The Dummy Line (18 page)

“Unit One to Base,” Ollie said with frustration, leaning back in the bucket seat of his Expedition. He dreaded making this call and the added burdens that surely would follow. There were just too many unanswered questions. Ollie hated unanswered questions.

Several seconds slowly ticked by before Martha responded, “Go ahead, One.”

“Have you learned anything from the parents that I need to know?”

“No, not a thing,” she replied.

“How’s the Tillman kid?”

“No change.”

“Call Hale County and get them to have Sheriff Marlow call me on frequency four,” Ollie said flatly, weary resignation in his voice.

There was a long pause. Martha understood Ollie’s reluctance to involve other jurisdictions. Sheriff Marlow was arguably the most respected sheriff in western Alabama. He had been in office for almost thirty years and had run unopposed in the last three elections. It was widely known that he could make things happen and that he was a close, personal friend of the governor. The problem was that Marlow always came to the party with an attitude and a hidden agenda.

“Absolutely, Ollie. Hang on.”

Martha O’Brien dialed the Hale County Sheriff’s Office. A young man whose voice Martha didn’t recognize answered on the second ring. The rumor was that Marlow let trusties answer the phones, cut his grass, clean his fish, and do various other personal jobs. She explained who she was and that Sheriff Landrum needed Sheriff Marlow’s assistance. She could hear him jotting down names and instructions.

“I’ll see what I can do…it’s three fifteen in the morning, you know,” he said condescendingly.

Martha erupted. “I am well aware of the time. This is urgent or I wouldn’t be freakin’ callin’! Now, get me Sheriff Marlow.” She mouthed the word “idiots” to herself and let out a deep breath. Martha O’Brien was constantly amazed at others’ incompetence. She had zero tolerance for it and for them.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, respectfully this time.

“Sheriff Landrum will be waiting on frequency four,” she said, lighting another cigarette.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, then hung up and began cussing.

She hung up the telephone and then pushed the radio microphone button.

“Sheriff?” she asked, “I expect he’ll be calling you any minute.”

“Thank you, Miz Martha.”

“Anything else?”

Ollie thought he heard a trace of sympathy in her voice. “I may need you to call Tuscaloosa…I’m thinking we’ll need a helicopter. But wait till I talk to Marlow. Stay in touch with the Tillmans and Beasleys, and radio me if there’s something I should know.”

“Ollie, listen to me. You find that girl,” she pleaded.

“Yes ma’am…let me change channels. I don’t want to miss Marlow,” he replied, then leaned down to adjust his radio. Ollie couldn’t decide how Marlow would react.

Ollie looked at his watch, rolled down his window for some fresh air, and settled into his seat. He thought about the pistol and the role it might have played in this crazy scenario. The camp looked sinister in the dark shadows created by the maze of floodlights. R.C. was in his vehicle trying to run down the pistol’s serial number. That would take some time, unless it was stolen. Somewhere there was a missing girl. He hoped this wasn’t going to turn into a high-profile case that put him under the microscope.

A gruff voice crackled over the radio. “Hale County Unit One to Sumter County Unit One.”

“Unit One here,” Ollie responded and thought,
OK, here we go
.

“Ollie, what the hell’s goin’ on?”

“Sheriff, I’ve got a situation over here that’s really got me worried.” He gave him an abbreviated account of Mick’s phone call and the camp house. He quickly explained about finding Tanner Tillman and that Elizabeth Beasley was missing. The girl was his priority. Sheriff Marlow said that he knew Zach Beasley—Zach did his taxes. Ollie tried to be concise yet stress the uncertainty of it all.

“Ollie, this is serious. I agree that we should concentrate on the girl…let me get some deputies over there and we’ll start canvassing. It’ll take an hour,” Marlow replied, staring out his bedroom window.

“Sheriff? I was wonderin’ if we should call in a ‘copter to search at daylight?” Ollie asked.

“The closest one’s in Tuscaloosa, and I know it’s broken down. If the National Guard wasn’t in the Middle East, we’d get one of theirs. I tell you what…I might call the governor to see if he’d dispatch his helicopter. Let me get there; then we’ll make a plan. Remember last time?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll have my deputies call your office for directions. I’m on my way, son.”

“Thank you,” Ollie replied, feeling an immediate sense of relief. Help was coming, and Marlow hadn’t been arrogant or uncooperative.

R.C. was standing by Ollie’s door nodding his head in agreement. “A helicopter could do a fast search of this area.”

“True, but the more I think about it, the more I think they’ve left. Why would they hang around? And where? It’s cold, wet, and muddy out there. They had to leave. That may be why the truck’s tag was missing. Trying to buy some time,” Ollie explained.

“You’re probably right. Unless it’s teenagers, and then they may not have any place to go.”

Ollie nodded. He hadn’t thought about that. “Any word on that gun registration?”

“They’re gonna call back,” R.C. explained.

“R.C., I want to find that girl. I’m afraid…I can’t even go there—we just gotta find her, and fast.”

“I know. I feel the same way…but where do we start?” R.C. threw up his hands in frustration.

“That’s the problem. We could tie up all of our manpower in the wrong direction.”

Ollie pulled the radiophone out of his pocket and studied it. “This might be our ticket. If we could get them to disclose their location or at least give us a clue.”

“You’re right…or…it might tip ‘em off and make ‘em run.” R.C. shook his head in confusion.

They looked at each other and then at the phone.

As the trio approached a small creek, they stumbled upon an Indian mound. Any other time, Jake would have been excited to explain to Katy the significance of this site. Jake loved Native American history and over the years had found a number of arrowheads while planting food plots. It always amazed him that the last person to touch the artifact had been an Indian.

Jake, needing to rest, found a spot to set Katy down. Elizabeth stumbled up, leaned against a tree, and slowly lowered herself to the ground. He looked at them both. Katy was still terrified, and Elizabeth looked like she could be going into shock; he wasn’t sure. Jake sat down between the girls. He checked the safety on the shotgun then laid it at an angle across his lap.

The words of Conway Twitty’s song “That’s My Job” kept going through Jake’s head. He was doing his job—everything he could to keep Katy safe. He breathed in deeply.

“Y’all OK?” he asked.

“Sure,” Katy said tiredly.

Elizabeth just grunted. Jake could tell that she was just going through the motions.

“Elizabeth, tell me about yourself,” he asked, trying to distract her. “Do you go to school?”

“I’m a senior at Sumter Academy. I’ll probably go to The University of Virginia this fall,” she said flatly. There was no emotion in her eyes or voice.

“I guess you live around here somewhere?” Jake asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“In Livingston.”

“What does your father do?”

“He’s an accountant.”

Katy joined in. “Do you play sports?”

“I played softball until the tenth grade, but not anymore,” Elizabeth answered.

“I play softball and basketball,” Katy said proudly.

Elizabeth managed a small smile. Jake thought,
Maybe she’s holding up. Katy seems to be calming down, too.

Elizabeth looked off in the distance, then back at Katy. “I’m a cheerleader,” she said; then, looking squarely at Jake, she added, “And my boy…my boyfriend plays football.” Elizabeth burst into tears.

Katy looked at her dad with a sad, bewildered look, and he shook his head at her, signaling that it was all right.

“Elizabeth, I’ve been thinking about him. After I get y’all safely in a shooting house, I’ll go get him,” Jake remarked assuredly.

“No! You can’t leave us…they can track us…please, don’t leave!” she said in a panic and added hopefully, “We’ll go with you!”

“OK, OK, I won’t. I won’t leave y’all,” he promised. He placed a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder to comfort her, but he was thinking how he might be able to turn the tables on the rednecks and become the aggressor.

“Listen to me—both of you. We’re gonna get out of here. But we have to really push ourselves. We’re all hurtin’, tired, and scared. Katy, you have to do everything I say…immediately, no questions. Elizabeth, I know you’re worried about your boyfriend, but right now, you have to think about helping yourself first. You can’t help him right now. Since he’s a football player, I’m sure he’s a strong, tough guy. I have a plan. It’ll get us out of here. Y’all understand? Helpin’ yourself helps us all; that’s how it works. Got it?”

They both nodded in agreement. Jake didn’t have a plan yet, but he was going to get these girls out of there even if it killed him.

Turning to Katy, he wrapped his arms around her and looked her in the eyes. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Dad, I do,” she answered and hugged him.

Jake kissed her cheek and held her tight. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

“Is your boyfriend in love with you?” he asked Elizabeth. She smiled slightly. With enough light, he might have seen her blush.

“Yes sir, he is,” she responded with a smile.

“Well, think about that…that’s a good thought,” Jake said, standing. “Let’s go,” he said as he stretched. “It can’t be much farther.”

“Dad?” Katy asked.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Mom’s gonna kill you when we get home.”

Jake smiled and said, “I know.”
If someone doesn’t beat her to it.

Larson drove as fast as he could to Johnny Lee Grover’s trailer. All local law enforcement knew his address. The sheriff’s department had spent years watching Johnny Lee, who was suspected of drug manufacturing, possession, distribution, and other crimes. He had no apparent means of legitimate income.

It had only been about six months since the last time Larson had been to Johnny Lee’s place. The sheriff’s department had received a call concerning gunfire. Larson had been the first to arrive. There were two naked teenage meth addicts in the backyard shooting a .22 rifle into the woods trying to kill the “tree people.” At the sight of Shug, both kids cooperated. Larson found it sad how they insisted the trees were full of people who wanted to kill them. As he was loading the junkies into the police cruiser, Johnny Lee stepped out of the trailer and thanked him. He said that he couldn’t sleep with all the noise. Larson knew the kids had bought the drugs from Johnny Lee; he just couldn’t prove it. The boys were only sixteen years old.

Larson cut off his headlights about two hundred yards from Johnny Lee’s double-wide. As he eased closer to the trailer, he saw a black Tahoe or Suburban backed up to the front door. Larson didn’t recognize it but was certain it wasn’t Johnny Lee’s. Then he saw the small orange glow of a lit cigarette on the front deck of the trailer. Larson decided to pull up and ask a few questions. He told the ever-licking Shug, “
Achtung
,” as he flipped on his headlights and braked to a stop. The guy sitting on the front steps was blowing smoke rings.

The black Tahoe had chrome spinner rims. Larson looked around carefully before he got out of his car. He rolled down the back window in case he needed Shug.

“Evenin’…or I guess I should say mornin’,” Larson said as he closed his car door.

The guy simply nodded.

“You got a name?” Larson asked.

Moon Pie took a long drag on his cigarette and decided to tell the truth. “Ethan Daniels,” he said after he blew smoke into the air and flipped his cigarette butt into the gravel. “I’m down here to do little fishin’.”

“Oh. I see. Where’s Johnny Lee?”

“He went to get us some bait,” Moon Pie replied, cool as could be.

Larson wasn’t buying whatever this guy was selling, but he didn’t have much to go on. He played along in hopes of learning something.

“I really need to talk to him,” Larson said, trying to look through the tinted windows of the vehicle.

“Until he gets back, I don’t know how to get in touch with him.”

“What about his cell phone?”

“I don’t know if he’s even got one.”

Moon Pie slipped a cigarette between his lips and offered the pack to Larson.

“No, thanks,” Larson replied. “You a chain smoker?”

“I like ‘em well enough, I guess,” Moon Pie replied, then cupped his hands around the cigarette, and lit it. He expertly blew a smoke ring.

“As soon as you see him or talk to him, tell him the sheriff’s department wants to speak with him immediately. Tell him to call us as soon as you see him. Here’s my card. I’m serious.”

“Glad to. I always support the Law.”

Larson walked to the back of the Tahoe and shone the light on the tag. As he was memorizing the plate number, he asked Ethan where he called home.

“I’m from Noxapater, Mississippi, but I live in Tupelo,” Ethan replied, knowing better than to lie about that.

“How do you know Johnny Lee?”

“We went to med school together,” he replied.

That made Larson laugh. “So you’re a comedian. I need to talk to Johnny Lee or any of his other runnin’ buddies right now,” Larson added in a very serious tone.

“When I see him…I’ll tell him.”

“I mean it now, you tell him to call us.” Larson gave Moon Pie a very determined look.

“No problem, Officer.”

Larson climbed back in his cruiser and rolled up the back window. He decided to tell the sheriff the latest. Staring at Ethan, Larson radioed Ollie.

“Go ahead, Larson.”

“Sheriff, I’m at the suspect’s residence. He isn’t here. There’s a guy sittin’ on the porch, says his name’s Ethan Daniels from Tupelo. He has a Mississippi tag. He says they’re goin’ fishin’. Claims the suspect has gone to get some bait.”

“Jailbait,” R.C. whispered under his breath. He was listening to the conversation.

“Why don’t you back up and keep an eye on him. Stay close to the radio. I’ve called in reinforcements. They should be here shortly.”

“Ten-four, Sheriff.”

Larson backed up and drove away, trying to give the impression that he was leaving. After about a mile, he turned around and, without lights, slowly eased the patrol car to within two hundred yards, just out of sight of the trailer, and parked.

Moon Pie heard the deputy return. He wasn’t falling for that old trick. He needed to report this to Reese. He climbed into his Tahoe and shut the door.

Beep-beep.
“Reese?”

Approximately thirty seconds crawled by before any response.

Beep-beep.
“Yeah.”

Beep-beep.
“Yo, I’m here and Deputy Dawg supercop come by askin’ questions ‘bout Johnny Lee. He acted like he was leavin’, but he’s parked just down the road. He can’t see the trailer or me. He got my tag number, but I didn’t tell him shit.”

Beep-beep.
“Where’s my package?”

Beep-beep.
“Stored inside.”

Reese’s mind raced. He wanted revenge, but having the girl was getting too risky. That wasn’t smart. He was trying to think about what was going on with the cops.
There could be a thousand reasons why the cops wanna talk to Johnny Lee. That ain’t out of the ordinary. But tonight? At this hour? We gotta ditch the woman!

Beep-beep.
“Hey, sit tight a minute.”

Beep-beep.
“All right…Look, I wanna help, but I don’t need no trouble. No, make that
we
don’t need trouble,” Moon Pie replied, growing anxious. He owed Johnny Lee a favor—that’s what had gotten him involved in this mess—but he was willing to stay in it because of the huge potential profits from running drugs on the rivers, and that venture would be decimated if Reese was in prison.

Beep-beep.
“Just hang on.”

Beep-beep.
“Deputy Dawg’s gonna follow me if I leave.”

Reese realized Moon Pie was right, and he didn’t want the woman in the trailer if anything went down.

Beep-beep.
“I said hang on. I’m thinkin’.”

Moon Pie shook his head and then said quietly, “Dammit!”
Now I’m lookin’ at federal time for kidnappin’. Reese’s got ten minutes. That’s it.