The Hunters Series: Volumes 1-3

by Glenn Trust

  The deputy’s hard blue eyes bored into Lee’s. Looking down, Lee noted the gold name plate on his chest. It read ‘Davies’.

  “Davies. That your name? Davies?”

  Sandy Davies made no reply.

  “Well, Deputy Davies, you best mind yourself. I got a lawyer in Atlanta just love to hear how you abused me.”

  The sound of tires moving on the hard packed surface of the clearing caused the deputy to turn his head. Standing up straight as the hearse passed, he seemed to be at attention. When the hearse disappeared down the road into the woods, he turned back to Lee.

  “Get in.” Sandy Davies’ voice was soft, but firm.

  “What you got to try and be such a hard ass for? You…”

  Davies pushed Lee back on the seat and leaned over him, speaking softly. “Here’s how it’s going to be, asshole. You will not say another word. If you do, I will save the State of Georgia the cost of the drugs they’re going to use to end your useless life. It’s a long ride back to Everett, and some gator is going to have a nice supper tonight.” The blue eyes bored into Lee’s once more. “You understand?”

  Simon Lee pulled his legs into the prisoner compartment of the pickup and squirmed around until he was facing forward. The door slammed shut, and the deputy walked around to the driver’s side.

  The county pickup followed slowly behind the hearse carrying the body of Chief Deputy Ronnie Kupman all the way back to Everett. Deputy Sandy Davies sat straight, staring at the back of the hearse. It was like he was in church, Lee thought, but Simon Lee did not move, and he said nothing.

  *****

  Sitting behind the prisoner screen in the back of the APD car, Terrell Perkins spoke.

  “Where you taking me?”

  Gary Poncinelli looked in the rearview mirror at the prisoner. Freddy Hurst turned his head slightly and said, “Jackson.”

  “Why Jackson? I helped didn’t I?”

  Hurst nodded in affirmation. “You helped, Terrell.”

  “So why I gotta go to Jackson?” Perkins seemed honestly confused. “We gonna have a deal, right?”

  “Yeah, we have a deal, I guess.” Hurst turned his head so he could look Terrell in the eyes. “Deal is, we will try to keep you from going to death row.”

  “Then why Jackson? That’s the death row place. Why you taking me there?”

  “Security,” Hurst said simply.

  “Security? What’s that mean…SECURITY?” Perkins said the word as if it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

  “It means, Terrell, that if we put you in the Fulton County lockup, and the brothers find out you capped Judge Marswell, you won’t have enough eyes in the back of your head to watch for the blade someone is going to shove up your ass.” Hurst smiled. “We can keep you secure at Jackson. Wouldn’t want anybody shoving anything up your ass, would we?”

  “Why they wanna do that? He was just a judge. He wasn’t nobody.” Truly confused, his words were pleading as he tried to comprehend the reason that his inmate brothers would hold it against him for killing a judge.

  Lieutenant Fred Hurst had grown up in a neighborhood not far from the projects that Perkins had roamed as a youth. The young man in the back seat had taken the life of a hero who had risked his life, time and again, for the rights of young black men, including Frederick Hurst and Terrell Perkins.

  He made no reply to Perkins. There was nothing to say. The thought that Perkins had snuffed out the life of a great man without even knowing who he was made it all seem more tragic and terrible. Nothing would change that.

  *****

  Slamming the phone down, Elizabeth Crestline slumped back in her high-backed leather chair. The son-of-a-bitching sheriff of Pickham County had no more information today than any other day. His chief deputy is murdered, and he knows nothing. A GBI agent is nearly murdered, and he knows nothing. His deputies make an arrest under the authority of the GBI task force, and he knows nothing. Why is that?

  She sat pondering that question, gazing across the polished expanse of her cherry desk. Why does he know nothing? She knew the GBI did not trust him; at least, Shaklee did not. But his own deputies were withholding information from him under color of the GBI task force. How the hell does a man that nobody respects get elected to the office of sheriff?

  A wry smile crossed her face at that thought as she answered her question for herself. Better to ask how half the politicians in the state got elected. She knew the answer. She was part of the process. It took money and influence. Having a viable, articulate candidate who held the respect of the community was helpful, but not always essential, given the right amount of money and influence.

  Most disconcerting of all was the lack of any communication from Montgomery or Greene. She had been calling their private numbers and the special number they had given her for all communications relating to the task force since the previous night. There was no answer. No one had returned her calls or responded to her voice mail messages. Very disconcerting.

  The annoying buzz of the intercom line sounded on her phone console. Leaning forward she jerked the phone up.

  “What?” Her tone was impatient and brusque, as it always was, and did not rattle her assistant.

  “The governor would like you to come to his office, boss.”

  “Why?” She sighed deeply. The man was helpless. “What now?”

  “I don’t have that information. His assistant called and said for you to report to the governor.”

  Report to the governor. Those were not the usual words requesting her presence. Another sigh. “All right.” She started to hang up.

  “Elizabeth, she said to make sure I let you know the governor wants you now.”

  “All right!” Crestline slammed the phone down and pushed away from the desk.

  Striding briskly through her office door into the reception area, she avoided eye contact with Pete Sims, her long-time assistant, and one of the few who could tolerate her temperamental swings and the profanity she flung habitually at all of her staff. Stepping into the hallway, her heels clicked loudly on the wood planks as she strode with purpose to the governor’s office fifty feet away from hers. She paused briefly at the heavy, paneled oak door and then opened it and stepped into the governor’s reception area.

  “Good morning.” The governor’s assistant smiled pleasantly and nodded at the second heavy wooden door to her right. “The governor is waiting for you. Please go in.”

  Ignoring the smile and greeting, Crestline pushed the door open and walked into the office of the chief executive of the State of Georgia. Seated on the sofa by the window, the governor placed the china coffee cup he held on the coffee table and smiled at her.

  “Good morning, Elizabeth.” He waited politely for her greeting.

  Eyeing the others present in the office, she replied with an uncertain nod of her head and an uncharacteristic hesitation. “Uh…good morning, sir.”

  “Elizabeth,” the governor said pleasantly, the smile never leaving his face. “What the fuck have you been up to, Elizabeth?”

  Her eyes darted to Bob Shaklee seated with Perry Boyd in chairs that flanked the large window. Through the window, the gold dome of the capitol was visible. It glittered brightly, the morning sun reflecting off the gold leaf from Dahlonega, Georgia, site of the first gold rush in the country. Sparkling back into her eyes, the effect was hypnotic and, for a moment, took her out of the office.

  The governor’s soft voice, full of southern gentility, brought her back. “Elizabeth, I believe you know Agent Shaklee of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. He has some questions for you.”

  *****

  “Damage?”

  The dishes had been cleared, the coffee served, and the four men were alone. The senior member of the group sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap, his coffee untouched as he waited for a reply.

  Silence hung heavily over the group as his narrow eyes moved from face to face. After several seconds, one of the group gathered up
the courage to reply.

  “Unknown.”

  With startling speed, the thin fist came down on the table, rattling the coffee cups. “Unknown is not an acceptable answer!”

  The member of the group, from his own political party, placed his hand on the arm of the senior member and spoke calmly. “It may not be acceptable, but it is the truth. We have no idea what is happening.” He looked across the table at the other two pale faces who nodded back, allowing him to be the one to provide the briefing. “Montgomery and Greene were picked up along with some other…shall we call them, members of the team. They are in the custody of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. We have no indication that they have said anything about the involvement of anyone here.”

  “Involvement! There is no involvement. You heard me tell them that we were not sanctioning their activities!”

  “Yes…well, saying the words and proving it in court may be two entirely different things. At any rate, there is no indication that they are talking.” He looked the senior member in the eyes, gaining his full attention. “Yet.”

  “Yet?” His head swiveled on his thin neck looking at each of the men at the table and then back to the man who had been designated as the one to bear the brunt of the senior member’s wrath and acerbic tongue. “Yet? What are you saying?”

  “It’s very simple. Montgomery and Greene will not go down easily or quickly, but given enough time and facing the very serious consequences of an impending trial, they will go down. We must accept that as a given.”

  “So, you are saying that we have no options.”

  “No, I’m saying that we have one option.”

  The senior member nodded, understanding washing across his face. “Yes, I see you are correct. We do have an option. One option.” He looked at the others around the table and spoke directly to his counterpart in the senate from the opposite side of the aisle. “You’re from a bordering state. I think it should be you who makes contact.” The senator nodded, not daring to disagree. “Yes, you make contact. Offer support, condolences, and words of friendship after so many years of service together. That will not be out of place or a reason for suspicion.” He looked up at the ceiling considering how the offer might be made to the two men in the custody of the GBI. “There are several bills currently in committee and soon to come before the Senate and House. They provide any number of possibilities. Private lands to be bought by the government for public projects, contracts to be awarded for public works, purchases for materials, company stocks that will rise in value once the contracts are awarded.” Taking his eyes from the ceiling, he looked each of the others in the eye with that burning intensity that was not always obvious on camera, but which each of the men at the table had experienced personally. “I think a trust fund for some family member of each, funded anonymously by a third party.” He nodded to himself, approving the plan for everyone present. “Yes, that is it. Make sure it is well capitalized. Take no chances. They should know that the year or two spent in some low security prison will be fully compensated.”

  Standing and, tossing the white linen napkin on the table, he said, “Make your contacts. Make your arrangements and make it happen.” He strode from the room leaving the details to the others. He was not the senior member of the group for lack of knowing how to be somewhere else when necessary.

  *****

  Creaking slightly on its hinges, the white painted door swung inward. The young man holding it had rushed home from the university after receiving the call from his mother. Paul Kupman was tall and thin, a younger version of his father. He glared at the man at the door.

  Standing with his hands folded in front, one over the other, his head slightly bowed, Richard Klineman stood respectfully on the small concrete porch of the small brick house smiling a small sympathetic smile at the young man. He was the perfect picture of the friend come to pay his respects to the grieving widow. Except he was not a friend, and young Paul Kupman knew it.

  “What can I do for you?” The young man’s voice was firm and direct. He stepped onto the porch letting the door shut behind him. His mother was grieving, and he would not have this man, sheriff or not, add one bit to her pain.

  “Just want to pay my respects to your mother,” Klineman said, still smiling. “And to you,” he added. “There are arrangements to make…”

  The door swung open. Teresa Kupman stood red-eyed behind her son. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “What is it we can do for you, Richard?” Her voice was soft and tired, wearied by grief.

  “Not for me, Teresa, for you. I was telling young Paul here that I came to pay my respects and to help you with the arrangements.”

  “Thank you, Richard, but there is no need. Pastor Delbert from the church is handling all of that for us.”

  “Yes, but, your husband deserves a full police funeral, with honors and…”

  She nodded and looked the sheriff firmly in the eyes. “Yes, he does. Ronnie died a hero, saving lives.”

  Paul Kupman raised a hand to his eyes and brushed at the tears that slid over his young cheeks. His mother’s arm dropped from his shoulder. Stepping forward by his side, she placed her arm around his waist and pulled him close as she spoke to Klineman.

  “Ronnie died a hero, and he will have a hero’s funeral. We will see to it.”

  Klineman nodded and smiled. “Good. There are a few things I’d like to say, a few remarks about your husband’s service to Pickham County. I’d like to coordinate them with Pastor Delbert and…”

  “No.”

  “No?” Klineman’s eyebrows rose, perplexed.

  “No,” Teresa Kupman said firmly, holding tight to her son. “No. I won’t have Ronnie’s funeral turned into a soapbox for you or anyone else. I don’t care what happens in the election. Ronnie died a hero giving his life for others, and I will not have his funeral turned into a campaign speech. He will be remembered, not the speeches or the politicians. My husband will be remembered.”

  “Yes, but Teresa, you don’t understand. I…”

  “No.” It was final. “You will not be speaking at my husband’s funeral, Sheriff Klineman.”

  The door did not slam in his face, but it closed firmly and with finality.

  *****

  “Dead?”

  Andy Barnes nodded his head. “Yes, dead.”

  It had been a long day. It was the same day, in fact, that the end had come for Rodney Puckett and Bud Thompson on the causeway across the marsh. Once the crime scene had been taken over by the county and state troopers and Andy had given his report of events, he and Rince had flown back to DeKalb Peachtree Airport. The Georgia Department of Public Safety had sent another plane for them, ordered by Agent Shaklee of the GBI. Rince’s Cessna had too many bullet holes in it. They required repair before the plane could be certified to fly again.

  Back in Atlanta, the two had stood quietly on the tarmac saying goodbye. Johnny Rincefield squinted out from the bandage over his eye. Glass fragments from the bullet impacts with the cockpit window had cut his face, but fortunately missed his eyes. He would be flying again soon.

  “Thank you for what you did. It was…heroic.” Andy meant what he said. Without Rince, the two killers would have most likely escaped, disappearing into the I-95 traffic.

  Rince said nothing. He didn’t feel like a hero.

  “Soon,” Andy said, as a goodbye, putting his hand out.

  “Soon,” Rince replied with his normal happy grin.

  Shaking hands, they separated to their respective duties.

  Picking up the APD car he had left in the lot the morning before, Andy drove home to change clothes and give his wife and children a hug. Now, he sat in Perry Boyd’s office giving his briefing.

  Eyes fixed on Lauralee Somerhill’s face, he nodded and repeated, “Dead. We have identified the man who killed your husband as Robert ‘Bud’ Thompson. He was killed early this morning.”

  “How?” The widow of Senator Somerhill was composed, her voice businesslik
e and dispassionate. She wanted the facts and would not be denied.

  Andy gave a brief account of the chase through the swamp country, mentioning Rince’s attempts to prevent the two killers from escaping, and describing his impact in the Pickham County pickup with the killers’ vehicle, pushing it over into the water.

  He concluded his explanation of events. “When we recovered the bodies, it appeared that he had been pinned under the vehicle and drowned.”

  Mrs. Somerhill nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. “And the other?”

  “Dead also. Shot.”

  “By you?”

  Andy nodded, making no other reply.

  Her face softened. “I’m sure you had no choice, Detective Barnes.”

  Choice. It was an interesting concept. Choice? Andy wondered what choices anyone had. It had seemed over the last few days that they had been sucked along by events. Choice had not seemed to enter into the equation.

  Straightening her back and clasping her hands firmly in her lap, as if for support, Lauralee moved to the next item on her agenda. “And my son? PT? Can you tell me what is his involvement in all of this?”

  Perry Boyd leaned forward across his desk. The next part of the briefing would not be as easy. “We took him into custody yesterday.”

  “I know that. My daughter-in-law called and then I saw it on the news. Tell me what he is accused of.”

  “At this point, your son, along with Edward Pascal, Charles Montgomery and Clarence Greene, is accused of conspiracy to commit murder. There may be other charges brought.” Boyd shrugged. “In truth, there will almost certainly be other charges. You will want to see about retaining counsel for your son."

  Looking from Boyd to Barnes and back, her eyes filled with tears. “He took my husband away, the love of my life. The man, who played ball with his only son in the yard, went to all of his football games, paid for his education, took him into his law practice, loved him more than his own life. He helped kill his own father.” She paused and looked down at her hands folded in her lap as her tears fell softly onto her hands. “He can find his own attorney. I won’t be part of it.”