Catch the Girl

by Melinda Woodhall

  “From what I remember, it looks like you’ll be dealing with a sexual predator.”

  She tried to think of something to add that would make her old partner feel better.

  “But I’m sure he’s got nothing to do with Taylor.”

  Barker ignored her last comment.

  “So, he was doing time for a sexual assault?”

  “Yeah, Jacob Albright went down for five years. Assaulted a minor. He’s a registered predator.”

  “Well, that may explain why he’s living out in the woods. He’s hiding away from society.”

  “Lucky society,” Nessa murmured, refusing to let her mind drift back to Ingram.

  “Yeah, he sounds like a real charmer. Can’t wait to meet him.”

  Barker’s voice had taken on a belligerent tone that worried Nessa.

  “You best be careful out there in the woods. Make sure you and Leo watch out for Albright. He sounds like a real-life big, bad wolf.”

  Chapter Nine

  The dusky evening was fading into night as Frankie sat in the passenger’s seat of the pickup, staring out the grimy window. The slightly battered Chevy had one headlight out, and the single beam bounced along the uneven road, illuminating gnarled tree branches, clumps of hanging moss and patches of the swampy terrain that now surrounded them.

  “Are you sure you know where you’re goin’, dude?”

  The big man sitting next to Frankie grunted, his eyes sticking to the road ahead. Raymond Miles, better known as Little Ray to his many friends, had driven the road enough times to be cautious. Fallen tree branches, frisky raccoons, and even the occasional deer could appear suddenly; one instinctive turn of the steering wheel would send the little truck careening into the swamp.

  “Hell yeah, I know where I’m going. I grew up around here.”

  Frankie watched Ray’s meaty hands clutch the steering wheel, wondering for the first time about the background of the man he’d befriended in prison. He hadn’t known the bulky, bearded man was from the backwoods, and he hadn’t met many people that had grown up in rural Florida. At least none that admitted to it.

  “I thought all you Florida crackers kept to yourselves,” Frankie said, his eyes searching the night ahead for any sign of life.

  “You think we spend all our time hunting snakes and gators?”

  Ray risked a look over, a grin lifting his plump cheeks.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Frankie admitted, wondering belatedly if the term Florida cracker could be considered an insult.

  “Well, you’re not too far off, at least not when it comes to Hank and Dooley. They’re out in the swamp hunting most nights.”

  A sign up ahead caught Frankie’s eye, and he watched as the white words and sun-faded wood grew closer.

  Viper Airboat Rides operated swamp tours out of a modest wooden building perched on the edge of the massive Cottonmouth Wetland Preserve. Two airboats were tied to a dock that jutted out into a wide tributary; the dark water beyond fed into the preserve’s interconnecting chain of lakes, rivers and swamps.

  A man wearing a hoody, dirty jeans and flip-flops stood on the dock. His lank, white-blond hair fell over his sunburned face as he surveyed Ray’s pickup.

  “What’s up, Little Ray?”

  A pudgy man with a sweat-stained cap had materialized at the driver’s side window. He leaned into the cab to stare at Frankie.

  “Who’s this?”

  The man’s eyes were close-set, and his nose was slightly upturned; the overall effect was vaguely porcine. Ray pushed the man out of the window and threw open the truck’s door.

  “Back up, Dooley, you idiot. Give me some fucking room.”

  Ray stepped out, towering over Dooley by at least a foot. He turned to the man on the dock and waved.

  “Hey, Hank. You boys takin’ the boat out tonight?”

  Both men regarded Ray with slack faces, their eyes moving to Frankie, then back to Ray, who sighed and motioned for Frankie to get out of the truck.

  Frankie stepped out into the cold air, zipping his windbreaker and pulling up the hood.

  “That idiot’s my cousin, Dooley.” Ray gestured toward the chubby man in the stained cap. “And that’s his business partner, Hank.”

  Hank and Dooley nodded in unison, and Ray moved toward the dock with a confident swagger.

  “And this here’s a buddy of mine. His name’s Frankie.”

  Frankie returned the nod and followed behind Ray, keeping a nervous eye on the water’s edge.

  “So, you boys catch any gators lately?”

  Hank shook his head, his eyes flicking to Dooley before he spoke.

  “Season’s over, Little Ray. No more gator huntin’ til next year.”

  Ray’s laughter boomed across the water as he threw back his head and closed his eyes.

  “Since when…since when has that…stopped you two poachers?” Ray gasped out between bursts of laughter.

  “You boys found Jesus or somethin’?”

  Dooley’s indignant, piggish eyes glared over at Ray before settling on Frankie.

  “Don’t you go talking bad about Jesus now. Me and Hank go to church as often as the rest of the folks around here.”

  This comment only served to make Ray laugh harder, and Frankie started inching back toward the truck. He’d come out to the middle of nowhere to find out if these men knew anything about the CSL commune, or anything about Barker’s daughter. From what he could see they weren’t likely to be much help.

  “Don’t worry, Frankie, they’re harmless,” Ray said, his laughter dying away although a grin still plastered his face. “They’re scared you’re an undercover game warden or some shit like that.”

  Frankie raised his hands and kept backing away. He felt his foot sink into a soggy patch of ground and grimaced.

  “I’m no undercover nothin.”

  Frankie absently reached into his pocket hoping to find a cigarette.

  “I’m just trying to find out what’s the deal with that CSL commune. You know the guy that runs the place?”

  Hank jumped down off the dock onto the muddy bank, his flip-flops making sucking sounds as he walked closer. Frankie saw what looked like a jailhouse tattoo on his forearm and a faint scar across his throat.

  “Yeah, we know Jake. What do you want with him?”

  Frankie blinked at Hank’s familiar use of Jacob Albright’s name and the edge of hostility in his voice.

  “Hey, Ray, I thought you said these guys were cool.” Frankie kept his eyes glued to Hank’s approaching figure. “I’m not getting cool vibes right now.”

  Ray hooked a thick arm around Dooley’s neck and gave a playful squeeze.

  “You guys are cool, aren’t you?”

  Ray’s voice turned serious as he stared at Hank.

  “My friend here wants to know about this Jacob guy and the little commune he runs. What’s your problem?”

  Hank raised his hands and shrugged.

  “I don’t got no problem, Ray. I just don’t like strangers snooping around askin’ questions. The Albrights are from around here, and they’re good people. Although I don’t see Jake much, not after he-”

  Dooley held up a grubby hand to silence Hank, then shrugged off Ray’s arm.

  “Listen, Ray. We don’t want to piss off Jacob Albright or the folks over at CSL. This is a small community. We don’t want any trouble.”

  Frankie cocked his head and frowned.

  “So, you’re saying this Jake guy is trouble? What…is he some kind of badass? You guys scared of him?”

  Ray chuckled and rubbed his hands together, watching Hank and Dooley with raised eyebrows.

  “Hell, no, we’re not scared. But he’s done serious time, and lately he’s been-”

  “Shut up, Dooley.”

  Hank shuffled closer to Frankie and lowered his voice.

  “Let’s just say that Jake Albright’s been expanding his business ever since his daddy passed last year. Sending out lots more deliveries. Seems
like there’s some new folks over there, too.”

  Dooley nodded, then produced a leering grin, revealing an uneven set of yellow teeth.

  “Yeah, some of them new girls are real pretty.”

  Frankie looked away, his eyes falling on Hank’s forearm. He studied the crude tattoo. He’d seen plenty like it when he’d spent time in prison for an armed robbery he hadn’t committed. Luckily Leo had managed to prove he couldn’t have been at the scene of the crime. If it wasn’t for Leo, Frankie imagined he’d still be behind bars. Maybe he’d even be sporting one of those jailhouse tats.

  “Where’d you get your ink?”

  Hank shrugged, then looked down at his arm and pushed up the sleeve of his hoodie to give Frankie a better view.

  “I did some time down in Brevard county. Got homesick so I got this here viper put on to keep me company.”

  Nodding as if impressed, Frankie looked over at Dooley.

  “Sounds like we all spent some time in the joint.”

  Dooley shook his head and rolled his little eyes.

  “Oh, no, not me. No sir. I’m not going to jail. I’m a law-abiding citizen. I work here and…and…”

  “And go poaching in the swamp every night,” Ray finished for him, the grin reappearing.

  A blush spread up Dooley’s neck.

  “That’s a damned lie.”

  A disapproving scowl spread across the little man’s broad face as he turned back to Frankie.

  “But Jacob Albright, now he did real time. Five years in the state pen. Not sure what all he did. Some sort of sex thing.”

  “And then he just came back home after that?” Frankie asked, widening his eyes for effect. “Just like nothin’ ever happened?”

  Dooley shrugged his plump shoulders.

  “He did his time. That’s all there is to it.”

  “You guys seen anything suspicious going on over at the commune? You said you saw some pretty girls? Did they seem okay?”

  As Hank stepped forward, Frankie looked down at the man’s muddy flip-flops, shivering at the thought of the cold air on bare, wet feet.

  “Them folks at the commune are fine. They’re real religious. Keep mainly to themselves except when they sell produce from their farm.”

  A furtive look passed between the two men, and Frankie wondered what it was they weren’t saying. A stiff wind blew back his hood, ruffling through his tangle of hair, and his teeth began to chatter.

  “You wanna come out with us on the boat?” Dooley asked, his suspicions about Frankie forgotten. “You’ll love the swamp at night. Could even bring back a gator if we’re lucky.”

  “Won’t you guys get in trouble?” Frankie asked, looking out at the black water, half-expecting to see two glowing eyes staring back at him.

  “Well, gator season is over,” Dooley admitted, “but there are more than a million of ‘em in Florida. They’re a damn nuisance. Me and Hank just want to help.”

  Hank nodded and folded his arms over his thin chest.

  “Yeah, if we did go out poaching we’d be performing a public service. Folks should be thanking us for saving lives.”

  Ray slapped Dooley on his back, sending him stumbling forward. He glared over his shoulder, then turned to face Frankie.

  “You look scared. You scared of gators?”

  “Hell yes,” Frankie said, walking back to the Chevy. “And I’m sure as hell not going in the swamp at night.”

  Hank’s eyes took on a malicious gleam.

  “We could drive you past the back of that commune you’re so interested in. You could see for yourself what they’re gettin’ up to.”

  Frankie hesitated, his hand already on the door handle.

  I promised to help Barker, and now I’m being a chicken-shit.

  But before Frankie could change his mind, Ray marched over to the truck and wrenched open the door.

  “I don’t have time for joy-ridin’ around the swamp tonight. I gotta work the night shift. Some of us have real jobs, you know.”

  Weak with relief, Frankie climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt.

  I’ll call Barker and tell him what I found out. I can always come back another time and go out in the boat. Like in about a hundred years.

  He waved to Hank and Dooley as Ray did a three-point turn in the muddy lot and nosed the Chevy back out onto the road. He didn’t relax until they had crossed the Willow Bridge and were headed back into town.

  Chapter Ten

  Barker slowed the Prius as they passed the entrance to the CSL compound, his eyes scanning the automated security gate and the thick concrete walls that shielded the compound from curious eyes. A large No Trespassing sign was prominently displayed. Barker noted that the bright white sign looked conspicuously new next to the chipped and faded paint on the walls.

  “Looks like they aren’t expecting any visitors today.”

  Barker glanced over at Leo, who was riding shotgun. The lawyer’s long legs pressed against the little car’s dashboard as he tapped impatiently on his cell phone.

  “The map’s saying there’s a crossroad up ahead.” Leo motioned for Barker to keep driving. “We can turn around there, head back this way, then find a place to park along the road. Try to see who’s coming or going.”

  A flash in the rearview mirror caught Barker’s eye. He eased his foot on the brake, slowing to a crawl. The box truck he’d seen the day before had appeared on the road behind them; it stopped next to the gate. Someone jumped out and tapped a code into the security panel. Barker recognized Brother Zac’s bright red hair.

  “I think I’ve got a better idea. Hang on.”

  As Barker steered the car into a wild U-turn, Leo braced his legs against the floorboard and reached for the grab bar. The right tires of the Prius skidded off the asphalt briefly, then the car bumped back onto the road, pulling up behind the CSL truck just in time to follow it through the open gates.

  A tall, leanly muscled man with dark, wavy hair walked toward the truck, waving the driver toward a barn on the left side of the courtyard. His eyes widened as the truck trundled away, revealing the electric blue car.

  “That’s Jacob Albright,” Barker murmured to Leo. “Nessa sent me a mugshot. It’s definitely him.”

  A frown creased Jacob’s forehead as he watched Barker and Leo climb out of the car.

  “You gentlemen lost?”

  Barker produced his most innocent smile, taking his time zipping up his bomber jacket, allowing Jacob a glimpse of the gun he had holstered on his belt. The smile on Jacob’s face tightened.

  “Looks that way,” Barker said, his eyes scanning the compound. “What is this place anyway?”

  “This place is private property, actually.”

  Leo stepped forward, throwing Barker an impatient look that told him the defense attorney wasn’t in the mood for games.

  “According to my records this is the listed address for a non-profit religious organization called the Congregation of Supreme Love. Am I right?”

  Jacob hesitated; confusion clouded his face.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Who are you?”

  “I’m a lawyer. I’m looking into the disappearance of a young woman. I have reason to believe she might be in this vicinity.”

  A group of women began to stream out of the two-story house that sat across from the barn. The soft murmur of their voices fell silent as they spotted the men in the courtyard.

  “Ya’ll go on back to the garden,” Jacob called out. “There’s work to do.”

  Barker’s eyes searched every face as the women dispersed around the corner of the house, his pulse racing at the thought that Taylor might be in the group of modestly clothed women. None of the faces looked familiar.

  “What’s the woman’s name?”

  The sullen words snapped their attention back to Jacob. Leo spoke before Barker could find his voice.

  “Her name’s Taylor Barker. She’s twenty years old-”

  “Twenty-one. She
had a birthday in November,” Barker interrupted, his voice wavering on the words.

  Swallowing hard, Barker pulled Taylor’s picture out of his pocket and held it toward Jacob, but the man ignored it.

  “We don’t have anyone called Taylor in the congregation.” Jacob kept his eyes on Barker’s as he shook his head and shrugged. “Now, I’m gonna need to ask you to leave. As I said, we have work to do.”

  Leo plucked the photo out of Barker’s grasp and held it in front of Jacob’s face. His voice was hard as he stepped closer, invading the younger man’s space.

  “I suggest you look at the photo, Mr. Albright.”

  Jacob glared at Leo, then let his angry gaze flicker to the photo. His blue eyes darkened; Barker imagined he could see the man’s pupils dilate even in the bright morning light.

  “You know her?” Barker asked, holding his body rigid as he waited for the reply. “She’s here?”

  Slowly Jacob shook his head, but his eyes remained on the photo. The sound of approaching voices startled him into action.

  “No, I’ve never seen her before. Now you two best get going.”

  Barker could feel Leo’s eyes on him, could feel the question behind the gaze.

  Leo’s not buying Jacob’s story either.

  The door to the main house opened. A frail looking woman with a long white braid stepped out onto the porch. She was leaning on a cane, and her arms shook with the effort to steady herself as she shuffled toward a big, white rocker. A tall, robust woman followed behind, keeping an eye on the older woman’s progress until she’d settled herself safely in the chair.

  “Everything okay, son?”

  The older woman’s brittle voice cracked in the air, and Barker was sure he saw Jacob’s features tighten.

  “Nothing for you to worry about, Ma. These men are just leaving.”

  But his mother’s voice rang out again.

  “You forgot your manners, boy?” Her words were slow, almost slurred. “Invite your guests to sit a spell. Offer ‘em some…some tea.”

  Jacob turned back to Barker, his fists clenching at his sides.”

  “No, Ma. These men can’t stay.”