The Dummy Line (16 page)

Zach Beasley was a wreck. Lately there had been several abductions in the news, and the outcome was never positive. He tried to block that out of his mind and think of what he should do. How could he be proactive? Zach liked Ollie but wasn’t convinced Ollie was sheriff material. He’d give Ollie an hour, and then he was going to start calling people that he knew could make things happen. He checked to make sure the phone was working and sat down at the kitchen table to make his call list.

Zach decided to first call the chief of police in Livingston. He was a close friend. They belonged to the same Rotary club and both served on the school board.
Yes sir, that will be my first call in fifty-two more minutes. Then I’ll call the district attorney of Tuscaloosa County
. He knew he had a fraternity brother who was in law enforcement somewhere, but he couldn’t remember exactly where. If only he could think clearly. Zach took a deep breath, stared at the clock on the wall, and swallowed hard.

The silence in the house was killing him. Zach went upstairs to Elizabeth’s room, passing numerous photos of her along the way. He stopped at the picture of the family skiing in Steamboat Springs. His eyes misted thinking of how much fun they’d had. Replacing the photo, he trudged up the stairs. Walking into Elizabeth’s room made him break down and cry—her schoolbooks, her stuffed animals, and the hundreds of photos of her with her friends. He opened her closet door and breathed in deeply. She was his baby girl. His life. His greatest love. He had to find her. He sat down on the bed and sobbed into one of her sweaters.

Wiping his eyes with the neck of his shirt, Zach stood and went downstairs to start making phone calls. Elizabeth was way too important to him to play any political correctness game. Ollie would just have to get over it. Elizabeth had to be found at any cost.

Olivia Beasley sat in her car in the ER parking lot. She stared at the hospital. Tanner was in bad shape. She looked out at the stars and thought,
God only knows where Elizabeth could be right now.
“Please protect her,” she prayed as tears rolled down her cheeks. Elizabeth had been born in this hospital. Now Olivia was here hoping for some information that might help them find her. She took several deep breaths, attempting to calm herself. She made a plan to call a select few family member and friends to start a prayer chain. Her Prayer Warriors.

Before turning off the ignition, Olivia prayed as hard as she had ever prayed for anything. She didn’t know what else to do but turn to God. She found great strength in her religious convictions. After dialing Elizabeth’s cell phone one more time, she placed hers in her purse and crossed herself after saying another silent prayer. She touched the lock button on her key chain and heard the
chirp-chirp
as she ran inside the hospital.

Tanner’s mother sat in the ER/ICU combined waiting room wringing her hands and praying. Tanner was her baby. His older sister taught fourth grade at a private school in Montgomery. Mrs. Tillman was too upset to dial long distance from the pay phone. A perceptive nurse recognized this and brought over her personal cell phone and handed it to her.

“Honey, just use it all you need,” she offered kindly.

Mrs. Tillman thanked her repeatedly. She put on her reading glasses and tried her best to compose herself as she punched the tiny buttons. Tracy Tillman Bonner answered on the third ring. Mrs. Tillman was so upset she could hardly speak.

“Hello,” Tracy answered.

“Tra…Trace…Tracy,” she stammered.

“Mom? Mom, is that you? What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up in bed. “Mom.”

“Tanner’s hurt, Tracy. He’s hurt bad.”

Tracy turned on the light on the nightstand, waking her husband.

“Mom, what happened?”

“We don’t really know, but he was beaten up and he’s in intensive care right now.”

“Where are you, Mom?”

“What happened?” her husband asked and cleared his throat.

“Ssshhh!” Tracy replied harshly.

“I’m at the hospital in Livingston.”

“We’ll be right there…It’ll take us three hours, but we’re on the way.”

“No, you don’t have to drive…” Mrs. Tillman tried to reply but ended up sobbing.

“No way, Mom. We’re coming…I’ll have my cell phone. Call me when you can and update us, OK? Promise you’ll call?”

“I will. Y’all please be careful.”

“Mom, I love you. Everything will be OK…call me now.”

“I will. Bye, dear.” She felt better. Tracy had that effect. She would take charge. Mrs. Tillman needed her daughter.

“Get up!” Tracy exclaimed to her groggy husband as she ripped the covers back and jumped out of bed. “Tanner’s been hurt!”

Steve Tillman sat sipping coffee, staring at the bland walls around the sheriff’s office. Everything was overwhelming. He was anxious to get back to the hospital. Thankfully, Martha was keeping him updated. He also felt an obligation to help Sheriff Landrum find Elizabeth. He hated sitting, waiting.

“Can you call again, Miz Martha?” he asked in a meek voice.

“Sure,” she replied and picked up the phone and dialed a direct ER line. Martha O’Brien had friends in the ER and ICU who always took her calls.

“Anything new?” she asked.

“No. Not at all…the doctor’s with him now, but he’s sedated, still unconscious.”

“Please call me if anything changes. His father’s here waiting to help.”

Tillman listened and couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to see his son.

“Miz Martha, I’m going back to the hospital. If Sheriff Landrum needs me, just let me know. I’ll do whatever you need, and please call me if you hear anything.”

“Steve, I understand…go…we’ll call…sometimes these things just take a little time to unravel,” she said compassionately.

And with that, Steve Tillman walked out the front door, heading to the hospital.

R.C. reclined in his police cruiser, spitting into a green plastic bottle. He heard Ollie tell Larson he was on the way. He kept watching down the Dummy Line. He rolled down his window as Ollie pulled next to him.

“Did you see anything, Chief?” he asked.

“No. I want to get over to Larson. I could hear the excitement in his voice. Come on, follow me,” Ollie said in a hurry and stomped the gas. As quick as he started, he slammed on the brakes. “Hey. If there are keys in that truck, grab ‘em.”

As soon as he was certain that R.C. understood, he tore off down the road. Ollie hoped that Larson hadn’t found a body. He cringed at the thought of Larson broadcasting that he had discovered a raped, mutilated female. He flipped on his blue lights and pushed the Expedition as hard as he could.

R.C. climbed out, ran over to the Jeep, and removed the keys. He looked inside the truck. No keys in the ignition. He ran around to the other side, opened the driver’s side door, and found them lying on the floorboard. Satisfied with himself, he tossed both the truck and Jeep keys on the cruiser’s front seat and took off. Ollie was out of sight, but R.C. wasn’t far behind.

Larson was so excited about finding the gun he didn’t know what to do. He called for Shug to heel. The dog never looked up.

“Damn it, Shug, come here!” he hollered.

Larson finally walked over, hooked the leash to his collar, and dragged the dog back to the police car. He looped the leash through the handle on the back door and leaned against the car. Shug tested the leash. As soon as the leash was tight, Shug sat down and resumed licking.

“Quit lickin’ your nuts, Shug,” Larson spoke as if the dog could understand. “You gotta start behavin’ more like a police dog. This is our big break.”

Larson reached through the passenger window and grabbed the Burger King bag and admired the pistol.
This is huge!
He leaned against the car and listened to the whippoorwill while he waited.

It wasn’t long before Larson heard the sounds of fast-approaching vehicles. He was about to pee on himself, he was so excited. He tried to prepare the story he would tell that would make Shug look like Rin-Tin-Tin.

Ollie slid to a stop. R.C. turned the corner behind him. By the time Ollie had radioed Martha to let her know where he was, R.C. pulled up and stopped.

Larson got so excited he forgot the details of his concocted story and simply held up the bag, proudly exclaiming, “Look what I—I mean, Shug found!”

“He found a bag of hamburgers?” R.C. chirped.

“No. He found a gun, I mean a pistol, and it’s been fired!”

“He found a gun in a Burger King bag?” Ollie asked.

“No.” Larson was growing aggravated. He simply pointed in the general direction of where the gun had been found. Larson was pointing at the grass. Ollie thought he was pointing at the camp house.

“Larson, this is a hunting lodge, so please tell me he didn’t find the gun in the camp’s gun cabinet!”

“No, no, no. We found it in the grass over there!” he said emphatically.

Larson removed the massive pistol and held it up for everyone to see. He stuck his pen through the trigger guard to preserve any fingerprints that Shug hadn’t licked off.

“Wow!” Ollie exclaimed.

Larson’s chest swelled with pride. “And it’s been fired recently,” he crowed.

Ollie bent over to smell the muzzle, then nodded in agreement.

R.C. leaned in and said, “Smells like a Whopper to me.”

Larson ignored him.

“Good job, Larson. That dog’s finally done somethin’,” Ollie said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Good job,” R.C. said sarcastically.

“This could be a big break. I need you to focus, R.C.,” Ollie stated.

“Sorry,” R.C. said as looked again at the pistol.

“So what do you make of all this, Ollie? Is what happened at that gate related to this gun and the events around here?” R.C. asked waving his arms around the yard of the camp.

“I don’t know…I’m havin’ a hard time connecting the dots. Normally, I’d say they were coincidences…but now…We just don’t know what happened here.”

Ollie carefully took the pistol from Larson and opened the cylinder. He was taking a chance that he might destroy fingerprints, but he had to know. Sure enough, a dent in the primer. Easing the cylinder back shut, he let out a deep breath and said, “That’s it. I’m calling in reinforcements. We have to find that girl.”

R.C. and Larson nodded in agreement.

“Larson, do you know where Johnny Lee Grover stays?” Ollie saw him slowly nod after thinking for a second. “Go by his trailer and see if he’s there. No accusations. I just wanna know his whereabouts. Go!” Ollie commanded.

“Yes sir!” He ran and jumped into his car.

“R.C., you know what happened last time I called in the big boys. But I don’t see any other choice; do you?”

“No, Chief. I support you a hundred percent…for whatever that’s worth.”

“I think we’ll use this camp as our temporary command post.”

They saw Larson slam on the brakes after he had traveled about twenty-five yards down the road at a high rate of speed. He jumped out; ran around to the passenger’s side; unhooked an exhausted, very confused German shepherd; and loaded him in the backseat. Larson acted like nothing had happened. He never looked at them.

R.C. and Ollie turned to each other and laughed.

“I’ll start making some calls,” Ollie said, walking to his vehicle.

“Yes sir, Chief. I’ll call in the serial number on this pistol to see who owns it.”