The Dummy Line (25 page)

Scott Littlepage called the bell captain and had his Toyota Land Cruiser brought down from the parking garage. He was standing outside waiting when it arrived. Throwing the luggage in the back, he left the Beau Rivage Resort and Casino without even checking out. He was in shock, stunned.
Kidnapped?
He still had too much whiskey in his system.

Plugging his cell phone into the cigarette lighter, he thought about whom he should call.
I need to check on the kids, I should try Jake, and I need to call the hospital back to check on Lindsay. I probably oughta call Lindsay’s mother, too—but what do I tell her? I’ll wait until I know more before I call her.

“This is just un-freakin’-believable! Kidnapped?” he said aloud as he clicked on the emergency flashers and punched the gas. Heading west on Interstate 10, Scott drove as fast as he ever had in his life. He then turned north on Highway 49 and into the rolling timberlands of southern Mississippi. He’d be there in a few hours. If he got stopped, he could explain—they could verify his story—he prayed.

After calling information for the number, Scott confirmed that his kids were safe and sound asleep. He apologized, without explaining, for calling at this ungodly hour.
That’s a relief.
Then he dialed Jake’s cell number from his phone book. “Come on, Jake,” he said aloud, hoping that he had his cell with him in the camper. “The subscriber you have called has traveled out of the calling area. Please try your call again later,” the automated message replied. “Shit,” Scott said, remembering that cell service at the hunting camp sucked. He thought for a second, then dialed the Crosby house.

“Hello?” Morgan replied groggily after four rings.

“Morgan, this is Scott. Is Jake there?”

“No…no…he and Katy went hunting. What time is it?” she replied as she sat up in the bed.

“Morgan, Lindsay was kidnapped. I know this sounds crazy, but I just got a call and she’s in the hospital in Livingston…she somehow got away!”

“What? Who called you?” she asked, jolted awake.

“The Sumter County Sheriff’s Office. I don’t know any details. I’m on my way to the hospital. I was in Biloxi when they called me.”

“You?…What?…She?…Where are your kids?”

“They spent the night with some friends. They’re safe,” he replied. “I may need you to pick them up this morning.”

“Sure. I…just…hang on. I think there’s someone outside,” she explained.

Morgan had suddenly become aware that Scout was barking more excitedly than usual. She heard a vehicle pulling up in their driveway and saw the flash of lights through the bedroom window.

“Morgan? They kidnapped her from our house, so be careful. I’m gonna try and to catch up with Jake and get him to go to the hospital until I can get there.”

“What? Scott, I’m sorry…I didn’t hear what you said…hold on…someone just drove up,” Morgan replied, trying to figure out just what was going on.

“Morgan! They kidnapped her from our house! Be careful!” he screamed, but she didn’t hear him.

Morgan was already setting down the phone. “Hold on!” she yelled, running to a window at the front of the house.

Morgan saw two cars in her driveway. Scout was going wild, barking as fast as she could.
What’s going on?
she thought. Running back into the bedroom, she reached under the mattress and grabbed Jake’s pistol. She pulled the gun from its holster. It felt alien. She didn’t know if it was loaded or even how to check.

A sudden loud banging came from the front door. She jumped and screamed. She could hear voices, but Scout’s barking was so intense she couldn’t understand their words. She quickly grabbed her robe, wrapping it around herself. She peeked around the corner of the bedroom door. Looking down the hall, she could see through the leaded-glass front door. Someone was standing in the shadows. Holding the pistol level in front of her, she crept down the hallway, sliding along the wall. As she got to the foyer, she reached around the corner and flipped on the front porch lights.

“Sheriff’s Department! Don’t shoot!” the deputies yelled, holding up their badges and looking at the pistol pointing at them.

“Please, put the gun down!” they shouted. “Put it down, ma’am!” they screamed with their hands on their holstered pistols. Scout was in a total frenzy.

“Ma’am…we’re from the sheriff’s office, and we need to ask you some questions!” one deputy yelled over the dog’s barking. He watched her lower the pistol.

Reaching for the dead bolt, Morgan took a deep breath and unlocked it.

“Ma’am, can we come in please?” the deputy asked, keeping one eye on the fat black Lab growling at his side.

She looked at both of them, recognizing the one farthest away. His daughter had been on one of Katy’s softball teams.

“Come in. What’s going on?” she replied. “Scout, hush…Scout!” Reaching out to reassure her with a head rub, she said, “Good girl,” and then stepped back to allow the deputies inside.

The two deputies were clearly relieved to be out of Scout’s reach. They took off their hats and apologized for scaring her.

“Mrs. Crosby, would you mind doing something with that pistol? It makes us real nervous,” asked the tall deputy—the one she knew.

“I…I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what was going on…and still don’t.” She placed the pistol on a shelf in the bookcase, next to Jake’s collection of African hunting novels.

“Where’s Jake right now?” the tallest one asked.

“He’s turkey huntin’. He and my daughter—Katy—left last night. Why?” she asked, sitting down on the leather ottoman.

“I can see he hunts,” the deputy said, looking around at the mounts.

“What’s goin’ on? Why are you here? This is weird. I just got a call from Scott Littlepage saying Lindsay had been kidnapped,” she said, furrowing her brow.

The deputies looked at each other.
So much for surprise,
they thought.

“Yes ma’am, we have a unit over there right now. How would you describe Jake’s relationship with Mrs. Littlepage?”

“Kidnapped? Are you serious? This is like a bad dream.”

“Yes ma’am. Now, how would you describe their relationship?”

“Huh? Relationship? Um…he…well…she’s our next-door neighbor. I think she aggravates him some, or more like he aggravates her. She’s always complaining about something. You know, typical neighbor stuff. Jake comes and goes at all hours, and she complains about him waking her up, but wait…I don’t understand what this has to do with anything,” Morgan rambled.

“We don’t either. We do know that she was kidnapped tonight and somehow got away from her abductors. She was rescued by a deputy in Sumter County, Alabama.”

“Really kidnapped?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Do you think she would have gone to the hunting club with Jake for any reason?” the short, pudgy deputy asked, watching her body language.

The thought had never crossed Morgan’s mind, and then she quickly dismissed it. Shaking her head, she decreed, “No. Absolutely not. I know my husband, and I know her. No. No way.”

Morgan didn’t know exactly where Jake was, and before tonight, she had never heard of Sumter County. She looked blankly at the deputies. “Sumter County…and that’s in Alabama, right?”

“Isn’t that where your husband hunts?” asked the stocky one, with no small amount of derision.

“I don’t know. Maybe…it’s a few hours from here. Scott’s in the same hunting club! Crap, I still have him on the phone!” She ran back to the bedroom and grabbed the phone. The line was disconnected. “He hung up,” she called to the deputies.

Walking back down the hallway with the portable phone in hand, she said, “This is crazy. You think Jake kidnapped her? You’re crazy. What about Lindsay, is she all right?”

“Yes ma’am, she is. We know something has occurred, we can’t say what exactly. We’re just trying to gather information for the sheriff down there.”

“Let me try Jake.” She dialed while they studied her. The phone rang, and she stared at them. “He’s out of the coverage area…but I never can call him when he’s down there. Jake says it’s pretty much a dead cell area.”

“Look, we have a lot to do. We need to go and secure the Littlepages’ residence. We need you to help. If Jake calls, we need to talk to him immediately, OK?” The tall deputy handed her his card.

“Yes, sure, of course. Whatever I can do. I can’t believe this has happened!” she exclaimed. “So, Jake’s
not
at the camp house?”

“No ma’am, and we sure wanna talk to him. I’m sure you do, too,” said Chubby with a sneer.

“What time is it?” she asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. “He may already be in the woods hunting…he leaves so early…I just don’t know what—”

“That’s right, so don’t jump to any conclusions,” the friendly deputy responded.

“Jump to any conclusions! You tell me my neighbor has been kidnapped; she turns up in Wherever, Alabama, where my husband and my daughter are hunting; and you’re asking questions about him! You can’t find him! What about my daughter! What am I
supposed
to think?” she said, exasperated.

“Please, Mrs. Crosby, calm down. We don’t know anything, and we aren’t suggesting anything. I’m sure you’re right. He and your daughter are probably getting ready to set up on an old gobbler right now as we speak.”

“It’s Sumter County, Alabama,” said the fat deputy.

“Whatever,” she responded, folding her arms. She was beginning to fume. “And what about Tate Newsom?”

“Who?” the tall deputy asked curiously.

“Tate Newsom…he lives in Columbus. He’s down there with them.”

The deputies looked at each other. They didn’t know what to say. This was the first they heard of Tate Newsom.

“I’m calling his wife…maybe she’s heard from him,” Morgan replied, grabbing the cordless telephone. She walked into the kitchen to look in the phone book for his number.

Morgan came back into the den with the phone next to her ear. She watched the deputies’ faces while the phone rang. She rubbed her face with her free hand.

“Tate?” she said, surprised. “Tate, this is Morgan Crosby, I thought you went huntin’ with Jake?” she asked and then listened. The two deputies tried in vain to overhear his reply.

“OK. Listen. Something terrible has happened. Lindsay Littlepage was kidnapped and found down near y’all’s huntin’ camp. They can’t find Jake, and Katy is with him…Yes, I swear! Tate, I need you to come get me; we’ve got to go find Katy and Jake.”

“Whoa, no way…we can’t let…I need to speak to him,” the tall deputy immediately interrupted. Morgan handed him the phone.

“Mr. Newsom, I’m Deputy Franks of Clay County. I really need to talk to you in person. Please, this is very important. Can you come over here? Yes sir. How fast can you be here? Thank you, sir.” And with that, he handed the phone back to Morgan.

“Tate, please hurry,” she pleaded and hung up.

“Why didn’t he go huntin’?” the heavy deputy asked.

“He said he got a ‘better offer.’ I think that’s man code for sex,” Morgan explained, rolling her eyes. “He just got married.”

“I’m sorry for all this, but please stay around here and keep your phone line open. Please call us immediately if you hear from Jake. We need to call in to report and make sure the Littlepages’ house is secure. We’ll be back before Mr. Newsom gets here,” Deputy Franks said compassionately.

“Sure,” she replied, not really knowing what else to say. “I’ll do whatever you need me to. Can I come over there?” she asked, looking out the window at all the flashing lights from the police cars that had pulled into the Littlepages’.

“There’s nothin’ to see. Stay here by the phone,” snapped Pudgy.

“OK…fine,” she replied, sitting on the edge of the chair, nervously running her hands through her hair.

“Thank you, ma’am. We’ll be right back,” Deputy Franks replied as he moved toward the front door.

Scout started barking again as the door opened. Morgan yelled, “Hush, Scout! Get in here.” The deputies stepped back to let Scout in, then left as fast as they could.

Morgan jumped at the phone ringing in her hand. She answered it on the first ring. It was Scott Littlepage again. He was a basket case. Morgan promised to take care of their kids and explained the little that she learned from the deputies and the Tate Newsom situation. Scott promised to call back if he learned anything new.

“Hurry up, Scott. They can’t find Jake, and Katy’s with him,” she pleaded.

“He’s probably already in the woods waitin’ on daylight,” he said, trying to reassure her.

“I hope so,” Morgan said, and then hung up.

Morgan sat down and stared at the walls, trying to clear her thoughts. What should she do? She needed to talk to Jake, and she wanted Katy safely tucked in her own bed. There was no way Jake could be involved in this. As she looked around the “trophy room,” she suddenly, for the first time in several years, missed Jake.

R.C. and Steve Tillman drove silently along the Dummy Line. R.C. checked the handheld radio once to make certain it was working properly. Tillman slowed the Jeep.

“What the heck’s that?” Tillman asked, the headlights illuminating something odd-looking in the middle of the road.

“I don’t know. Let’s check it out,” R.C. replied.

Tillman stopped ten feet in front of the unknown object. They both got out and slowly walked toward it.

“It’s a fleece jacket,” R.C. said as he laid down the radio on a hard, dry spot and picked up the jacket by the edge of a sleeve. “Oh shit, it’s bloody and almost ripped in two!” he blurted out.

“Oh, my God! How can you rip fleece?” Tillman exclaimed, his eyes wide from fear.

R.C. held it to his nose and breathed deeply. “It smells of perfume…my favorite ex-girlfriend wears this brand.”

“It’s Elizabeth’s,” Tillman groaned. “It’s her cheerleading jacket,” he said in shock. They both stared at each other. R.C. looked around and noticed a shooting house on the side of the road. The door was wide open. As he slowly approached it, with one hand on his holstered pistol, the other holding a Maglight, he saw blood on the third and fourth steps. R.C. let out a deep breath.

“What do you think this means?” asked Tillman, staring at the blood.

“I hope we aren’t too late. I mean…I hope whoever has Elizabeth didn’t leave in that truck when we went back to town,” R.C. said, staring at the old wooden structure. “We better keep going just to be sure,” he added, nodding down the Dummy Line into the darkness.

Tillman agreed. R.C. carefully laid the jacket on the back seat while Tillman put the Jeep in gear and revved the engine. R.C. began searching for the handheld radio as Tillman let out the clutch and began rolling. They both heard a plastic crunch. Tillman stopped. R.C. immediately knew what it was.

“Shit! Ollie’s gonna kill me!” R.C. cried out.

“What was it?” Tillman asked, puzzled.

“The radio,” R.C. said glumly as slid out of the Jeep. He reached under it. He held up the flattened radio for Tillman to see and got back in. “Drive on…we gotta find her.”