Bobby Cole - The dummy line

“Yeah, well…keep looking, Columbo,” Ollie said, walking back to his Expedition.

Picking up the microphone, he radioed into the office. “Miz Martha?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Can the Tillman kid talk or maybe write and tell us what happened?” Ollie asked hoping it could be that simple.

“Chief, the hospital said he was in so much pain that they knocked him out as soon as he was stabilized. He was beat up pretty bad. He lost several teeth, and his windpipe is partially crushed…and he has some broken ribs.”

“Son of a….” Ollie began to reply, then exhaled deeply.

“Chief-and the girl, Elizabeth, she’s an honor student, cheerleader. You name it. She’s a great girl. She isn’t the type to get into any trouble.”

“Hang on, Miz Martha.” Seeing Elizabeth’s purse again gave Ollie an idea. He opened the purse and looked inside. There it was…a cell phone. He hit Power and it came to life.

“It wouldn’t work out here, boss. There is a huge hole in cell service in this area. You might get through if you were lucky…but it would be for only a few seconds,” R.C. commented.

Returning to his search of the truck, R.C. held his nose, “Hey, this might do it. It’s a receipt from a butcher near Camden. They’re a dang good deer processor. You like deer sausage, Chief?”

“No, R.C., I haven’t had any lately. What name’s on the ticket?” Ollie asked aggravated.

“Uh…Tommy Tidwell, and it’s got a phone number; actually I think it’s his cell phone number. I know of him…most folks call him Tiny. He’s trouble if he’s with the wrong crowd.”

“You think if we call he’ll answer?” asked R.C.

“Not at this hour, and not if he has Caller ID. Give me that, though.”

“Sheriff?” Martha called.

“Yes’m?” Ollie’s patience was running thin.

“The Beasleys will want to know what you’re gonna do,” she said, trying to be prepared.

“You know procedures,” he said, then added, “Call me the second they arrive. Also, I want you to call a number for me. Don’t use the office line…use someone’s cell. In fact, go to the evidence room; there’s a phone that belongs to that kid we locked up earlier.” He gave her the number. “If they answer just hang up and call me immediately…either way.”

“Ten-four, Chief.”

Ollie and R.C. looked up at the same time and in the direction of the sound of a vehicle heading fast toward them. They then looked at each other.

“Larson,” Ollie said. “I hope. I don’t need any more surprises.”

About that time they saw the bright blue lights reflecting in the treetops. Larson slowed to a stop and got out. Larson Hodges had been a deputy for five years. He constantly hoped for something big like this to happen. He watched COPS all the time. He read and reread every issue of Police Marksman magazine. Two years ago he had talked Ollie into buying a canine officer. Larson went to Columbus, Ohio, and picked out the dog and trained to handle him. They were constant companions. The German shepherd had been named Luger and was called Lug. Before he got home, Larson changed it to Shug in honor of one of Auburn University’s greatest football coaches, Ralph “Shug” Jordan. Not everybody in western Alabama cheered for the Crimson Tide.

Of course, Ollie suspected the K-9 Academy had not named the dog Shug, but since it seemed to respond to it, he didn’t say anything about the name. The commands were in German. Initially, both Larson and the dog stayed in a constant state of confusion. After a few weeks, Shug began to understand Southern-flavored German.

“Mornin’, Sheriff. What can I do?”

At that moment, the cell phone on the dash of the pickup rang. R.C. reached in, grabbed it, and then tossed it to Ollie. He opened it and saw the Caller ID. Martha was calling from the phone Ollie had asked her to use. It only had one bar of service, so rather than try to have a conversation he simply let it ring until it quit. He dropped the phone in his pocket.

His radio crackled. “Chief, no answer and no voice mail.”

“Ten-four. Thank you.”

“Larson, you have Shug?” Ollie asked. Larson nodded.

“Let him smell around these vehicles. R.C. found the Tillman kid all beat up right here, and we have reason to believe that the Beasley girl was with him.”

“Yes sir!” Larson replied.

“ Achtung , Shug!” The overweight brown and black police dog jumped from the cruiser and sat at attention. Larson walked Shug to the front of the Jeep and said, “ Finden !” Shug appeared to go to work. First, he found what they thought was Tanner’s blood, and once that area was searched, Larson encouraged him to work elsewhere, but after only a few minutes it became clear to all that Shug had found the only thing that really interested him when he laid down in the middle of the road and began licking himself vigorously.

Crestfallen at Shug’s failure, Larson dragged him back to his car. Ollie turned away in disgust, shaking his head. R.C. stifled a chuckle.

In an attempt to take some of the heat off Larson, R.C. said, “Hey, Chief. Let’s move this Jeep. I’ll put it in neutral and we can push it out of the way. We gotta go down this road where the four-wheeler went.” R.C. pointed down the Dummy Line.

“Where does this road go anyway?” Ollie asked.

“It dead-ends into the Noxubee River Swamp…the road is twenty miles of potholes and mud with a shootin’ house about every five hundred yards. Not much else.”

“Yeah…you’re right, R.C. Let’s do it,” Ollie replied.

As they all got ready to push Tanner’s Jeep out of the way, R.C. noted, “Hey, the keys are in it!”

“Well, crank it up and move it,” Ollie told him.

“Oh God, no…I can’t take any more,” Elizabeth muttered. She was limping along as fast as possible, her ankle becoming more tender and painful with every step. She slowed, almost to a stop, and looked back. She could hear the four-wheeler, and somewhere between she could see a form lumbering toward her. She looked around. The monsters were chasing her. It appeared that miles of muddy road lay ahead and that there were miles of dense woods on either side. She headed into the woods, hoping it would cover her tracks.

It was difficult for her to walk, much less run. Limbs, vines, trees, and stumps were difficult to negotiate in the dark. After twenty yards, she was wondering if she had made the right decision. She looked down to see if she was leaving footprints. She couldn’t tell. She assumed she wasn’t. As she pushed forward, she realized that the fat guy had helped her. What did he say? “I can’t let you hurt her.” She kept running that scene over in her mind. She knew they had been fighting as she ran off. Elizabeth soon came to a small flowing creek. It was knee-deep, and the cold water felt good on her bad ankle. When she stepped out on the far side, she left her bad ankle dangling in the water for a few seconds and thought of her parents and Tanner’s folks. They’ll all be worried and nobody knows where we are. “Oh God, Tanner. Please, Lord, please let him be OK,” she prayed quietly.

She had been making so much noise going through the brush that she didn’t hear how close the four-wheeler had approached. While she was standing listening, she heard a stick pop and then another and realized the goon was on her trail and he was close. She began to run. She tried to be as quiet as possible. She was running blind. She grimaced in pain from her ankle and the briars digging in and ripping her flesh.