The Thing In The Mine

by J. R. Ayers

  Joe entered the shop and waved at the old man behind the counter. “Figured you’d be around,” the man said. “Name’s Halpern. I own the place.”

  “Sergeant Nash, State Police investigator.” Halpren grinned around three missing teeth and said,

  “Guess that explains why you’re all dressed up like a Marine drill instructor.”

  “Mr. Halpren, did you by chance make a nine-one-one call this morning?” Joe asked, totally ignoring the cutting remark.

  “No sir.”

  “Someone did,” Joe said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “It was a nine-one-one call.”

  “So?”

  “We have technology, Mr. Halpren. Your phone number showed up. Well?”

  “A guy came in and wanted the pay phone. Pretty shook up too. I tried to get him to sit a while and drink a pop, but he took off like there was a fire under his ass. What’d he do anyway?”

  “Did he give a name?” Joe asked, taking a pen and notepad from a shirt pocket.

  “Nope.

  “Can you tell me what he looked like?”

  “Typical back woods type. Lots of hair, beard down to his chest. Had camo paint on his face. You know, like hunters wear.” Joe wrote it down and said,

  “Makes sense. I guess he was out hunting when he found the bodies.

  “He didn’t say nothin’ about bodies,” Halpren said defensively. “Not to me anyway. He was talkin’ to someone on the phone, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.”

  “That was dispatch,” Joe said. “Did he say where he was coming from?”

  “Like I said, he didn’t say shit to me. He used the phone and took off. Got this, though.” He handed Joe a slip of paper with a license plate number written on it and said, “The way he was actin’, I figured I’d better take down his plate number, just in case, you know.” Joe wrote the number on his note pad and said,

  “You figured right, Mr. Halpren.”

  After telling Halpren to call if he remembered anything more, Joe went out to his cruiser and called the Beckley Troop dispatch. He gave the dispatcher the plate number Halpren had given him and while waiting for a reply, sent a text to his ex-wife asking if she had picked up Chandra yet. She texted back a moment later —go “f” yourself!

  The dispatcher came back with a name and address and Joe punched the coordinates into his GPS. I’ll be heading to that location,” he told the dispatcher. “If anyone calls, patch it on through.”

  The address turned out to be a house on Slab Fork Road about three miles from the bottom of Tams Mountain. A dirt road led from the highway to an old tar paper shack set back from the road near the edge of a thick forest.

  Joe parked beside a battered Ford Bronco and walked cautiously toward the house. The front screen door was mostly in shadow, but he could see the silhouette of someone standing behind the wire mesh watching him.

  “Help you?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “I’m looking for Jack Hobbs,” Joe said, his hand drifting toward his service weapon.

  “Why?”

  “I got a few questions for him. Is he home?”

  “Yeah, I’m home,” a voice said from the side of the house. Startled, Joe turned to face the man who had just spoken.

  “You Jack Hobbs?” he asked. The man nodded and walked to the porch steps and sat down.

  “Guess you’re here about them dead bodies,” he said indicating that Joe should join him on the stoop. Joe thought it best he stay right where he was.

  “So, you’re the one who made the nine-one-one call?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Why didn’t you give the operator your name?” Jackie shrugged and leaned his elbows on the top step.

  “Scared, I guess. Don’t much like cops and such.”

  “Were you hunting deer out of season, Mr. Hobbs? Is that why you didn’t want to give your name? Cause if it was, I’m here to tell you that I don’t give two shits about illegal deer hunting.”

  Jackie’s tense expression seemed to soften a bit and he said, “Look, I was just wantin’ a little meat for my family. I got kids, little kids. You got any kids, trooper?”

  “Yeah, a daughter.”

  “I’ll bet she eats good ever day, don’t she?” Joe was silent for a while, thinking about the burgers that had ended up in the trash.

  “Look, Mr. Hobbs—”

  “Call me Jackie.”

  “Okay, Jackie, I need for you to tell me everything you know about the bodies, starting with how and where you found them.” Jackie contemplated Joe’s words for a while and said,

  “I’ll do you one better, I’ll take you over there.”

  Chapter Eight

  They took Jackie’s Bronco, with Joe agreeing to pony up twenty bucks for the gas tank. “Four wheel drive,” Jackie pointed out, referring to the Bronco. “That purdy Ford of yours is liable to git stuck in a hole somewhere.”

  Parking near the tire ruts Jackie had made during his hurried escape, they traveled on foot to the spot where the remains of Frank and his family lay. “Good grief, I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Joe said, kneeling next to Frank’s body.”

  “Pretty sick stuff,” Jackie agreed. “Be careful around that pile of puke, I’m afraid I lost my breakfast.” Joe had no trouble relating to the warning; his own stomach wasn’t feeling so great at the moment either.

  Careful to avoid the mess, Joe eased Frank’s wallet from his pants pocket and quickly scanned the contents. There wasn’t much there, just six dollars, a West Virginia drivers license belonging to someone named Frank Unrhue, and a check for a hundred dollars made out to Kathy J. Unrhue.

  Joe wrote the names on his note pad and moved on to the woman. Flies were thick on her face where blood and brain matter had coagulated. She was nude from the waist down and it was clear to Joe that she had been sexually assaulted. He didn’t see a purse near her body, but it was reasonable to assume that she was probably the Kathy Unrhue named on the check.

  The third victim was a young girl. She was completely naked and, like the other two, someone had bashed in her brains with a heavy, blunt object, no doubt the blood-stained rock lying on the ground near the man. Judging by the damage to her groin area, Joe concluded that she too had been violently assaulted.

  Jackie walked over and peered over Joe’s shoulder. “Dang, that sure is a shame, ain’t it?” he said shaking his head. Jackie’s presence reminded Joe that they were standing in the middle of an active crime scene.

  “Better stand back, Mr. Hobbs,” he said. “We don’t want to compromise any evidence that the killers may have left behind.” He said killers because, judging by the carnage he was seeing, it would have been extremely hard for one man to do so much damage to three people simultaneously.

  Joe looked over at Jackie Hobbs, his eyes lingering on his face and the backs of his hands looking for scratches or defensive wounds. He didn’t do it, Joe decided. He doesn’t weigh one thirty if he weighs a pound.

  They retreated to a safe distance from the bodies and Joe put through a call to dispatch requesting the Medical Examiner and a Forensics team out of Beckley. Then he punched in a quick text to Tina begging her to let him know if she had picked up Chandra. The reply came quickly:

  yes, asshole!

  “You ever see anything like this before?” Jackie asked. Joe shook his head.

  “Not here in West Virginia. I was on the Chicago force when I was a rookie a few years back. You see multiple murders up there all the time. Those gang bangers shoot each other like there’s no tomorrow. And unfortunately, there isn’t for a lot of them.”

  “This looks like it might be drug related,” Jackie surmised. “That damn meth has got real bad around here lately.” Joe wasn’t inclined to agree.

  “Somebody crazy did this,” he said. “Drug dealers would have just shot them. No, somebody crazy and. . . evil did this.”

  His cell phone rang and he checked the caller ID. It was hi
s Captain calling. “What’s up chief?”

  “I hate to bother you again on your day off, Joe but we have a serious problem over in Stephenson.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s going on over there?”

  “Some bad shit. Apparently one of the citizens went off the deep end and killed a bunch of people. The worst part is he killed almost all the police force.”

  “Damn,” Joe said. “Who’s in charge there? Is the guy still shooting people?”

  “No, one of the deputies took him out. She and one other guy are the only officer’s still breathing. I understand both were wounded.”

  “So, what do you need me to do?”

  I want you to go over there and do what you can to help get things stabilized. I’m sending a couple of other troopers from McDowell County to help as well.”

  “I’m working this triple murder right now, chief.”

  “I know, but I’m sending Riley out there to take over. I need your experience and leadership in Stephenson right now.”

  “Can’t Riley go?”

  “He could, but I want you. You gonna argue with me on this?”

  “No. But—”

  “Leave as soon as Riley gets there. And thanks, Joe, I owe you one.”

  There was no point in arguing. Captain Ross was a good man, and though he was fair, he could also be a hard man at times. Joe knew from past experience that when he made up his mind about something, he was not a man to be challenged.

  So when Riley and the Forensics team showed up at the crime scene, he gave them all the information he had and rode back to the Hobbs’ place in Jackie’s Bronco. “I thank you for your help on this thing,” he said after they had parked.

  “It wasn’t nothin’,” Jackie said. “I’m sorry I didn’t fess up earlier.”

  Joe pulled out his wallet and handed Jackie a twenty dollar bill. “That’s for gas,” he said. Then he took out two more twenties and tucked them into Jackie’s shirt pocket. “I was just down at the Shop-N-Save in Pineville,” he added “They’ve got a hell’ava sale on ground beef.” Jackie’s face turned red and he fished the bills out of his pocket and offered them back to Joe.

  “I don’t take no charity,” he said firmly.

  “It’s not charity,” Joe said. “Call it payment for your time and cooperation. Don’t worry, I’m gonna write it off to miscellaneous charges later on.” Jackie seemed unconvinced, but someone from inside the screen door spoke up and said,

  “Take it, Jackie.” Both men turned and looked at three silhouettes standing behind the screen, one tall one and two shorter ones.

  “That’s my family,” Jackie said. “They’re kinda shy.” Joe tipped his campaign hat and said,

  “How ya’ll doin’?”

  “Are you the law?” a little voice asked.

  “Yep. Why don’t you come out where I can see you.”

  The door opened a crack and a little girl stuck her head out. She had the same red hair and green eyes as her father. “Are you gonna put my daddy in jail?” she asked in a small voice. Joe was quick to shake his head.

  “No sweetheart, your daddy and I are working together. He’s helping me find bad guys.” The little girl grinned broadly displaying missing front teeth and ducked back inside the door.

  Jackie was still hesitant to keep the money but Joe insisted. “Buy your little girl something,” he said. “Fry up some burgers and relax for a while. You’re lucky you have those little ones around, Hobbs. Take advantage of what you have and spend as much time with them as you can Trust me, you’ll never regret it.”

  For a moment, it looked as if Jackie was going to cry. He pocketed the money and put out his hand.

  “I never knew the law was as decent as you,” he said. “I sure was wrong about ya’ll.” Joe shook the proffered hand and said,

  “Well, we’re just doin’ our job.”

  He turned to leave and a chorus of, “Thank you!” came from somewhere beyond the screen door.

  Chapter Nine

  Most of the citizens of Stephenson were out and about on Main Street when Joe rolled into town. He parked in front of the courthouse and joined the crowd gathered around a sheet-covered body lying in the parking lot.

  The people were abuzz with activity and hushed conversations. One man kept saying, “It was drugs, I tell you. It was them damn drugs that caused this.” Another man had a different take.

  “I think he just lost it,” he said. “Ever since his accident, he’d been actin’ weird. Workin’ the night shift and sleepin’ all day. Just like a friggin’ vampire or somethin’.”

  As Joe surveyed the crowd, a man in a white short-sleeved shirt and black dress pants rushed up to him. “Boy, am I glad you’re here,” he said breathlessly. “I’m Roger Brinkus, the mayor. My lord, did you see what he did to our town.”

  “What the hell happened?” Joe asked.

  “It was ole’ Charlie Waddell. That’s him under the sheet there. He just went plum crazy and started gunnin’ folks. He shot Homer Day. Hell, he shot the sheriff, for shit’s sake, and all the deputies too. He even shot those Braden boys. Why in the world would anybody want to shoot a six year old boy?”

  Joe didn’t have an answer for the rhetorical question and he wasn’t about to venture a guess. He pulled the mayor aside from the noisy crowd and asked him how he had coordinated things to that point.

  “Coordinated things! Hell, I ain’t even had time to get all the bodies covered up,” Brinkus whined. “The only law that ain’t dead is Rob Miller and Lori Mackay. The ambulance took Rob on up to Beckley, but I don’t think he’s gonna make it. The paramedic says even if he does, he’s likely to be paralyzed from the waist down, Lori’s over at the clinic gettin’ checked out. Charlie shot her too, but thank goodness for that body armor. I told the city council it was money well spent. They didn’t want to pay but—”

  “Mr. Brinkus, please, we need to formulate some kind of plan of action here,” Joe interrupted. “There’s more troopers on the way to help with law enforcement matters, but until they get here, we have to do something to keep the crowd away from the bodies so we can preserve evidence. How many dead did you say there were?”

  “Eleven that we counted so far, not including Charlie.”

  “Any more wounded?”

  “Just Rob and Lori. She’ll be alright, though. She’s a little dizzy and she has a big bruise right between her ti. . . her breast. Other than that, she’s okay physically. Scared half to death, though.”

  Joe looked around at the bustling crowd and asked, “Who’s the undertaker in this town?”

  “That would be Owen Childress. He’s inside the cell block workin’ on Ms. Greer. Charlie shot her while she was ringing out a mop. Oh, god, how could this happen to us?”

  Joe wrote down all the information Brinkus provided and placed a quick call to Captain Ross. “This is a mess here, Chief. You think you can send some people from the ME’s office, or from one of the funeral homes to help forensics?”

  “Is it that damn bad?’ the Captain asked.

  “Yeah, it is. Eleven dead. They have bodies laying everywhere.”

  “Eleven! You sure?”

  “I haven’t personally eyeballed all the dead yet, but that’s what the mayor says.” Joe could almost see the Captain shaking his bald head.

  “Alright, I’ll see what I can do at this end. “You get an accurate count of the dead and cordon off the crime scenes as best you can until backup gets there. You’ll have to wait until the forensics team working the triple homicide finishes up and heads your way. Damn, what in the world is going on in Wyoming County anyway? It’s usually as quiet as a Methodist church service over that way.”

  “You got me, Chief,” Joe said. “I’ll do what I can to protect any potential evidence. I just need to quiet down these people and set up some teams to help with the bodies after the ME and forensic people do their thing.

  “Keep me posted,” Captain Ross said. “Damn, and I was gonna go to my kid�
�s preseason football game today.”

  Now you know what it feels like, Joe thought as he disconnected the call.

  He set up a makeshift command post in the City Clerks office. The sheriff’s office was out of the question, given the fact that the sheriff still lay on the floor oozing dark blood into the ugly green carpet.

  Joe’s first course of action was to compile a list of the deceased to present to the ME upon his arrival. He then told Roger Brinkus to write down everything he knew about Charlie Waddell—address, phone number, place of employment, any prior problems with the law, marital status, girlfriends, if any, close relatives, any problems with drugs or alcohol; in other words, anything and everything that could help explain why the man had suddenly and inexplicably went on a violent killing spree.

  His next task was to assign a few men from the City Council to keep an eye on the deceased, namely the Sheriff, the cleaning lady in the cell block, and the dead deputy outside the courthouse door. He assigned the task of guarding Charlie Waddell’s corpse to Roger Brinkus, saying “don’t let anyone near the body without my permission.”

  “What about the guys in the barbershop? And Gil Reedus and Tassy Toney, and them poor Braden boys?” Brinkus asked.

  “Choose some men you trust and post then with the bodies,” Joe said. “Just make sure they don’t leave unless someone you okay takes over for them.”

  The clinic was about a mile outside town near a small strip mall. Joe parked in a No Standing Zone and entered the clinic through the emergency room door, waving off an orderly who was just about to tell him he had to move the cruiser.

  He went up to the check in desk and asked the woman behind the counter where he might find Lori Mackay.

  “She’s in Triage room three,” the woman said. “But she’s with someone right now. You can wait right over there if you want.”

  Joe waited ten minutes, and then went to find room three. It didn’t take him long; there were only three rooms in the Triage area and one of them was taken up by several pieces of electronic diagnostic equipment.