The Dummy Line (26 page)

In the moonlight, Jake could make out the Little Buck Field. It looked to be about two hundred yards long and about seventy-five yards wide. Without using the flashlight, he searched in vain for the telltale outline of the shooting house. He waited for Elizabeth to catch up, then bent over close to her ear.

“You two stay here for just a second. I’m gonna walk down this field to look for something,” he said as he slid Katy off his shoulders. He stretched as he stood up.

“Dad…no!” Katy cried.

“Katy, listen. I’m not even gonna be out of sight…just right down there,” he said, pointing toward the end of the field. “I’ll be right back. I promise. OK?”

“OK,” she replied.

Jake looked at each of the girls, saying, “Y’all have to be real quiet. Not a word, OK? Just sit right here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

The girls nodded. He turned to walk down the field. His neck and shoulders were aching, but they had made it. The shooting house, if he could find it, would be their sanctuary until daylight and help arrived. Jake realized he had walked out into the field without thinking and was probably leaving footprints. The clover was thick and would make it tough to follow his tracks. Tough, but not impossible. He moved back to the field’s edge.

The shooting house wasn’t on the east side of the field. He had started up the west side when he saw it.
Yes!
he said to himself and ran back to the girls.

“Come on. I found it,” he said excitedly. “Let’s go.”

Jake grabbed Katy and helped her climb up his back. Her arms squeezed around his neck. He could make it for two more minutes, he thought. Elizabeth struggled to keep up with them. The shooting house was about fifteen feet off the ground and appeared to be large enough for the three of them. It was made of plywood and had a wooden ladder leading up to it. It was just what he wanted.

“No!” Elizabeth suddenly blurted out when she caught up.

Jake was startled. “What? What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low.

“No…he caught me in one of these!” she said, staring up at it.

“Elizabeth…I have a gun. I can protect us. It’s OK. Everything’s gonna be OK,” he said reassuringly.

“No…no. I can’t.”

“Listen to me, Elizabeth. It’s the safest place we’ve got. I can protect us.”

Katy put an arm around Elizabeth and said confidently, “Elizabeth, we’ll protect you.”

Elizabeth looked at Jake and then at Katy. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “All right,” she said, her voice weak and trailing off.

Jake could only imagine what she was trying to block out of her mind. He put his hand on her shoulder and said, “You’re safe now.

“OK, girls, let me check it out first,” he said, and he started climbing up the ladder. The door opened easily. He briefly shone his light inside. Remnants of a bird’s nest were on the floor, along with a few empty aluminum cans and a folding chair. There was a ten-inch-high opening all the way around the box for a hunter to see and shoot though. Jake quickly climbed back down.

“Katy, climb up and get in the far corner,” Jake said quietly.

“Yes sir.”

“I don’t know if I can climb,” Elizabeth said dolefully. “I can hardly stand.”

Jake thought for a second. He took a hard look at her. He figured she weighed maybe a hundred pounds. He leaned the shotgun against the legs of the shooting house and, with no warning, bent over and picked her up like a sack of seed. “I’ll carry you up. Hang on,” he said. She was heavier than he had thought, but he felt he could do it. One step at a time, he went up the ladder. Elizabeth was hanging almost upside down, but she trusted Jake and held on tightly. As they neared the top, he was straining to balance and hold onto her.

At the top step, he stopped. “Elizabeth, ease your feet down and try to stand up. You can crawl in from here.”

“Be careful, Elizabeth,” Katy said, grabbing the sleeve of her shirt to help pull her inside.

After some straining and twisting, Elizabeth slowly slid into the house, crawled to a corner, and sat with her legs out in front of her.

Once she was safely inside, Jake climbed down. He quickly grabbed the shotgun and cut off the parachute cord holding the cushion in place. He reached in his vest, grabbed the two remaining shotguns shells, and quietly loaded them into his gun. He worked the pump action, feeding one into the chamber. He checked the safety and took a deep breath. He searched the darkness for their stalker and then looked up the ladder at his sanctuary.

As Jake reached the top of the ladder, he could see the girls each sitting in a corner. He crawled inside, latched the door, and sat on the floor. There wasn’t room for another person inside the box. For the first time in several hours, Jake felt somewhat safe.

“Turn the flashlight on, Dad,” Katy whispered.

“No, baby, we need to keep it off so nobody will see us.”

“But Elizabeth’s shaking,” Katy said caringly.

Jake had been so preoccupied with getting himself settled, he hadn’t noticed.

“Elizabeth, we’re safe now. Try to relax and rest. We’re OK,” Jake said with as much confidence as he could muster.

Jake knew she had been traumatized but didn’t know what else to do for her. She couldn’t walk much farther, and this shooting house was safe and dry. He hit the light button on his Timex: 4:43.
Another hour or so and daylight’ll be breakin’.

“All right now…y’all close your eyes and rest. I’ll be the lookout,” Jake explained as he leaned back. “Here’s a cushion…who needs it?”

“Give it to Elizabeth, Dad,” Katy said.

Jake handed her the cushion, and she thanked Katy.
Elizabeth’s settling down some,
Jake thought as he leaned back against the wall to consider what daylight would bring. It was silent outside. Inside everybody rested.

Martha O’Brien was draining another cup of coffee when a call came in from the Clay County, Mississippi, sheriff’s department. Holding her hand over the receiver, she whistled loudly. Ollie looked up from the map. She frantically pointed at the phone. Ollie quickly went into his office to take the call. Sheriff Marlow grinned at Martha’s enthusiasm—it was time to update the media. Marlow went to the restroom to check his hair and then to gather the media outside.

“Sheriff Landrum,” said Ollie when he picked up the telephone.

“Sheriff, we have been to the Littlepages’ house. We found the telephone lines cut, the glass on their front door broken by a pro, and there’s evidence of a struggle in the master bedroom. Sometime later this morning, we’ll have a crew there to dust for prints. That’s about it,” the officer explained.

“Thank you. What about the Crosbys?”

“As you know, they live right next door…actually, it’s about a hundred and fifty yards away. The Crosby lady was talking on the phone to Scott Littlepage when we arrived. She was obviously shocked by what all was going on.”

“Had she spoken to her husband?”

“No. She tried to call him while we were there. He’s at his hunting club with their nine-year-old daughter. Turkey huntin’.”

That confirmed Ollie’s suspicions. This was getting worse.
A nine-year-old little girl
, Ollie thought and grunted his displeasure into the phone.

“Both families are solid members of the community. They have never had any issues at all.”

“Yeah, I understand…but there’s got to be a connection somehow.”

“I understand that Scott Littlepage is en route, but it will be a few hours before he arrives.”

“That’s right. I need you to do something for me. Don’t let Mrs. Crosby come down here yet. She’ll probably want to, but don’t let her. Tell her that we need her at home, in case her husband calls. I have my hands full as it is, and she’ll do us more good staying at home. I’ll keep you informed. What’s your cell phone number?”

Ollie promised to keep the officer up to speed and hung up, more worried than ever.
I’ve got to notify everyone that there’s a child involved. Involved in what, though? I don’t have a clue what’s really goin’ on. I need to talk to R.C. to see what they’ve found.

“Miz Martha?”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“Please get R.C. on the radio for me.”

Ollie leaned back in his chair. This was a disaster. He jotted down the details for Martha to relay to the officers in the field. He would also ask her for the latest on the APB for the Tupelo fellow. After checking the accuracy of the note, he walked to the front of the office and gave it to Martha.

“Make sure everyone gets this info, please.”

“Yes sir. I can’t raise R.C. on the radio. I know he’s on a handheld. He may be down in a low spot or somethin’.”

“Keep tryin’.” Ollie thought about this for a second and decided not to worry about R.C. right now. There would be no simple explanation for his not returning the radio call. R.C. always had the most outlandish excuses.

Ollie went back to his office to call Mick Johnson. Mick answered on the third ring.

“It’s OK. I wasn’t sleeping,” Mick said in response to Ollie’s apology for calling so early in the morning. “I was just puttin’ my boots on to go huntin’. I overslept. Any word on Jake?”

“Mick…there may be more to the phone call you received than we thought. I may need your help searching. Elizabeth Beasley, an eighteen-year-old girl from around here, is missing, and a lady from West Point named Littlepage was found out in the county. She’d been kidnapped.”

“Littlepage? I’ve met Scott Littlepage. Jake introduced me to him—he’s in the same club!”

“It was his wife who was abducted but escaped. It’s really confusing. Can you come down here?”

“Sure. I’ll be right there, Sheriff,” Mick replied.

“Thanks.” Ollie hung up and stared at the phone. He pressed Martha’s extension.

“Have you heard from R.C.?”

“No sir.”

“Damn.”

Ollie looked up when he heard the front door open. Sheriff Marlow came in, laughing loudly about something.

“Hey, Ollie, we need a podium. Can someone from the college here in town bring one over?”

“We don’t need a podium. We need to find some missing girls!” Ollie fumed, then looked at Zach Beasley and back at Marlow. Ollie really wanted to punch Marlow in the throat.

“
Girls?
As in plural?”

“Yes. I just found out for sure that Jake Crosby, the guy from the hunting club, has his nine-year-old daughter with him.”

“Jeez um…well, that helicopter will be here in an hour. That’s our best hope. By the way, CNN and Fox are sending crews.”

“What? Why?” Ollie asked incredulously. He could understand the local media’s interest, but CNN?

“Well, since the governor’s helicopter is being used for the search, they picked up on it.”

Ollie glared at Marlow, then walked away.

Before he went into his office, he stopped and turned. “Marlow, it’s way more important to rescue those kids than it is to reelect the governor.”

Ollie couldn’t believe he had said it. But he had. He’d just blurted it out. He let out a deep breath, turned around, walked into his office, and slammed the door.

Marlow didn’t know what to say. He glanced furtively around the room. Everybody turned away to act busy. His face flushed red with anger. He decided to go update the media, saying defiantly, to no one in particular, “Obviously, nobody around here understands what it takes to be a twenty-first-century law enforcement officer.”

The helicopter pilot, retired Army Captain Joe Wilson, arrived at Dannelly Field in Montgomery, Alabama, forty-five minutes after receiving the call. The hangar was devoid of any personnel who could assist him in preparing for the flight. If Jeffrey, his ground crew, didn’t arrive soon, he would have to do it all himself. This life was almost as bad as being a corporate pilot but not as dreadful as being a flight instructor. Wilson had retired three years earlier as a helicopter pilot instructor at Fort Rucker, Alabama. The current governor, a close friend, had hired him immediately to pilot his new Bell Ranger. It was state-of-the-art, with lots of luxuries. Since it could land almost anywhere, it was perfect for hopping to events all over the region.

Captain Wilson knew this call was much more important than flying the governor and his kids to the beach. He wasn’t a fan of Sheriff Marlow, because of the deer incident a few years ago, but he craved a crisis. Wilson was military to the core and was bored with civilian flying.

“Come on, Jeffrey. Where the hell are you? Get your ass moving,” Wilson said aloud to no one as he loosened the tie-down straps, then climbed in. The bird was full of fuel. He checked all the instruments and electronics. Finally, he sat down to study the flight map to Livingston.
Due west, basically
, he noted.
Should be easy.
He punched the coordinates into the GPS.
Simple.

“Jeffrey, you incompetent, worthless piece of…” Wilson muttered as he fired up the Ranger and the rotors slowly started turning. He needed someone to know his flight plan, and it never hurt to have a second set of eyes look over everything. He tightened the chinstrap on his helmet and buckled himself to the seat. When he looked up, Jeffrey was running toward him, his hair flying in the wind of the rotors.

“Whaddaya want me to do?” he yelled.

“File a flight plan to Livingston, Alabama! Do a quick visual! Hurry up!” he yelled back.

Jeffery ran around the machine and looked at everything in thirty seconds. Wilson just shook his head.
What kind of inspection was that? This kid would never make it in the military. Screw it. It’ll have to do.
When Jeffrey got back to the window, he gave him the thumbs-up sign.

“File that flight plan, now. I’ll be doing search and rescue operations, so don’t let them call me back for any bullshit!”

“Yes sir!” Jeffrey mouthed, with a mock salute, crouching as he backed away from the bird.

The powerful helicopter revved up as Wilson did one last, quick instrument check. He gave a thumbs-up and slowly lifted off the ground. He felt more alive than he had in twenty years.
Finally, a worthwhile mission
.

Jeffrey stood in the rotor wash wondering why he’d had to get out of bed so early on his day off.