Bobby Cole - The dummy line

“Look here, R.C. A nine-millimeter shell,” Ollie said as he kneeled down and stared at the small empty brass cartridge lying in the gravel. Ollie finally had a clue.

“Uh…well, uh…I’m afraid that’s mine, Chief,” R.C. replied as he reached for his flashlight.

“What? You fired a round? You never said you fired a shot?”

R.C. told him the story. The sheriff simply stared at him for a few seconds. Ollie took a deep breath and let it out. Nothing was making sense tonight. He continued his search, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. R.C. was used to it.

“Quit spittin’ everywhere; you’re contaminating the crime scene,” Ollie growled. “When are you going to quit that nasty habit?”

“I can’t. I’m too good at it,” R.C. said honestly while shining his light in the Jeep.

“Chief, look at this!” he said excitedly.

R.C. held up a small, expensive-looking purse. Ollie looked at the purse and then back at R.C.

They unzipped the bag, reached in, and pulled out the matching wallet. Ollie took a deep breath and opened it. There was Elizabeth Beasley’s driver’s license. He clicked off his flashlight, then let out a deep frustrated sigh, and looked up at the stars.

“This ain’t good, boss,” R.C replied.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“OK, chunk, you gotta give me a break,” Jake said in a half whisper, setting Katy gently down on the ground.

Jake’s left arm was starting to go numb. They had only covered about half a mile, but it was around trees and over logs. He could tell he had spent way too much time behind a desk and none in the gym. He jogged a few days a week; at least he tried to, and some weeks he actually did. Most weeks he was too busy; jogging was the last thing on his list. And he ate way too many Krispy Kremes. Jake never counted carbs or calories, and every step he took carrying Katy reminded him of it.

“Oh, Dad, it’s wet!” Katy whined, standing on one leg in her sock feet.

Jake reached in his hunting vest and dug around until he found a black garbage bag that he carried but never used. He unfolded it and placed it on the ground. Katy stepped on it. He couldn’t remember why he had originally put it in his vest or kept it-it was always in the way.

“My legs are soaked,” he replied, as he watched her sit down Indian-style on the bag.

“Yeah, but you’re used to it,” she shot right back.

“I have some gloves you can put on your feet. Don’t laugh; at least they’re dry.”

Katy looked at him like he was crazy and then said, “Sure, I’ll try ‘em.”

Jake dug around in his vest and found a pair of thin cotton gloves with the extended wrists. They slipped right over her feet and actually fit rather well, though the fingers dangled awkwardly. Katy giggled. She was glad to have dry, warm feet again.

“We gotta keep those dry; it’s all I have.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, wiggling her toes.

Jake punched the side of his Timex. It glowed like a firefly. Over three hours until daylight. Damn. If I ever get out of this mess, I’m takin’ up golf . Nobody robbed a clubhouse and chased golfers all over the course at night. Maybe he’d get serious about fishing. Jake shook his head. I’ve gotta concentrate. I’ve got to get us out of this.

“OK, Katy, I think we have about another half mile till we reach the field. Can you ride on my back?”

“Sure. I did at Disney World.”

“Let’s go,” Jake whispered. He bent down while she crawled up his back. Two years earlier, he had carried her for miles so she could see everything, and he figured he could sure do it again to save her life.

Suddenly every hair on Jake’s neck stood up straight as he heard a loud hysterical scream off to the west. Chills coursed down his spine. A woman was screaming for her life. And she kept on and on. Katy instantly squeezed tighter around his neck. It was scaring Jake as well. It reminded him of his recurring nightmare.

“What’s that?” Katy asked in a loud whisper.

Jake listened, and then he responded, “I don’t know. I’m not sure. I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s a girl screaming.”

“Why’s she screaming? Who is it, Dad?” Katy asked excitedly.

The screaming stopped. Jake stared off in its direction. “I don’t know, honey. I have no idea.”

They could hear her screaming again, this time more muffled, but it still had terror in it. Whoever it was, she was scared to death. Jake squatted down, picked up his shotgun, and started walking as fast as he could carry Katy in the direction of the screams. He had to help.

“Katy, hang on and be very quiet,” he whispered over his shoulder. One hand held her arms around his neck, and the other held the shotgun. He decided he was better off without a flashlight even though vines and limbs were cutting his face every other step. Fortunately, Katy was small enough to mostly hide behind his head and shoulders.

Jake had covered quite a bit of the initial distance when the screaming stopped. He needed to rest and get his bearings. He had taken off in such a rush that he had forgotten the trash bag, so he had to find a log for Katy to sit on. He put one finger to his lips and whispered, “Sssshhhhh.” He stood up and listened intently. Jake thought it wasn’t too far…maybe half a mile, but in the stillness things sounded closer or maybe farther-he wasn’t certain.

Nothing but silence. Jake didn’t like this at all. Whatever made that girl scream that way had to be evil. I saw evil once tonight and never want to see it again. Jake sat down on the log next to Katy.

“Is she OK?” Katy asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know, but we’re going to help her if we can. I just don’t hear anything anymore.”

Jake knew the direction, but without hearing a sound to gauge the distance, he feared walking up on whatever it was. He needed the element of surprise. He also had Katy, and he wasn’t going to leave her alone. Jake decided to move slowly ahead. He bent down, and Katy again climbed up on his back. He eased off in the direction of the screams. He couldn’t get that sound out of his mind.

Reese also heard the woman. He tried several times to raise Tiny on the radiophone. Finally, he had heard enough and headed toward the screams. When the screaming finally stopped, Reese quit walking, stood very quietly, and listened-utilizing all his predatory skills.

Two unique criminally related sounds in one hour-a gunshot on the far west side of the place and the panicked screams of a girl nearby. All this had to be connected. Reese was loving it.

Jake hated it.

Sheriff Ollie Landrum stood in front of Tanner Tillman’s Jeep thinking. He had his cowboy hat in his hand and was scratching his balding head. Deputy R.C. Smithson awaited orders that he hoped wouldn’t involve searching inside the nasty-smelling pickup truck. The sheriff was visibly stressed.

“R.C., please check the truck out for anything indicating who owns it. That truck is the key to all this.”

“Yes sir,” said R.C. and with a resigned sigh opened up the passenger side door. A cloud of funk filled the air, and four empty beer cans fell out. “He stinks and he drinks cheap beer.”

“Do what?” Ollie asked.

“He drinks cheap beer…see? And a lot of it,” R.C. replied as he held up a can of Old Milwaukee, then threw it in the bed of the truck.