by Bobby Cole
Prior to leaving Millie Brown’s house in his truck, he rapidly inventoried his resources. In the truck’s console he had a Browning Hi-Power 9 mm, semiautomatic pistol with a full magazine and one in the chamber. He also had a Browning .22 semiautomatic rifle with plenty of cartridges.
In his hunting pack, he had a small LED flashlight, a fifty-foot pull-up rope made from Dynex Dux 75 that he had gotten from a sailing buddy in Fairhope, and the typical accessories a hunter normally carried.
Behind the backseat were a couple of spring-operated beaver traps. He tossed them into his pack without much consideration as his mind raced to think what else he had that might be helpful.
Cooper grew excited when he remembered that he had stowed his scoped Thompson Center .243 under the backseat. He slid it back into its case when he realized that he didn’t have any ammo for it.
Looking at his pack, he knew that his main assets were the pistol and the element of surprise.
Cooper knew the general area of where he was going. It shared a property line with the land that he was trying to buy. He didn’t know who the owners were specifically, only that the estate never allowed any trespassing. The land was rolling hardwoods, with a few pine plantations, and very remote. The caller’s instructions would place him where he could sneak through the woods to the house and survey the situation.
Millie had fussed at him for leaving without any explanation as to where he was going and why he was in such a hurry and for not taking Haywood with him.
Cooper heard Millie holler, “Be careful!” from her front porch as he drove past.
If she only knew, he thought, doing a quick visual check of his 9 mm pistol to ensure that a round was in fact chambered.
CHAPTER 91
The Client was walking around the outside of the house, remembering his ugly past when he saw Grayson running toward the barn. He felt in his pocket for the shock collar remote. It wasn’t there. Hurrying to the car, he grabbed the remote and then jogged toward the barn to discipline his defiant little hostage.
Through clenched teeth, he said as he neared the barn, “Grayson. Grayson! Get your ass out here!”
Grayson’s silence mocked him, making him furious. “Grayson, I swear to God, I’m gonna hurt you if you don’t come out. I’m countin’ to three. Do you hear me? One, two… I mean it!”
The Client paused for effect, placed his finger over the red button, and smiled as he punched the shock button and whispered, “Three.”
Instantly Grayson screamed in agony at the top of his lungs and then started crying. Brooke was shrieking obscenities at him while beating and kicking the inside of the trunk.
The Client grinned and hit the button again, causing the desired response from both mother and son.
The evil man stood, feet spread shoulder-width apart, arms folded across his chest. “Okay, Grayson. Come out here this instant or I’ll shock the shit out of you again!” He felt in total control of everything.
“No! Please. It hurts. I’m comin’!”
When Grayson walked out sobbing, the man held up the remote and warned the boy, “I brought you here to teach you a few things. The first is to respect me. I don’t expect you to understand everything that’s goin’ on just yet, but I do expect you to obey—”
“You’re hurtin’ me,” Grayson interrupted, pulling at the zip ties preventing the collar from being unbuckled.
“I’m helping you… not hurting you. You’ve got to learn to embrace pain in order to grow. With time, you’ll like it, and then one day you’ll enjoy inflictin’ pain. I can’t wait for you to experience that for the first time! There’s an art to inflicting pain. I’m trying to teach you. It’s in your genes. You can’t resist the pull of your blood heritage. I know.”
“Please, Dad, take this off me,” Grayson begged while struggling with the collar.
“Quit whinin’ and pay attention. You and your mom will soon understand me, fear me, respect me, and love me,” he explained calmly as he walked toward his car.
Brooke’s screaming and pounding had not waned. He briefly considered letting her out, but was too anxious to check on his prize in the cellar. He quietly walked up to the trunk of his car and without warning slammed down his fist on the top yelling, “Shut the hell up, you crazy bitch!”
CHAPTER 92
Detective Obermeyer was exhausted from interviewing Gates Ballenger. All that it had accomplished was to make the detective more confused and frustrated. Gates could not tell the same story twice. Obermeyer quickly figured him for a pathological liar.
The detective knew that Gates had called Kelly on her cell phone two days before she disappeared and that was troubling to him. Obermeyer was trying to unravel the truth, and Gates didn’t seem to have it in him. Neither the FBI nor the Alabama Bureau of Investigation had any luck either. The question swirling around the investigation was whether Gates was really bright or a complete idiot.
And this was not Mitchell Holmes’s first rodeo. He was cool as ice and took the Fifth when questioned, until they mentioned Kelly’s kidnapping. At that point, he cooperated fully and offered more information than was required to make certain that they believed he wasn’t involved.
For the last few minutes Obermeyer had been meeting privately with his favorite newspaper reporter. In his mind, she smelled like heaven and was built to match. Obermeyer wanted her to appreciate his superior intellectual skills. He was suddenly aware of his extra weight and the plainness of his sport coat and shoes. This morning they had seemed conservative, durable, and efficient as he dressed. Now he was second-guessing his choices and also wishing that he knew about wine and fine foods so that if they went on a date, he could impress her.
Casually allowing his jacket to open, he hoped that she would notice his pistol, and that seeing it would make a positive impression. His firearm and leather shoulder holster were expensive and looked it.
She asked good questions, which he answered carefully. Her spectacular cleavage made concentrating difficult for him. They each stopped talking and acted busy—looking at their notepads and periodically writing—when another officer walked into the break room where they were sitting in metal chairs on opposite ends of an old six-foot-rectangular folding table.
She thought she was getting the skinny and would exploit her assets for an exclusive. Obermeyer promised to tell her more when he could. Her beauty was his weakness.
“So, basically, you think Cooper Dixon did it?” she asked under her breath when they were alone again.
“Sure looks that way, but I have this gnawing, uneasy feeling that there’s way more to this story that’s yet to be revealed,” he replied, paused for a moment, and then willfully struggled not to ask her to “stand by.” Then he said, “It’s a gut feeling. I’m also trying to understand Cooper’s motive, and he doesn’t have shit for an alibi. Excuse me.”
“That’s okay. I’m used to it. I guess crimes like these must put you under a lot of pressure,” she commented, slowly leaning forward.
Obermeyer struggled to look her in the eye. “You just don’t know what kind of pressure I’m under.”
“Here,” she said, handing him her business card. “My cell number‘s on the back if you get anything else you wanna tell me.”
This card was a trophy to the detective. He held it tightly with his right hand. “You’ll be the first to know.” His cell phone started ringing, but he seemed to not notice.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
Obermeyer saw that it was his commander calling. “Yeah, I need to. I’ll call you.”
The reporter whispered, “Thank you,” before grabbing her notebook and standing up. The big detective melted at the sight of her tight skirt.
“Detective Obermeyer,” he said before the phone touched his ear. He watched her glide out of the room.
“We just got a reliable tip from someone who works at MidState Bank.”
“MidState?”
“Yeah.”
“Stand by
.” The detective was trying to connect MidState with Cooper.
“Damn it! Don’t start that shit now; I don’t have time! This guy’s had several conversations with a Mark Wright about the bank buying Cooper’s business. Mark told our informant to ‘watch Cooper’s world implode.’ He said it like he was braggin’.”
“What’s Mark Wright’s involvement?”
“He works for the same bank, but what’s interesting is that Mark Wright’s ex-wife does a lot of work for Cooper’s agency.”
“That is interesting.”
“He said Mark’s a real oddball. He’s not suggesting that he did it, but he said Mark was positive something was gonna happen. Like he knew.”
“Stand by,” Obermeyer said, staring at the tabletop, soaking in all of this.
“Obermeyer, if you tell me to stand by one more time—,” the commander said immediately.
“Is his ex-wife’s name Brooke?” Obermeyer asked, looking back through his notes.
“You’re the detective; you tell me!”
“I see a connection. I need to talk to Mark Wright!”
“Go pick him up,” the commander directed. “Immediately!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“One more thing. The couple that witnessed the kidnapping found an unusual Coke bottle in their yard right where the incident occurred. They’d never seen one before until they saw Gates Ballenger on CNN with one. They just called and told me.”
The big detective was silent as his mind recalled everywhere he had seen the bottles.
“O? What are you thinkin’?”
“The only place I’ve ever seen those bottles was at Cooper Dixon’s house and office. They’re from Mexico.”
“Find out whose Mexican Cokes those are. If they are Cooper Dixon’s, then it really is beginning to pile up against him,” the commander stated.
“Yes, it is.”
CHAPTER 93
When Cooper was less than three miles from the point where the caller had told him to enter the woods, he checked his cell phone signal strength and then called James Longstreet, his attorney, to tell him what he was doing. That conversation didn’t go too well. Cooper gave details of his plan, but before he could tell him where he was, James Longstreet freaked out to the point that he was yelling at Cooper and then pleading with him. Cooper listened and tried to clarify, but there was no changing Mr. Longstreet’s opinion that this was a monumentally stupid idea. Cooper had to agree, but stated that he had to do it and hung up before he changed his mind.
Cooper slowed as he neared the location where he was to find the landmark mentioned in the directions—a new plastic wreath hanging on a white cross on the east side of the road. While he searched, a misting rain began to fall. When Cooper read Shynequa Riggins’s name on the cross, he knew he was in the right place. He hadn’t passed a house in several miles. The trees were tall and mature on both sides of the two-lane county road. The mist made the night feel even darker and obscured the moon and stars. He had been instructed to walk a half mile through the woods, due east from the cross. By so doing, he had been assured that his approach would not be noticed.
Cooper parked his truck in a flat spot just off the road. With shaking hands, he grabbed his hunting pack. He quickly checked his gear. Before zipping it shut, he noticed something Kelly had given him for Christmas the year before—a SPOT satellite personal locator beacon used to alert authorities of your position should you need emergency assistance. He slipped it into his back pocket.
Slinging his pack onto his back, he grabbed his weapons and took off through the dark in the direction that his rearview mirror compass indicated was east.
The early fall woods were thick with briars. He struggled through, hoping to pick up a game trail. He stopped briefly to listen. The forest was silent except for a distant owl hooting and dark with the exception of the rare lightning bug. When he started moving again, the damp leaves helped silence his steps. Cooper was anxious and prayed that he wasn’t walking into a trap. The image from the caller’s description of the house and of Kelly being tied to a cot in the cellar fueled his resolve that he was doing the right thing.
Periodically clicking on his small flashlight, he picked his way through the thick woods until he noticed red spider lilies blooming in a small cluster. He slowed his pace. The unique lilies were often found around old Southern homes and bloomed only in September, after rain. He knew these must have migrated down the hillside from an old home place.
As he went into a low creep toward the house, the unique scent of wet woods filled his nose. Briars entangled him as he crawled close enough to the ancient antebellum mansion to see dim lights burning in a few rooms. After several more feet, the drizzle let up enough for the moon to glow through the clouds. He could now see that the house was in terrible disrepair. Giant oak trees older than the home surrounded it. Bushes near the house were overgrown. Ivy grew around and up the huge columns and onto the second floor balcony over the entrance. The mansion appeared abandoned long ago. The incongruity of the new BMW parked in the tall weeds in front was stark.
Cooper quietly did another quick visual check of his pistol to ensure a round was chambered. He leaned the small rifle against a nearby tree and studied the house, searching for movement. The place appeared to have been built in the mid-1800s, most likely by a timber baron or wealthy planter. Any other day, Cooper would have been interested in the backstory of the mansion, but tonight he feared Kelly was suffering at the hand of a psychopath in the basement of the old place.
He was hunting—just like the mystery caller had suggested he do, and the stakes could not have been much higher. He crept through the underbrush toward the back of the mansion. Near the rear of the house, about thirty yards from the side opposite the barn, he bumped into a wrought iron fence. A moment later a dozen headstones came into focus. He squatted next to the one closest. Not wanting to use his flashlight, he couldn’t read the worn names or dates, but they were obviously very old. As he pushed a little further, he fell into a low spot. Looking around in the faint moonlight, he saw several sunken areas and realized these were unmarked graves. A chill went up his spine. Wiping sweat from his eyes, he continued around the house until he saw the old barn described by the caller. So far, so good.
Now, he had to slip undetected into the kitchen. Cooper stood, swallowed hard, and eased toward the house, squeezing the pistol in his right hand. I’ve not shot this thing nearly enough.
CHAPTER 94
The thudding of heavy, purposeful footsteps caused Kelly’s heart to race. Someone different was in the house. When she heard a child’s frightened muffled voice, she began to hyperventilate. Straining to recognize the voice, the jolting rise in blood pressure gave her a splitting headache.
She was terrified by the metallic sound of the lock as it keyed open. She immediately closed her eyes to feign unconsciousness from the drugs. The new footfalls were timid as though the person was trying not to be heard for some inconceivable reason, which was a terrifying thought. Kelly tried to be calm as the bare seventy-five-watt lightbulb clicked on. Through closed eyes, she could tell it was swinging and could hear the soft padding of feet stop beside her. She sensed being stared at. Her heart was in her throat. The thought of pleading with this captor raced through her mind, but something about his pace, smell, and demeanor terrified her. She silently prayed, thought of her family, and tried not to tremble—innate warning sirens were screaming that her life depended on it.
The Client stared down at Kelly, relishing what he had carefully masterminded. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead with his left hand. She looked gaunt and haggard. He didn’t care, as long as she stayed alive long enough to get his cash. He could see her shallow breathing and then noticed how chafed her skin was under the restraints. The thought of her struggling aroused him more. He considered exploring her body but knew he had too much to do and there would be ample time later. He would wait until she was awake, so he could see th
e fear in her eyes and enjoy her frantic, futile attempts to escape.
He walked to the far end of the room and slid the armoire about three feet to the right, exposing a dark, narrow dirt passageway. He checked the condition of the nearly invisible lightweight thread that he had installed to indicate if someone ventured down the tunnel into his family’s secret. Perfect. Just as I left it.
CHAPTER 95
Outside the Dixon home the media encampment had grown. Satellite trucks and reporters were everywhere. The neighbors were weary of the attention and worried for the family. The mainstream mass media was doing its job—making Cooper appear guilty without having all the facts and sensationalizing the entire matter. Kelly’s disappearance was the talk of the town, from gossiping housewives to the many state office buildings to the local AM talk radio station. Cooper Dixon was prosecuted and persecuted in the court of public opinion.
Inside the house, Donna was running the show, doing her best to hold her sister’s family together. Piper and Ben had not gone to school since Tuesday. They could not concentrate with the other kids asking millions of questions that obviously came from their parents. School was too stressful for Piper and Ben and too distracting for the other students… and faculty. The principal recommended that the children stay home until the situation was resolved. Kelly’s parents were also staying at the house. Cooper’s parents came early in the mornings and didn’t leave until late. The kids were rarely allowed outside. Everyone avoided the Dixons, except immediate family. The respective families were civil to each other, but with each passing day tensions increased and opposing claims of culpability were beginning to surface.
Millie did her best daily to comfort all of them, without revealing too many details, wisely telling them just enough to keep hope alive. Between her domestic duties, she helped the children wrap all the trees with yellow ribbons.