by Bobby Cole
He devised what he thought was an ingenious improvisational second act. Smiling as he sipped a cold beer, he slowly closed his eyes and envisioned exactly what he wanted, needed, and felt he deserved.
Picking up the small cell phone the kidnappers had given him, he looked at its call history. Only one recent incoming call. With the remote control, he turned down the music and then hit Return Call. As he put the phone to his ear, he bounced both feet to a beat only in his mind.
Clarence was lying on the couch with the old air conditioner blowing on him when his cell phone rang. He sat up, noticed the number, and swore under his breath. He hit the button to accept the call.
He thought before he spoke, not wanting to say anything incriminating in case the Client was recording the conversation: “Speak to me” was all he said.
“I’ll add an extra five grand if you’ll wait till tomorrow night around eight.”
Clarence didn’t say anything after the Client paused, so he continued, “Okay, here’s the deal, I’ll bring you all the money, and then y’all leave immediately,” the Client said rapidly. “Take all your shit and get gone.”
Clarence thought for a few seconds. “Deal. Just bring cash. All of it, or I swear to you, I’m gonna stomp the dog shit outta you on the spot.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get what’s comin’ to ya,” he replied and hit End Call.
“That crazy-ass redneck!” Clarence exclaimed. “Hang up on me! I swear I’ll… Jenny! Jesse Ray! We’re outta here tomorrow night.”
“Hell yeah… that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!” Jesse Ray yelled, looking up from his laptop.
“We get paid and turn this haunted house over to him.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard since we started this job. I hate this place,” Jesse Ray added.
“I don’t like it… he could be settin’ us up for something,” Jenny said with suspicion.
“Yeah, you’re right. Regardless, Jesse Ray, get Maynard to help you start getting organized and cleaning up and wiping the place down.”
“Anything to get outta here. I need some sleep. This spooky-ass place is wearin’ on me!”
CHAPTER 79
THURSDAY—DAY 5
Dawn cracked as Cooper sat on the tailgate of his truck, parked behind the Browns’ barn. With tears in his eyes, he rubbed his dog’s head resting in his lap. He hardly noticed the squeals of a small group of wood ducks that came in low to his left to land on the oxbow lake behind the house.
Millie had talked to him until well past midnight, probing and preaching. She knew he was wanted and that he didn’t have many options for cash. He explained that he couldn’t go home, his bank accounts were closed, his credit cards weren’t working, and he had less than eighty dollars in his billfold. He explained that he wasn’t going to allow himself to be arrested, and he was going to find Kelly himself. He had planned to hire a private investigator and seek the volunteer assistance of Texas EquuSearch—the Houston suburb–based search-and-rescue outfit best known for its involvement in the searches for Caylee Anthony and Natalee Holloway. He was grasping for whatever straw might hold some hope.
Earlier, Cooper had been watching a repeat of the news story about him when Millie and Haywood walked into the room. In Haywood’s hand was a large Mason jar filled with cash. Without hesitation, Millie took the jar and then handed it to Cooper. She stated that they wanted him to have it, to use it to find Kelly and clear his name. It was their life savings—everything they had, and they offered it to him. He was stunned and touched by their heartfelt generosity. Millie’s eyes shone with love; Haywood’s with resolve and support.
Cooper had protested that he couldn’t take their money, but the fact was it presented his only lifeline to Kelly. Operating under the radar required cash. He needed cash to pay for assistance or to at least make down payments.
Reluctantly, he agreed to take $3,000 and insisted that they take, for collateral, his Rolex Submariner—a generous and grateful client had given it to him for his stellar work when her company successfully went public.
“This is just a loan. I promise, you’ll get it back,” Cooper said as he stood to leave.
“You go get Kelly,” Millie said, giving him a big hug.
Haywood shook his hand and then pointed at Cooper’s heart. “You gotta do whatja need to do to make this right or you’ll be regretin’ it fo the rest of your life.” Haywood continued after a moment’s pause to let that sink in, “And you’re welcome to all the rest of da money iffin you need it.”
Cooper was deep in thought about last night when Dixie suddenly sat up next to him to watch the ducks pitch in behind the cypress trees. As the sun shone through the trees, Cooper began to feel energized. He decided to call his attorney, to have him communicate on his behalf with the police. Regardless of the risk of being located by his BlackBerry, he knew whom he needed to call.
Rubbing Dixie’s head, he waited for the device to power up. Within seconds it vibrated, alerting him to awaiting text messages and e-mails. Clicking on the icons, he saw his usual daily e-mails and at least a dozen others offering support or wanting details. Sandwiched in the middle of the list of text messages was one from a south Alabama area code and number that he didn’t recognize.
Scrolling down and clicking on the text, he opened it and read aloud: “having fun yet asshole!!!!”
Cooper read it twice and then looked again at the number. His heart raced as he punched in the number and hit Send. Listening to it ring endlessly, he ended the call and then clicked on the number to text a reply message. Pissed off, he quickly typed, “You’re the asshole! When I find out who you are, I’m going to kill you!” He stared at the screen, breathing heavily.
Dixie nudged Cooper’s hand, looking for more rubbing. Cooper did so and said, “Thanks, Buddy,” and then deleted the text before it sent. As his heart rate returned to what was passing for normal since Sunday morning, he composed his thoughts and typed, “Who is this? I want my wife back! Please! Tell me what you want,” and hurriedly hit Send.
CHAPTER 80
Detective Obermeyer stood in the corner like a marine awaiting orders. Several other officers and local governmental officials slouched in chairs, drinking coffee.
Obermeyer’s commander read an update on the night’s events and then turned the meeting over to the DA.
“Okay, people, let’s settle down. Thank you. I wanted to address y’all regarding the Dixon case. As you know, the media’s in a feedin’ frenzy, and I don’t want them turnin’ their scrutiny on me, the city… or the police department,” the well-dressed district attorney explained, obviously overwhelmed. He had his smartest, most trusted advisors in the room, even those he didn’t like.
Initially he wanted the television coverage and the potential glory, but he quickly realized the media groups were going to be relentless in their pursuit of a story. His interactions with the national contingent had left the distinct impression that they had no qualms with regard to creating a sensationalized version of the Dixon case. They were not going to let the facts get in the way of a good story. So he decided it prudent to lay low from then on, focusing on actually solving the crime and getting convictions of the perpetrators rather than leveraging the exposure.
The DA, not able to turn off the politician within, continued, “This case occurred here, but it does not define us. It is not what Montgomery’s about… we’ve got such a great city, with air force bases, the state’s Capitol, with all types of industry, and we’re ground zero for the civil rights movement. We’re not going to be portrayed as a city of delusional men kidnapping and killing their wives to collect insurance monies in order to buy huntin’ land.”
Obermeyer was gritting his teeth in anticipation of where the DA was going with this line of comments.
“I never thought this was a ‘real’ kidnapping from the beginning, but the more it unfolds, we have to give the Vaughn Park event credence. I called a friend at the FBI. Until we kn
ow for sure, they’ll be assisting, in a supportive capacity… only. The problem is the media has—”
“Made this a national spectacle, and it’s an election year?” Obermeyer interrupted, with no attempt to mask his contempt.
Glaring at the detective, the DA took a deep breath and then pointed at him, saying, “Thank you, Obermeyer. I wish we all could be so freakin’ perfect, like you. But we aren’t, and yes, this could ultimately burn my ass. It could also burn all of us. I’d like for y’all to remember that.
“Detective Obermeyer, I know we’ve had our problems. You do everything by the book. I respect that. I’m just simply askin’ that all of you keep me informed and help protect all of us. No one in this room wants any of us to be made fools by those media vultures.”
Obermeyer said, “Play by the book and make good choices, and you won’t have any issues with me.”
“That’s enough!” the commander yelled, looking at both of them. She stood and then said, “Let’s worry about finding Kelly Dixon. The first step in doing that is getting her husband in here. Then we can put the heat to him and find out what he’s done with her… and to her.”
Every officer in the room nodded in agreement, and there were more than a few, “Yes, ma’ams!”
The DA interrupted by asking, “Do we have any additional facts since our last meeting?”
“Not really,” replied Obermeyer.
The DA let out a deep breath. “What about an alibi?”
“It’s weak. He says he was at his hunting camp by himself. Nobody can substantiate his story or refute it, actually. There are about twenty hours that are not accounted for to my satisfaction. His business partner’s lying his ass off, covering up something. He did finally admit that he was surprised when Cooper didn’t show up for the Auburn game. They had important clients to entertain. Cooper was aware of this, and the day before said that he would be there.”
“What’s the latest on tracking Dixon?”
The lead tech officer stood and said, “Sir, we’ve been monitoring his phones—no pings on his cell, and he hasn’t called home. All of his personal credit cards and his wife’s are inactive as of Saturday, so no real leads there. We know that Mrs. Dixon’s attempt to charge clothing on Saturday was denied by the credit card company. And as soon as the company replies to our subpoena, we’ll know exactly why those charges were declined—whether they are maxed out or failed to pay their bill. We’re also monitoring his business cards. No activity there. There has not been any banking or ATM activity either.”
The commander let out a deep sigh and reluctantly asked, “Obermeyer, got any ideas on how to find this guy?”
Obermeyer nodded, and then held up a hand.
“What?”
“Stand by.”
“Dammit, O. What the hell’s on your mind?”
“What if we tricked him into believing that we found his wife?”
The group was silent.
“If he’s innocent, he should come racing in. If he’s guilty, he’ll smell a rat and run. At least we’ll know.”
Everyone turned and looked at the DA. Exhausted from the stress of the kidnapping, rapes, and relentless media attention, he exhaled deeply and after a moment’s thought, said, “It’s actually not a bad idea. If you don’t have a handle on his location by dark, we’ll consider it.”
He then looked over at the commander and said, “Better inform the top brass what we’re up to. The chief will back us up.”
CHAPTER 81
James Longstreet had survived a hard night at the Montgomery Country Club, drinking Highland Park eighteen-year-old single malt scotch with his poker buddies. When the phone rang at 6:05 a.m., he couldn’t fathom who would be calling him. All his kids were grown, and his wife was on a trip to Greenwood, Mississippi, for a cooking class at Viking. He had planned to sleep late and then for the rest of the day watch a Through the Wormhole marathon on the Science Channel. He was one of the finest criminal defense attorneys in the city, and he had been a personal friend of Cooper’s for many years. At this stage in life, he basically did only what he wanted, when he wanted.
He cleared his throat before answering the phone, “Hello?”
“Mr. Longstreet? It’s Cooper.”
“Cooper Dixon?” he answered, shaking himself awake.
“Yes, sir. I need your help. I know now that I shoulda called days ago.”
“Is this your one phone call, son?”
“Not exactly. But that’s why I’m callin’. The cops wanna arrest me. They think I did it.”
“That’s all everybody in town’s talkin’ about. Shit fire, it’s all over the news. National news. I was wonderin’ if you had counsel and hoped that you’d call. You’re a hot item.”
“I know. It’s crazy. I’m being framed, and I need a lawyer.”
James Longstreet swung his feet to the floor, stood up, and began pacing with his cordless phone.
“Okay, now, you got one. Where are you?”
“I don’t want to say over the cell phone. But I’m not comin’ in to get arrested.”
“We have to meet.”
“I gotta move carefully. I don’t know who to trust. Somebody’s frozen my bank accounts, none of my personal credit cards are working, and I’m not gonna get locked up and railroaded for somethin’ I didn’t do.”
“Cooper, listen. We have to meet. You know that you can trust me. Don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. We can meet, but first I need you to speak to the police for me. There’s this detective. Detective Obermeyer. I need you to talk to him and tell him that I didn’t do it and that I’m tryin’ to find out who did, and the cops need to do the same. They need to quit wastin’ time lookin’ at me for this.”
“I’ll do that, but you really need to cooperate with them. The news has put forward a good case of your guilt. I’m not asking… I actually don’t want to know… but I tell ya, Cooper, you’re lookin’ damn guilty. I don’t believe it. I’m just tellin’ you how it looks.”
“I know, Mr. Longstreet. I’m bein’ set up for some reason. That’s why I can’t come in. I just got this text, and I think whoever kidnapped Kelly is about to start communicatin’ with me.”
“Are you serious? If you have any information, we need to go to the police with it. They really do know how to handle these situations. I have friends down there.”
“Not until I know more. Somebody who knows me very well is behind this. I have some e-mails you need to see.”
“Okay, but Cooper, they’ll find you if you keep your cell phone turned on.”
“I know. Look, just buy me some time. I’ve got a phone number I need you to track down. I’ll call you every two hours on the hour and check in. Until then, I’m turnin’ it off.”
“How are you gonna do this? How are you planning on hidin’ at the same time?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m just doin’ the best I can.”
“I understand. Be careful. Can you get to a landline and call me back? They wouldn’t tap my line even if they knew I was your lawyer. Find one and take a few minutes to bring me up to speed. Then go do whatever you need to do. I gotta know a few details first, and I’ll make arrangements to drop you a prepaid cell that we can talk on anytime. You gotta get off that one. Pull the battery. It’s not gonna be easy defending a man on the run, particularly one who’s bein’ persecuted by the media, by the national media, like you are, and when they learn, and they will, that you now have counsel, it’ll get much worse because you’re refusing to come in.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”
“And Cooper, listen to me, they are crucifyin’ you.”
“I’ve seen some of it. That’s why I need you and need to be free, so I can fix this.” Cooper broke the connection but, ignoring the risks, left the phone on for a few more minutes, hoping for a response to his text.
CHAPTER 82
The key rattling in the padlock woke Kelly. She knew that th
ey were coming down to administer more drugs. She had the port pulled out again and prayed that this time it worked. They never suspected she was responsible for the other times it was loose. The mental fog was still thick, and her muscles ached from inactivity. The cool, musty air of the cellar now had undertones of human waste.
Her captors had not hurt her and had, in fact, worked to ensure that she was well cared for. Whenever possible, she attempted to talk to them, but they never answered her questions. The more she asked, the faster they worked to put her back under. No one ever made eye contact.
A skinny white man sauntered down the basement steps wearing a Sammy Davis Jr. mask. This was the first time she had seen this guy, and she began shaking. She was humiliated, her spirit almost broken. Being tied up for days, uncertain of her future, and thinking of Cooper, her children, and her life had taken a significant toll.
Sammy Davis Jr. stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking around the room and finally at Kelly, making eye contact.
“Please help me… please,” she begged with fear in her voice and tears in her eyes.
“Are you hurt?”
Kelly sobbed and nodded her head. “Yes, and I wanna go home. I have kids. Please.”
Maynard took a step toward her and quickly glanced up at the top of the stairs.
“Why are you doin’ this?” she asked.
“Money,” he whispered back.
Kelly tried to understand. Money? What money?
She said, “Please help me. I’ll die if I keep lying here. I’ll pay you if you help me.”