The Fiercest Enemy

by Rick Reed

  “There’s enough room for you two if you decide you can’t go back to the Coal Miner Bar. Speaking of which, how did the interview with the aunt go? She was alive, right?”

  “She is. The interview was good. Mostly about Shaunda’s early life, before Penelope was born. Let’s sit down and we’ll tell you everything.”

  They sat on the comfortable furniture in the living room and Jack repeated what they’d talked about at Linton PD while Angelina put on a pot of coffee. He felt comfortable here, relaxed, and realized that he’d missed the comradery of his own crew of which Angelina had become an essential part. He could trust Liddell and Angelina. With his life, if need be. It was more than that. He liked running his thoughts by Angelina. She was his mini-Watson. She found crumbs of details they’d missed and had helped them solve a few cases with her insights. He hoped she could come up with a magic pill for this one.

  Angelina came back in holding three mugs of black coffee. “Sorry. No creamer.”

  “It’s fine. Have a seat. Liddell recorded the conversation with the aunt.”

  Liddell took out the recorder and turned it on. She listened without expression to the gruesome tale of the gang rape, beating, and being left naked and injured in the abandoned mine.

  “Before you say anything, let me finish the story,” Jack said. He told her about the interviews in Hutsonville, Clint Baker’s widow, the bartenders in Hutsonville and Sullivan and then the meeting with Linton PD. When he finished he asked where the bathroom was and excused himself to let her sit and digest the information. When he came back Angelina had brought the coffee pot and topped everyone up.

  “What do you think?” Jack asked.

  “The skater chick got Brandon’s cell phone from the homeless guy, Anderson, whom Shaunda later gunned down. Did the skater chick or Penelope identify Anderson as the homeless guy?” Angelina asked.

  “Jerrell talked to Cretin, skater chick. He said she did. Penelope Lynch identified Anderson as the guy that came to her house asking for directions.”

  “Crime Scene found the eagle medal and chain in Anderson’s pocket after Shaunda shot him,” Angelina said. Not a question. “With what the aunt told you it all makes sense. Shaunda has the knowledge, ability, and the training to make these murders look like something they’re not. She also has one hell of a motive. Except for Brandon.”

  “Also, there is a sexual overtone to the murders. They were personal. The drugging, stripping, beating, leaving the bodies in plain view to be found in a humiliating condition. Even finding two of the bodies herself. Which would give her an excuse for any trace evidence she might have left at the scene.”

  Angelina twisted the wedding ring around her finger. Something she was prone to do while she thought. She said, “She’d been lucky so far, but when she heard the FBI was sending investigators she got scared. Then she saw an opportunity. She could stage another murder, same pit, same method, show up at the scene and no one would suspect her. She killed Brandon, staged the scene, took his cell phone and gave it to the homeless guy. She may not have known who Anderson was but she knew he was hanging around. She may have even known he’d been at her house. I don’t think you could get much past that gal.”

  “You’re on a roll. Go on,” Jack said.

  “All this would require her to bust her own skull with something,” Angelina said and twisted the ring. “Maybe she knew you weren’t convinced Brandon’s murder was related to the others. She was still going to have to kill Anderson, but she needed to give you more convincing evidence. The drill bit was a red herring. She busts herself in the head with whatever, goes to you guys all beat up and it looks like the killer is still in the area. That would kick up the search a notch and make her a victim instead of a suspect.”

  Jack said, “We tried to get her to go to the hospital but she refused. She left to go tell Brandon’s mother he’d been killed but said her deputy had already done that. That would have given her time to set up a camp near the stolen Jeep and leave the drill bit to be found.”

  Liddell said, “Yeah. That would make us look for someone that was camping out. A homeless person. Pen told us about the guy coming to the house, then we found the phone, learned about the homeless guy and it all came together. Her plan would be perfect. If you hadn’t suspected she shot the homeless guy out of revenge.”

  “It wasn’t revenge,” Jack said. “It was a plan and we walked right into it.”

  They were all silent, sipping coffee.

  “She was very convincing,” Liddell said.

  “Both times,” Jack added. “She stabbed herself, too, remember?”

  “She’s a psycho,” Angelina said. “You need to stay here tonight. You don’t want to wake up dead in the morning.”

  “I wish we could but we need to keep her close,” Jack said. “She’s killed seven people. She’s not sure what we know, or what we’re doing.”

  “What are you going to do?” Angelina asked.

  “I plan to let her stay inside the investigation,” Jack said. “I’ll rattle her cage a little and see what happens.”

  “She’s killed seven men that you know of, Jack. Do you think that’s a good idea?” Angelina asked.

  “If you have a better one, let’s hear it.”

  No one said anything.

  “I’ve just thought of something,” Jack said. “Excuse me.” He went onto the porch and called Greene County dispatch. He got the telephone number he wanted and punched it into his cell phone.

  The call was answered, “Dr. Lacy Daniels.”

  Jack identified himself and asked his questions. When he got his answers, Lacy said, “You and Troy are not going to leave me alone, are you? He was just asking the same questions. You two need to compare notes.”

  He hung up and called Chief Jerrell’s cell phone.

  Chapter 42

  The Crown Vic was enveloped in a cloud of limestone dust as Jack and Liddell made their way back to State Road 59.

  “Tell me again what Dr. Daniels said,” Liddell asked, not taking his eyes off the road. There were deep drainage ditches on each side of the road for the farm fields.

  Jack said, “I asked her about the sulfur she found on Troy Junior and Brandon. She found sulfur under Troy Junior’s toenails, and some on the bottom of Brandon’s jeans. Remember how we were told that was common around here. Shaunda said she smelled it at the lake before she was attacked. I asked Daniels if it could have come from inside a coal mine.”

  “Shaunda was raped inside a coal mine,” Liddell said.

  “Exactly. Dr. Daniels said Troy had capsaicin in his lungs. Angelina had looked that up and it would have to be inhaled in quantities for that to happen.”

  Liddell said, “Like in an enclosed area.”

  “I asked Jerrell if Troy Junior had breathing problems. He said his son had to carry albuterol with him. He didn’t have asthma, but he had trouble catching his breath when he got nervous.”

  “You think these guys were killed in a mine? Why weren’t there traces of sulfur on any of the other victims?”

  Jack said, “I’m not sure. Maybe no one was looking for it but Dr. Daniels. Shaunda said Brandon was trespassing on Dugger Mine property and that’s why she stopped his Jeep that morning. What if there’s something in that mine she doesn’t want anyone to find? What if there are more victims that we haven’t found?”

  “Shit!”

  “Yeah. Shit!”

  “How are we going to find the mine?” Liddell asked. “We’ll need some equipment. We need someone that knows what the hell they’re doing to take us in.”

  “I know just the guy.”

  “Cline?”

  “Cline.”

  Liddell made a wide U-turn and headed back to Pleasant Grove Farms. Jack was about to call Angelina when his phone rang in his hand.

  “Agent Murphy,”
Sergeant Ditterline said.

  “You got me Ditty,” Jack answered.

  “I thought you should know something. I don’t want to cause problems between you and my boss, but I don’t think he should be going out there by himself.”

  Jack listened, disconnected and said, “Turn back around. We’ve got to get to Rosie’s. Jerrell’s going to confront Shaunda and Ditty said he wasn’t in a good mood. He’s afraid someone is going to get hurt.”

  “Probably Jerrell.”

  “You read my mind, Bigfoot. Now put that foot to good use.”

  Liddell fishtailed in the gravel and punched the accelerator until he hit blacktop. The tires peeled out rocketing the car ahead down the narrow county road.

  “We’ll never beat him there,” Jack said. “I’m going to try his cell again.” He called. “He’s not answering.”

  “Is Ditty going after him?” Liddell asked.

  “No one will dare to,” Jack said and he didn’t blame them. Jack didn’t want to piss the big man off, but he was giving him no choice.

  The trip to Rosie’s took longer than Jack had hoped. If Jerrell was there he had already done all the damage. Jack now had to consider the possibility that Jerrell was involved in a cover up and wasn’t going to confront Shaunda at all. Director Toomey seemed to think Jerrell would be prone to impulsive behavior. Jack had only known the man for two days. He didn’t know what was going through Jerrell’s head.

  They were on State Road 54 when they heard a siren coming up on them fast from behind.

  “Linton PD,” Liddell said looking in the rearview mirror.

  The squad car pulled around them. The bar lights danced off the shiny hood of the Crown Vic and Jack’s cell phone rang. He answered.

  “Agent Murphy, I thought you might need some help,” Sergeant Ditterline said.

  “Just get us there, Ditty, and then you can take off,” Jack said.

  “10-4, Agent,” Ditty said, the call disconnected and the police car shot forward, the speed increasing until they reached ninety miles per hour. The sun was drawing down and dark clouds cast shadows that outraced the cars. Liddell skillfully stayed with the squad car as it managed to move traffic out of their path until they could turn off the main road.

  Ditty dropped back and waved as Liddell pulled past and headed to Rosie’s. Liddell reached the parking lot and slid to a halt behind Jerrell’s big truck. Shaunda’s Tahoe was there but Rosie’s little Ford Ranger pickup was gone.

  “The front door is open,” Liddell said as they automatically ran their windows down to listen.

  “Back up toward the road a little,” Jack said.

  Liddell shifted into reverse and backed until the car faced the front doors from twenty feet distant. They opened their doors and prepared to get out, all senses alert.

  “Let’s go,” Jack said and drew his .45. It was quiet. The lights were on in the bar and one window upstairs. Pen’s room. Nothing moved and even the air seemed to still.

  “I really don’t like this, pod’na.”

  They exited the car and split up, approaching from angles. Jack reached the porch first and put his back against the wall, the .45 Glock up and ready. Liddell did the same on the other side of the door.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Jack whispered.

  “Smell,” Liddell said.

  Jack sniffed the air again. The smell was faint. Burnt gunpowder. He nodded.

  “I’m going in,” Jack said in a lowered voice. Liddell steadied himself to give cover fire if necessary. Jack bladed around the edge of the door, gun pointing the way. The bar was straight ahead. He cleared the doorway, ran and dropped to the floor with his back against the bar. He scanned the room quickly.

  Jack crouched and he crab walked to the end of the bar. He lay prone and crawled until he could see behind the bar. Nothing.

  He got back in a crouched position. He pointed at himself and then pointed at the batwing doors that led to the kitchen. He pointed at Liddell and then at the door leading upstairs. Liddell took a two handed stance using the door frame to support his gun hand and trained the barrel on that door.

  Jack moved to the kitchen and cleared it. He came back into the bar, stopped and listened. He felt more than heard something upstairs. He moved to the other end of the bar, slowly opened the door and leveled his gun at the entrance. Liddell came in and edged around the room coming up on the other side of the stairway door. Jack went first with Liddell covering him. He took the steps slowly, pausing on each step to listen for movement or sound. He heard a soft moan and ran up the remaining steps, motioning for Liddell to follow. He stopped before entering the hallway and peeked around the sill.

  “Gun!” he yelled to warn Liddell and leveled his .45 at the figure standing over Jerrell’s prone body. Shaunda was in full uniform holding the big Colt Python .357 in both hands, legs straddling the body. She turned slightly toward Jack and the gun came up.

  “Drop it or I’ll drop you!” Jack ordered.

  She kept turning and Jack’s finger tightened on the trigger, taking up the three pounds of pressure needed to fire a .45 bullet right into her brain. Time seemed to slow. Jack could see everything clearly and all at one time. He could see Shaunda turning impossibly slow. Jerrell lying on his side. Blood seeping out of a wound on his chest. Blood pooling around his upper arm that was twisted at an impossible angle. Jerrell’s light blue shirt blooming red like a rose opening its petals. Jerrell’s eyes drifting shut. He could see the door to Pen’s room and the door to Rosie’s room were shut tight and no one was behind Shaunda or in the line of fire. He could clearly smell the burnt gunpowder. Shaunda was still turning toward him and he could feel his finger tightening, speeding her death. The sound of his voice ordering her to drop the gun seemed to have barely receded when time resumed.

  Shaunda froze and held one hand up in the air, the gun still in the other hand.

  Jack yelled, “I will kill you.” He said the words slowly, succinctly. “Drop it!”

  “It wasn’t me,” Shaunda said and Jack could see tears running down her cheeks. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Put the gun on the floor, Shaunda,” Jack said. “I won’t tell you again.” He stepped into the hallway and quickly advanced on her gun and pushed the gun under her chin, lifting her head. He didn’t need to remind himself that this woman had dropped the homeless guy like he was a bag of shit. Had conceivably killed six other men. If she turned another inch with that gun he would end her. Guilty of one, all, or none of the murders, she was an imminent threat to his and Liddell’s lives. There’s an old police adage, “Better tried by twelve, than carried by six.”

  Jerrell’s eyes opened suddenly and he tried to lift his head from the floor. He made it an inch with great effort and said one word. “Rosie.” His head dropped to the floor and his eyes closed.

  Liddell was coming down the hall. Jack held his gun under Shaunda’s chin, took the gun from her hand, shoved it in his waistband and pushed her toward Liddell. Jack knelt and felt Jerrell’s neck for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. He was alive. “Handcuff her and call an ambulance,” Jack said while examining Jerrell for other injuries and putting pressure on the chest wound. Foamy blood was coming from Jerrell’s mouth. That’s never a good sign.

  Liddell pressed Shaunda against a wall, patted her down for other weapons, found a knife, and took it, said, “knife” to let Jack know while he pulled Shaunda’s arms behind her and slipped hardened steel cuffs around her wrists. He helped her down to the floor, got on his cell phone and called 911. It seemed to take forever for the operator to stop asking questions and take any action and he was yelling at the dispatcher to ‘hurry the hell up’ by the time he ended the call. “Ambulance is on the way,” Liddell said. “How bad?”

  “He’s been shot at least twice. Right side chest. Upper right arm. The arm might be broken. I can’t see a
n exit wound on the chest. He’s breathing and he’s got a pulse but the ambulance better be close or he won’t make it.”

  “It was Rosie,” Shaunda said. “I told you I didn’t shoot him. We’re wasting time. Rosie has Pen.”

  “What happened?” Jack asked.

  “I was downstairs with Pen. Troy showed up. He knew about Rosie. He confronted her and she shot him. I thought she was going to kill me, too. She’s crazy, Jack. You’ve got to help me get Pen back. I’ll tell you everything. I’ve got to find my daughter. Help me.”

  “Watch her,” Jack said, and he went down the hall quickly checking the other rooms. He came back, pulled the big revolver from his waistband and smelled the barrel. It had been fired.

  “I shot it earlier, remember. I just got it back from Troy. He gave it to me before he confronted Rosie. He said he’d figured something out and handed me my gun. He asked where Rosie was and I told him. He took off running up the stairs. I stayed here until I heard shots. I went upstairs and found him like this. Rosie and Pen were gone.” More tears filled her eyes and her lips trembled.

  Jack had gotten back on his knees holding pressure to Jerrell’s chest wound. “You were standing over him with a gun,” Jack said. “Why didn’t you call it in? What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  “I froze. Okay! I froze. Is he going to die?”

  “How long ago did she leave?” Jack asked and when Shaunda didn’t answer he yelled, “Answer me. How long?”

  Shaunda raised her face. “Right before you came in. Maybe a couple of minutes. We have to go after her now. I don’t know why she would take Pen. She loves Pen. Why would she do that?”

  Human shield.

  “Your call,” Liddell said.

  Jack hesitated and Shaunda said, “Troy said Rosie’s name. He didn’t say Shaunda. What the hell do you think he meant. Rosie shot him. Damn it, let me go or arrest me. If my daughter is hurt I’ll…” Her face twisted into a mask of anger and she he didn’t finish.

  “I’ll wait for the ambulance,” Liddell said. “Go on. Get her daughter back.”