C. Box - The Highway

Cody made sure the big man wasn’t looking at them in the mirror and nodded toward the newcomer and arched his eyebrows, as if to say, “Who is that guy?”

“Not now,” Legerski mouthed. He seemed to Cody to be a little nervous, or a little scared.

Cody changed the subject and leaned forward.

“Let’s go out there and look around for the car,” he whispered.

“The church compound?” Legerski whispered back.

“We should do it now. Before they get a chance to hide the car or change the plates.”

“ Now? What about a warrant?”

“Don’t you know a friendly judge?”

“I do. But we need probable cause. We don’t have jack shit at this point.”

“Then let’s go anyway.”

“They’ve got a gate across the entrance on the other side of the bridge. If it’s locked, we have to ask them to come on their property. And it’s always locked.”

Cody sighed in frustration. “We don’t need a warrant. We just drive up and ask them if we can look around. They’re supposed to be good people. If they don’t have anything to hide they should let us on the property.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we have probable cause, don’t we?” Cody asked.

Legerski leaned back and looked at Cody blankly.

“Can’t this wait until morning? We can see most of the compound from the highway. We could be there at dawn with field glasses and spotting scopes and see if we can locate the car. Then we’d have a reason to go get Judge Graff.”

“Too much time,” Cody said. “If they did what you suggest they did, that would give them time to hide the car and stash those girls. Every minute counts in something like this.”

“Man, I don’t know,” Legerski whispered.

“Think about it,” Cody said, leaning back himself. He thought if Legerski refused he’d go anyway. There was nothing illegal or unethical about asking for permission to look around the compound. If the church people said no, they said no. And he’d figure out a way to access it anyway.

Cody leaned forward again across the table, and Legerski reluctantly did the same.

“So who is the guy who just came in?”

The trooper lowered his voice so even Cody could barely hear him. “He’s a long-haul trucker who lives with his mother in a shack six miles away from here in the foothills. His name is Ronald C. Pergram.”

“Seems like an odd one,” Cody said, stealing a sidelong glance. Pergram didn’t look over. Jimmy had delivered his beer and stood hovering over him. Cody got the feeling Jimmy was letting Pergram know that Cody and Legerski were talking about him in whispers.

“This Jimmy,” Cody said, “is he a good guy?”

“The best,” Legerski said. “I’ve known him for years.”

“He seems to be pals with Pergram.”

Legerski snorted. “I doubt that. He’s just being Jimmy. Jimmy knows everybody in this valley.”

There was a quick vibration in Cody’s pocket.

“Excuse me,” he said, and withdrew his phone. Legerski watched him suspiciously.

CHECKING VICAP, Cassie had written in a text. FOUND SOME MISSING FEMALES WITHIN A 100 MILE RADIUS. LAST SEEN AT TRUCK STOPS. WILL KEEP DIGGING.

“You say he’s a long-haul trucker,” Cody said, closing the phone.

“Who was that?” Legerski asked, nodding toward the closed phone in Cody’s hand.

“My son Justin,” Cody lied. “He still hasn’t heard a word from the Sullivan girls.”

Legerski shook his head.

“Tell me,” Cody said, “Have there been any other reports of missing women here on Highway 89?”

Legerski looked back, puzzled. “What are you thinking?”

“Just a wild hair,” Cody said. “Something to look at if our first theory goes kablooey.”

Legerski nodded, but seemed to withdraw a little. Cody got the impression Legerski didn’t like the direction the conversation had taken, and found it telling. The trooper had a theory he wanted to sell to Cody, and Cody wasn’t entirely buying it, which seemed to unsettle the man.

“So,” Cody said, pushing away from the table, “let’s go to church.”

“Man…”

“You can come with me or stay or go home. Your choice. But since it’s your stomping grounds, I thought you might want to come along.”

Legerski sat at the table and finished the last of his coffee. Cody didn’t linger, but stood and pulled on his jacket and turned for the door. He didn’t hear the trooper follow.

* * *

When he stepped outside through the faux bat wing doors onto the old wooden portico, Cody noted that the condensation from his breath billowed around his head like a helmet. He paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. There were no lights in any direction, only the hard white stars that appeared like cream wash in the night sky. The moon reflected off the river in the distance and the windshield of his car. He zipped up his jacket against the cold.

Something had happened inside the bar but he couldn’t figure out what it was. The way the three men-Legerski, Jimmy, the truck driver-interacted without words around him was unsettling, but he couldn’t unpack it. Why did Legerski seem so different-jumpy, intense-when he returned from the toilet? Cody felt he’d missed something but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He wished the alcohol in his system had dispersed but it was still there, dulling his instincts and fogging his brain. He thought about turning on his heel and going back inside to order a drink. He knew from long experience that sometimes the hair of the dog resharpened his wits, at least temporarily.

“No,” he said aloud to himself. You’ve got to ride this out.

As he stepped down toward the hitching post and his truck he heard the door open behind him and the bat wing doors swing out. They moaned on rusted hinges.

He turned to find Legerski, fitting on his trooper hat.

“Changed your mind?” Cody said, smiling.

“Completely,” Legerski said.

“You want to come with me, or do you want me to ride along with you? Or take two cars and really impress the hell out of them?”

“Let’s take your pickup. In case this thing goes haywire, I’d rather not be in my cruiser. Let me get my camera and my sound equipment in case we have to document something.”

Cody grinned and climbed in. He was glad Legerski was with him. He started the motor and waited for the trooper to retrieve the items from his trunk. He watched him root around, find what he was looking for, and walk around the back of his pickup carrying a satchel. His taillights turned Legerski pink in the rearview mirrors.

The trooper climbed in and shut the door.

“Do you know how to get there?”

“I’ve seen the place,” Cody said. “It’s hard to miss.”

As Cody reached up for the shifter all of his senses suddenly came alive but things happened too quickly to process. Straight ahead, up the wooden porch steps and to the side of the door, two faces looked out from opposite sides of the neon Miller Lite beer sign in the window. At the same time, he heard the rustle of fabric from the satchel on Legerski’s lap as well as the sharp intake of breath from the trooper.

Instinctively, Cody glanced over but all he could see was the gaping silver-rimmed muzzle of a snub-nosed large caliber revolver an inch from his eye. The cylinder revolved, filled with dull lead bullets, as the trooper pulled the trigger.

There was a tremendous explosion of light and thunder.

He could no longer see out of his right eye, but it was more than that. There was no pain, only tremendous silence.

Then he was floating, light as air, as if his lungs had filled with helium. He passed through the sheet metal roof of his pickup into the night, which was no longer cold. As he rose his eyesight was restored but he no longer had feeling in his limbs and his arms hung loose at his sides.