Bobby Cole - The dummy line

“Ollie, we just need it to get daylight. That helicopter will speed everything up.”

“I figured you would handle the media,” Ollie said sarcastically.

“Yeah, sure; I’ll do that for you,” Marlow responded, not catching Ollie’s tone. “You’re doing all you can do. We just need a little luck,” Marlow continued and took a sip of coffee.

“Mr. Littlepage from West Point will be at the hospital in a few hours.”

“I can’t wait to hear how all this fits together,” Marlow said.

“I just wanna find Elizabeth and the Crosbys,” Ollie said as he stood up straight, then glanced at the clock on the wall.

Larson and Shug were assigned to search the camp house and the road that left the camp leading into the heart of the property. Larson could tell Ollie was steaming mad at him for losing the tail on the Mississippi thug and knew that he would catch hell when this was all over. Larson needed to redeem himself. We’ll do a thorough search of the camp house and trailer, then move down the road. Last time we just stopped searching. There could be more evidence, Larson thought, then said to Shug, “We gotta find something else, big boy. Come on.”

Their subsequent search of the camp turned up nothing of any value-to the investigation. Larson, however, duly noted the life-size Faith Hill poster adorning one wall of the camp house. Shug paid more attention to the pantry. Something was driving Shug crazy. Larson allowed time to investigate. It turned out to be a giant bag of dried pig ears.

“ Achtung , Shug,” Larson said as he eyed the disgusting dog treats. He thought they were dog treats. He hoped they were dog treats. “Let’s go to the camper.”

The grass surrounding the camper yielded only one possible clue. A freshly fired black Winchester three-inch magnum shotgun shell. At first Larson got excited; then he realized it was a turkey load, during turkey season, and he was standing in a hunting camp. He placed it in his pocket anyway, then looked at the open camper door. He quickly scanned the interior and then stepped carefully farther inside. Larson noticed the heater glowing in the corner. As he walked toward the sleeping area the alarm clock sounded. Larson jumped straight up.

“Sonofabitch!” Larson found the alarm button and punched it off. He took a deep breath and continued his search, checking behind him for his faithful companion.

“Leave that alone, Shug…No… Nein !” Larson said to Shug, raising his voice with each command. Shug wanted to play with the Beanie Baby lying on the camper floor. Larson’s wife collected the small Ty toys, so he bent down to check it out. It was a black Labrador named Lucky. “She’s got that one,” he said, dropping it on the counter.

The interior looked pretty standard for a hunting camper. A bunch of camo clothes, boots, turkey calls, a gray T-shirt, Honey Buns, and a camo fleece blanket. What’s the use of a camo blanket? he thought, shaking his head. Larson picked up a magazine from the couch. Turning it over, he noticed the small white label and read aloud, “Scott Littlepage, 304 Magnolia Blossom Court, West Point, Mississippi.” Dropping the magazine back on the couch, he whistled for Shug and headed to the police cruiser. He wanted to ease down the muddy logging road as far as he could.

Larson listened to lots of chatter on the police radio as deputies dispersed and reported back to the command post. Nobody had found anything, and almost everyone was in place to secure his respective area. Shug settled comfortably on the back seat and resumed his grooming. Larson began to feel a knot in his stomach from the rollercoaster ride from hero to goat. I can’t believe it. That lady had to have been there while I was talkin’ to that Mississippi redneck. I missed my chance. But maybe I should be thankful. It coulda gotten deadly, for me.

The first couple of hundred yards of the old logging road had enough gravel that tracks were not obvious. Now that the road had turned to red clay, the tire tracks were plain as day. Larson struggled on the slippery mud to keep the cruiser headed straight. Just as he was about to request that someone bring in a four-wheeler or a four-wheel-drive truck, his headlights illuminated the taillights of a parked pickup.

Larson stopped and got out. He clicked on his Maglight and unsnapped his holstered Glock 9mm pistol.

“Come on, Shug,” he said. Shug lumbered out of the back seat and sat down by the car.

Pulling Shug by the search leash, Larson slowly approached the black truck. He recognized it as Johnny Lee Grover’s. Then Shug perked up and proceeded to go berserk, smelling something dripping from the back of the pickup. Goose bumps covered Larson’s neck and arms as he took deliberate steps closer to the truck-a flashlight in one hand under his drawn pistol in the other.

Larson slipped up to within reach of the truck. Shug tensed, the fur on his back rising. Larson shined the light into the bed of the truck. A body was covered from the chest up with an old hunting jacket. Larson’s hands shook as he reached in to remove the jacket. He dry-heaved when he saw Johnny Lee’s ashen face, his right eye partially open, looking at him. The body was caked in blood.

Without calling Shug, Larson raced back to the cruiser to report what he had found.

R.C. pushed to cover as much ground as possible. He stopped on a high spot. He didn’t want to run right into the middle of a dangerous scene. He needed the element of surprise. Tillman caught up with him, cussing his shoes. R.C. was wearing work boots. Tillman had on fancy dress shoes. They were ruined. R.C. turned off the flashlight and listened.

“Do you hear anything?” Tillman whispered between breaths.

“No, not yet,” R.C. answered. “How far is Seventeen?”

“Maybe two miles; a little less as the crow flies,” Tillman answered, trying to catch his breath.

R.C. thumped his can of Copenhagen, reached in, and pinched a dip. His lip pouched out as he stood thinking.

“You think whoever fired those shots has Elizabeth?” Tillman asked.

“I don’t know. With that pickup truck gone, it’s very confusing. There are several ways that truck coulda gone. And, as I think about it, we don’t even know how many people or vehicles are involved. Elizabeth might have been taken away in some other truck or car when I found Tanner.” R.C. spat. “If Tanner had been there for two hours before I found him, then Elizabeth could be in Birmingham by now.”

Tillman sighed and looked off into the woods.

R.C. continued, “But those shots are giving me the chills. Nobody should be shootin’ a high-powered rifle this time of year, at this hour. I feel it in my bones that it’s all somehow connected.”

“Yeah, I agree.”

“Come on. Let’s go,” R.C. said, checking his compass.

They started off again in the direction of the shots, limbs slapping their faces as they hustled through the dense underbrush. R.C. was pleased that Tillman was keeping up. They picked up the pace when they entered an open hardwood bottom.

Drenched in sweat and nearing exhaustion, Jake stopped, then eased both girls down to the ground. Every muscle in his body burned and ached. He had run half a mile through the thickest woods he had ever seen. He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He thought he was going to have a stroke. Jake stood bent over with his hands on his knees looking behind them.