreement in this investigation is important.” The pomposity was back in his voice, and it was amusingly clear to the others at the table that you just can’t keep a good politician down for long. “In light of the seriousness of the matter, I am inclined to have my most seasoned and experienced deputy work with you.” He turned towards Kupman continuing, “Chief Deputy please remove yourself from your normal responsibilities and begin working exclusively with Agents Shaklee and Price.”

  As the sheriff concluded and awaited acknowledgment from Kupman, Bob Shaklee clarified their request.

  “Sorry Sheriff, I don’t think I made myself clear. While we appreciate the offer of Chief Deputy Kupman’s services, we would like to have George Mackey assigned to work with us.”

  “He’s right. George has done some good work on the case and has the continuity with both crime scenes,” Ronnie Kupman added. “It’s the right move, Sheriff.” Kupman refrained from using Klineman’s first name again figuring that there was no reason to rub his nose in the dirt any more this day.

  “Well, as I said earlier…”

  “We know, we know,” Sharon Price interrupted. Her temper was on a short fuse, getting shorter all the time. “Mackey is a ‘marginal deputy with marginal skills’. That may be so, and if you are right, we will take the blame. If he works out, you get the credit. It’s a win win for you, so for god’s sake, let’s just move on.”

  “Yes, well…”

  This time Shaklee interrupted, tiring of the word games. “It’s a done deal. We will take Mackey on the assignment.” Then to help enlighten the sheriff and remove the puzzled look from his face he added, “This is not a negotiation Sheriff. We will take Mackey. My promise to you still holds, but taking Mackey is part of the deal.”

  “I see…”

  This time, Ronnie Kupman interrupted. “Good. It’s a deal then.” Standing up from the conference table, he looked at the GBI investigators. “We better get you checked into a hotel here in Everett. Pretty sure you’re gonna have an early start tomorrow. Gotta let George know too. Want him bright eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning.”

  Kupman strode to the door followed by the GBI agents. Sheriff Richard Klineman sat looking at his hands still clasped on the table. The pinhole camera and microphone in the center of the plaque behind his desk whirred softly, recording nothing more than the sheriff’s profile for several minutes.

  57. Just His Day

  The old pickup came to a rocking halt in the gravel outside the truck stop store. Clay let the door bang shut loudly behind as he walked quickly into the building. They had left Lyn in the cafe. He went there first.

  It was a quick walk around, waving the waitress off when she wanted to seat him. Checking all the tables and counter with no results, he went back through the store and crossed to the driver’s lounge. The sign on the door said ‘Professional Drivers Only’. Clay ignored it and walked in. It wasn’t much of a lounge. There were doors to the restrooms on one wall, a large television with some padded chairs scattered around it and an old sofa directly in front. Tables and more chairs were scattered along the other walls and throughout the room. A few drivers were at the tables, playing cards or eating snack foods from the store. There wasn’t much of a crowd there this time of day. Mostly truckers waiting for a load somewhere or letting some hours go by so that their driver’s log wouldn’t show too many road hours without down time if they were stopped by the police.

  Clay recognized one of the room’s occupants, sitting alone at a table in the corner. Henry had his left arm wrapped in a makeshift sling and a bandage covered his left temple. His face looked swollen. It was a mass of scratches and scrapes with dried blood. A large knot on his cheekbone was plainly visible even through the heavy flesh of Henry’s face.

  Clay walked over to the table. Pulling a chair back with his booted foot, he sat down across from Henry.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  Henry just sat there and looked at Clay. He cradled his left arm with his right.

  “None of your goddam business, I reckon. Who the hell are you?” he said after a few seconds of trying to stare Clay down. The attempt at intimidation was not successful. Clay knew Henry for what he was, a bully.

  Clay smiled slightly, “Fair enough,” he said. “None of my business. I seen you at the diner this morning out on I-95. Remember? My brother and me were having breakfast. Seen you there a few times before too.”

  “Oh?” Henry said in mock surprise, and then added sharply, “So the fuck what? You can get your ass up and move on.”

  Clay looked calmly back at the big blowhard.

  “For a fella that seems to have gotten the shit kicked out of him, you have an awful surly attitude,” he said with a smile, making it clear that he had no intention of moving.

  “I didn’t get no shit kicked out of me. I fell,” Henry said.

  “You fell? What the hell did you fall off of?”

  “Slipped getting out of my truck and hit the ground. Now get the hell outta here.”

  “Slipped my ass!” a big woman at the next table laughed loudly. Her hair was pulled back in a long gray ponytail. She looked like she could have been an aging member of some seventies rock band who had lived a very hard life. She was playing cards with another woman. Both wore blue jeans, men’s work shirts and heavy boots. They were drivers.

  Clay turned towards the woman as she continued.

  “Old Henry here got his ass whipped by some guy, about your size.”

  “Shut up!” Henry managed to hiss through clenched teeth and swollen lips. He would have gotten up to walk away, if he could have.

  “Shut up, yourself,” the woman said. “If I was you, I’d rather say I got beat in a fight than say I fell outta my truck like some dumbass rookie.”

  Clay smiled and nodded. “Yep, that does sound more…manly.” He turned towards the two women and continued, “What I was going to ask was if Henry or you have seen a girl. She’s about eighteen or so, thin with dark brown hair. I come to pick her up. She called me,” he added, as the women’s faces hardened and their eyes narrowed with looks of suspicion. “Have ya’ll seen her around. Left her here this morning and said I’d come back for her if she wanted. Can’t seem to find her.”

  They regarded him sternly for a few seconds more, the suspicion clearly lingering. They may have been drivers, but they were also women, and they knew what could happen to vulnerable young girls alone in the rough environment of over-the-road trucking.

  The one that had been quiet to this point spoke. “You left her here, huh?” She had bright red hair and a cigarette hanging from her lower lip. Laying her cards on the table, she stared at Clay.

  “Yeah. Told her we’d come back for her later.”

  “Well why would you do a thing like that? She working the truck stop for you?”

  Clay realized suddenly that the women thought he might have been pimping Lyn and answered quickly. “No, no. Nothing like that. We gave her a ride here. She was leaving home and going north. We didn’t like leaving her…”

  “We? Who is we?” Red asked, her suspicions not dispelled by his explanation.

  “My brother and me. We dropped her off cause that’s what she wanted, but we were worried about her and told her we would come back and get her. Hell, we tried to get her to go with us and stay with our mama.” He finished his explanation with a look of embarrassment.

  The two women looked steadily at him for a moment, studying him and weighing his words. Finally, Red said, still looking him hard in the face. “I guess you might be all right.” Old Gray nodded at her companion. “Yeah, we’ve seen her wandering around some today. At least there was a little girl that looked like the one you describe. Saw her a while ago sitting at the counter in the cafe with another fella. They
talked for a while, then he got up and she followed him out.”

  Clay felt his stomach sink.

  Red saw the look on his face and added, “I don’t know what they were doing. She didn’t look threatened or anything.”

  Old Gray added, with a tinge of guilt, “She just kind of walked out behind him. Couldn’t even tell if they were still together. Didn’t see where they went.”

  “No, couldn’t tell where they were headed,” Red added.

  It was clear that they had put away their initial suspicions about Clay’s motives and were now feeling embarrassed about not having intervened for the girl.

  Red gave a hard look in Henry’s direction and leaned towards Clay. “But there is something you ought to know.”

  “You sure?” Old Gray leaned closer to her companion, speaking in low tones. “We don’t need any trouble here.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” She looked at Clay, “Henry’s had his hands on my ass too many times for me not to know that if I were a little thing like that girl, he would have tried to have his way with me too.”

  Clay’s face turned dark and threatening as his head swiveled towards Henry. The injured man just sat looking at the table wishing this would all just go away. It was clear he did not want his ass kicked a second time that day.

  Clay turned back to Red, thunder on his face. “What happened?” His voice was almost inaudible as he tried to control the rage he felt building inside.

  Red went on, “Well it seems he got the little girl to go out to his truck with him. Got her up in the cab, but then this other fella came along and dragged him out and whipped his ass.” She paused, watching Clay’s fist clench and unclench on the table. After a few seconds, she continued, “Might have been the guy she sat at the counter with. I don’t know that. I never saw the guy who beat up Henry, but it might have been him at the counter. Bunch of us was sitting there talking just a couple of seats away, and we had the idea that he was the guy.”