“What if he’s right, Bart? What if Earl is still alive?” Glenn said. “That means we’re not murderers.”
Bart smelled a skunk in the works. Why had the sheriff paid a sudden visit to Glenn and dropped a bombshell?
“You realize that is impossible,” Bart declared. “He burned up that night. He was dead on the floor. I couldn’t find a pulse. He was dead - trust me.”
Bart was lying. He had, in fact, bent over the prone frame of Earl Cutts that night after hitting him in the head with his pistol. However, the bar owner did have a pulse, something Bart kept secret from his partners in crime for all these years.
Bart realized even back then that he would be prosecuted for the attack on the old man unless the others had something to lose. By convincing them Cutts was dead, he enlisted them in his plan to cover up the crime by burning the Red Dog to the ground. Even as the flames swept through the old bar, Bart knew each of the members had a stake in what happened. Their mutual involvement had ensured their silence all through the years - at least until now.
Bart also had an even more sinister motive when he tossed the lit cigarette into the gas-soaked bar that night. He realized with Cutts gone there would be a vacuum in the vice industry in Castle County. The tavern owner dealt in just about anything immoral or illegal. And he was right. Bart took over the drug distribution, promotion of prostitution and stolen goods fencing concessions in the area after Cutts was gone. His decision to eliminate the old man proved to be the best business move he ever made as even now, more than twenty years later, he continued making himself rich by profiting off the vices of others. It was also his less-than-legal enterprises that left him and Sheriff Delaney on bad terms. The lawman knew Bart was dirty but was unable to prove it, much to his chagrin.
Actually, the sheriff didn't know the half of it. The car dealership Bart owned was merely a cover to mask his illegal endeavors. Frankly, Bart could care less if he made one red cent on his car lot as it was just a conduit for laundering his dirty money. At the end of the day, Bart saw himself as some kind of Godfather, heading a small-town Mafia. So long as his drug dealers were dealing, his hookers were hooking and his thieves were thieving, he was a happy man. Anyone who threatened his little crime kingdom would pay dearly. Stevie and Rhody weren't Bart's first contributions to Castle Lake.
While Bart knew Earl Cutts was not dead when he lit the fire, he had assumed the blaze consumed the unconscious tavern-owner thereby silencing the potential witness and business competitor forever. Now, Glenn was on the other end of the line suggesting Cutts survived the inferno that evening.
“The sheriff is just pulling your strings, trying to get you to talk,” Bart replied “We need to just keep quiet and everything will be fine.”
Glenn sighed loudly on the other end of the line. The sound told Bart the mayor was losing confidence in him.
“Things aren’t going to be fine,” Glenn retorted. “If things go as they have, one of us is going to die tonight.”
Glenn was right. There were four killings in four nights, Rhody courtesy of Bart’s own hand.
“Whether you believe me or not, the dark man was out to get me last night,” Glenn said in a low voice, still embarrassed to tell his wild story despite the fact he knew it was true. “He will be back tonight for either me, you or ... ”
“Or who?” Bart interrupted. “I told you to be careful what you say. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t part of what we did.”
“Regardless, we have to take steps to protect ourselves,” Glenn said. “I think we need to talk to the sheriff. We don’t have to tell everything; just enough where we can maybe catch the killer.”
The very mention of “coming clean” when it came to the Red Dog was not anything Bart would ever consider. What happened there would always stay buried as long as he had anything to say about it.
“Are you crazy?” Bart asked. “We can’t tell anyone, and I do mean anyone. We have to stick together.”
“I don’t know ...” Glenn trailed off.
“I thought you were leaving town until this all blew over,” Bart noted. "What are you still doing here anyway?"
“The airport shut down early because of the weather moving in and then the roads started getting bad,” Glenn said. “I suppose that leaves me stuck, for the time being anyway. I’m already packed and ready to go.”
Bart quickly formulated a plan given that Glenn would not be able to get out of town, and thereby out of the sheriff’s jurisdiction. So long as he remained in town there was a chance he would spill his guts to the lawman in hopes of saving his own neck.
“You need to get out of there,” Bart said.
“What do you mean?” Glenn responded.
“I mean that being alone there is just asking for it,” Bart continued. “We need to watch one another’s back. There’s safety in numbers.”
Glenn was surprised by Bart’s willingness to help him after their blow up earlier in the day. However, when he thought about it, Bart had as much to lose as he did. The dark man was likely gunning for both of them.
“So what do you suggest?” Glenn asked. “Where do we go? What do we do?”
“Well, we start by getting you out of there,” Bart said. “Since they know you were involved in the Red Dog mess, they’ll be watching you like a hawk tonight, probably using you for human bait. I ought to know. They did me.”
The idea of being used as a lure for the killer didn’t sit well with the mayor.
“Okay, how do you suppose I get out of here then?” Glenn wondered. "If they're watching the place like you say then they'll be on my tail wherever I go."
“You just get your stuff packed in the car and let me worry about getting you out of there,” Bart replied. “Once we get you out, we’ll wait until the weather clears, lay low somewhere and then get out of town for a couple of weeks until they can iron out this mess. I could use a vacation myself.”
“Sounds great,” Glenn said. “But again, how do I get out of here without being noticed?”
“Easy. We'll create a diversion,” Bart explained.
“A diversion?” Glenn repeated. “What do you plan on doing?”
“You just be ready to get out of there,” Bart said. “You’ll know when it happens tonight. When you see your opening, make a break for it and meet me around the back of the dealership. They are keeping the roads fairly clear between there and here so you should be able to make it.”
“I’ll put my bags in the car right now,” Glenn agreed. “What time you think?”
“Sometime this evening before midnight,” Glenn replied. “You just be ready to go because we’ll only have one chance at it.”
With that the men finalized their plans, the mayor to make a break for it after Bart created a diversion to distract law enforcement. However, neither of the "old friends" confessed all of their plans to one another.
“It was just like I figured,” Sam said as he met with the task force, the six lawmen gathering in secret behind Easton Elementary School a few blocks from the mayor’s house. “The mayor would have none of it so it’s up to us. We’re just going to have to be discreet.”
The plan called for the six officers to take up observation posts in three unmarked cars. The sheriff and chief would observe the front entrance from one vehicle, Bo and Kendal the side and main grounds and Police Officers Kent Stallings and Ryan Goodwin the back and wooded area behind the estate. The city officers would use night vision binoculars to scan the area around the house. At the first sign of anything unusual, the officers, all monitoring a scrambled radio channel, would converge and hopefully capture the killer. Sam warned there was no room for heroes in the mission given the fact their suspect was armed and dangerous.
“How do we know our killer will pick Glenn Satterfield tonight?” Bo asked. "I mean, he may decide to make a play for Bart."
“Frankly, we don’t,” Sam admitted. “But I’ve got a feeling our killer is coming here tonight. When I was in his hou
se a while ago the mayor already had his bags packed. He’s planning to fly the coop and if we know that then I’ll bet so does our killer. He seems to know everything that’s going on before we do.”
“What about Bart?” Bo wondered. "We don't have anyone over there now. You pulled them all off."
“He’s a big boy. He can watch out for himself,” Sam said plainly. “We don’t have enough people to be everywhere at once. Plus, somehow I get the feeling whoever it is may be saving Bart for last.”
“The best for last huh?” Bo responded.
“Maybe you should have said the worst for last,” Sam replied.
Thirty minutes following their clandestine meeting, the officers were in unmarked vehicles and in their observation positions. Sam and the chief were parked unremarkably on the street across from the mayor’s house while the other officers were concealed on lots on either side of the property. The officers had unobstructed views to every inch of the estate. If the killer was going to get to the mayor without being seen he would have to be invisible.
The evening went as most stakeouts do, a bunch of waiting and watching. The biggest danger was falling asleep from boredom. The sheriff cranked his vehicle for five minutes at a time, warming the interior before cutting the engine. He wanted to limit the amount of time exhaust was showing from the tailpipe. It was little things like that which could give a stakeout away.
The snow began to accumulate on the sheriff’s unmarked minivan, a vehicle he borrowed, without permission, from his wife. What better non-obtrusive vehicle than a teal minivan? The accumulation, Sam reckoned, would better camouflage the vehicle as it sat on the street opposite the mayor’s estate.
“I never would have pegged the mayor for something like that,” Chief Wood said, breaking the silence in the minivan. “He seemed too high brow, too sophisticated to fall in to a gang of thugs like that.”
The sheriff looked through the snow, careful to not take his eyes off the house while he talked with the chief. He knew one lapse in vigilance and there would be a special election for mayor.
“People have their skeletons. Some are just worse than others,” Sam responded. “Sometimes folks are capable of doing things you’d never dream they’d do.”
“What if it gets out, what they did?” the chief asked. “You know Mayor Satterfield has designs on running for governor. Won’t something like this ruin him?”
“I’d say it would, Denton,” Sam noted. “But somehow I suspect neither he nor Bart will just step up and admit to what happened. That’s why we’re lurking in the shadows tonight. Rumor is one thing, proving it is another. So far as I can tell there aren’t a lot of people left alive who can provide that proof.”
“So they'll get away with what they did?” the chief asked in a disgusted tone.
“Well, Chief, fate has a way of coming around and getting you when you least expect it,” Sam replied. “I’m sure the others thought they’d gotten away with what they did, that is, until vengeance came calling. Sometimes a man can get too comfortable with his secrets. I’ve found very few things stay buried, no matter how deep you bury them.”
The lawmen sat silently watching the snow continue to fall, both absorbed in their thoughts. Sam recalled his conversation with Earl Cutts and his assurance the killer had an order to things – an order that would end with the old man being killed last. What terror Earl must feel, waiting in the darkness of his room for death to come to call. Whether it be the killer or the hands of Father Time, his time was near. Sam could sense it during his visit.
The sheriff spied through some field glasses, scanning the white covering which now coated everything giving the landscape a surreal look. He would have problems getting up to Shelby tomorrow to pore over Gina Porter’s records. He was bound and determined to make the trip even if he had to go by sled dogs. Sam was convinced there was something in the files that could be the key to everything. Even if they were to catch a suspect tonight, the information in her file could provide valuable evidence.
“Chief! We have some movement near the wood line,” Patrolman Kent Stallings said excitedly over the radio.
Sam jumped as the policeman's warning sounded on the radio. Their patience may be about to pay off.
“Can you make out what it is?” the chief asked, pointing for Sam to train his field glasses toward where the policemen were staked out.
“It’s something dark,” Stallings responded. “Hold on a second. It’s moving again.”
Sam and the chief exchanged looks, wondering if this could be the killer. Were they about to end the string of murders in Castle County?
“It’s a person!” Stallings shouted. “We have a subject dressed in black, a dark man, and he's carrying something moving toward the house!”
“We all need to hold where we are,” Sam responded. Let's let him get out in the open so we can surround him."
“What is that, a scythe?” Stallings yelled, not hearing the sheriff’s orders to hold his position. “This guy looks like the Grim Reaper!”
“Did you hear? Hold your location until we can get staged!” the sheriff yelled.
His orders went unheeded as he saw the two police officers bolting across the snow, disappearing from view behind the house. They were chasing something.
“Quick! Everyone converge on the backyard!” Sam ordered over the radio.
Sam and the chief wasted no time dashing from the minivan, their advance slowed by the ankle-deep snow.
“He’s running for the woods!” Stallings yelled on his portable radio. “Be advised - our subject is armed! He’s running for the woods!”
The patrolmen were a couple of hundred yards in front of their closest back up when they followed the black-clad figure into the dense forest behind the mayor’s estate.
“I’ll follow the footprints. You loop around and we’ll catch him in between us,” Stallings ordered Officer Goodwin. “Just be careful not to shoot me - you hear?”
Stallings raced along behind the tracks like a hunting dog tracking an animal through the woods. The heavyset patrolman moved quickly through the powder given his size. The tracks were easy to follow in the fresh snow. They read like a road map in the dimly lit forest.
“Freeze!” came the voice of Officer Goodwin just a few feet in front of Stallings. “Hands in the air! Drop your weapon!”
The older patrolman topped the hill to find his younger partner with his gun trained on the man in black.
“I said drop the weapon,” Goodwin repeated as he looked down the sights of his gun at the suspect. “I will fire!”
The figure, his face and body covered in black from head to toe, dropped the long-handled weapon in the snow.
“Now on your knees!” Goodwin repeated.
The suspect complied with the officer's orders and slowly went down to his knees. He then placed his hands behind his head.
“We have him in custody!” Stallings exclaimed.
The officer's announcement caused the sheriff’s heart to jump as he reached the wood line. This was it!
“Hold on! We’ll be right there,” Sam responded as he plunged into the forest.
The policemen, not waiting on their backup, decided to handcuff the suspect. They would save the unmasking for their bosses.
“Who are you?” Goodwin asked.
The patrolman pulled out his handcuffs and approached the dark figure while he partner stood covering the suspect. He would slap the cuffs on the dark man to ensure he didn't try to take flight again.
His plan, however, was foiled as the figure, moving like a cat, leapt from the snow landing an elbow squarely to his jaw. The lightning blow snapped the officer's jaw. Screaming in pain as the handcuffs went spiraling into the forest, Goodwin felt himself being drawn in by the man in black as his stunned partner raised his gun.
“Stop right there!” Stallings yelled.
No sooner than the officer made the command, the dark figure pushed his injured partner into him. Stallings' g
un went off, the round whistling through the trees above them. The sound of the gunshot gave pause to the other lawmen as they were making their way through the woods about a hundred yards behind.
“Oh no,” Sam said as he doubled his pace. “That can’t be a good sign.”
In the meantime the masked man landed a pair of well-placed blows on either side of Stallings’ head. The punches flattened the heavyset officer. The dark man then disappeared into the night leaving the injured officers not knowing what hit them.
Sam and the chief found the policemen moments later, lying side-by-side in the snow. Goodwin moaned as he held his broken jaw. Stallings, blood pouring from a badly busted lip, pointed toward the woods where the man disappeared. Bo and Kendal raced with guns in hand after the tracks.
Sam, now remembering to draw his gun in all the excitement, looked around the immediate area. There in the snow lay a home-made scythe. Its crude construction told the officer this wasn't the work of a grim reaper but instead of a man with some knowledge on how to make a weapon. The blade, the sheriff noticed, was razor sharp.
“All units, all units, we have our murder suspect on foot behind Mayor Satterfield’s house heading toward Lowery Lane,” Sam called out over the radio. “The suspect is dressed in black and may be armed. Approach with caution. We have two officers down. We will need an ambulance at this location – now!”
A loud scream came from deep in the woods at that moment. It was Kendal Parks!
“Kendal!” Sam shouted as he left the chief behind to care for his injured patrolmen. “Where are you at?”
“Over here, sheriff,” the muffled sound of his investigator’s voice came a few yards deeper in the woods.
Rounding the heavy undergrowth, the sheriff was met with the spectacle of blood-covered snow.
“What happened?” the sheriff asked in a worried voice as Bo entered the clearing where they stood.
“He came out of the dark,” Kendal said, holding his nose as blood poured from around his fingers. “He just appeared out of nowhere and kicked me square in the nose. I never had time to react.”
Red Dog Saloon Page 19