Kidnapped, page 8
part #10 of Riveting Kidnapping Mystery Series
“You’ve done this before,” Anna stated.
Using the top of his hand, he wiped the glancing sweat from his forehead.
“Give me a hand with this guy.” By its feet, Evan slid the carcass onto the tarp. He grabbed one end of the tarp and smiled playfully at her. “He won’t bite.”
Hesitant, Anna picked up the other end of the tarp, completing the hammock. They marched the deer to a nearby tree where Anna fed the rope to her brother as he strung the animal up by its neck. After dousing it with a number of water bottles, Evan put on some rubber gloves and proceeded to remove the legs, arms, and skin. When only red meat and muscle remained, he harvested the meat with precision and placed it in the icebox. The whole process took a little over an hour.
Anna assisted him with the meat buckets and tossed the contents into a small hole they dug. “I’d never hurt you,” Evan said after a long while of loaded silence.
Anna didn’t reply. I don’t know, Evan. I don’t know anything about you. “We’ve kept Garrett waiting long enough.”
Evan frowned at the name but said nothing. He stripped down to his boxers, revealing a body with a lifetime of unfelt scars and calloused slashes. Folding his dirty clothes, he dressed in more plaid and jeans and followed Anna to the gravel parking area.
“I parked a ways down,” he explained.
“I’ll come with you.” It was not a suggestion. Down the road mile, they found her brother’s sedan. Quietly, they rode back to Anna’s truck.
“I’ll follow you,” she ordered as she stepped out of the car.
“You need to be a little more trusting,” Evan said through the rolled-down window.
“It comes with the territory.”
The Silverado tailed the four-door, mimicking every move and ready to accelerate at her brother’s escape. There were so many questions, and Anna felt as though she’d learned nothing from her trip to the cabin. Evan remained as what Grace said: an enigma. Every word she took with a grain of salt. Every motion she looked for a hidden motive. Was it paranoia, or was her gut telling her something? She’d find out the answer. The police station came into view along with more news vans and locals enjoying their five minutes of fame.
At the sight of Evan’s car, cameras flashed, video operators sprinted into position, and reporters abandoned their current interviews. They swarmed the steps as police officers burst through the door, making way for Evan. The attention annoyed Anna, but she pressed up a step and then another.
“Child killer!” someone from the crowd yelled.
“Rapist!” another said.
“Fame whore!”
A wad of spit splattered in Evan’s hair. He looked over his shoulder at Anna. “At least we’re bringing people together.”
Reporters shouted for interviews or a statement like starving dogs barking at unreachable scraps. Sheriff Greenbell held open the decaled glass door. “Glad you could make it,” he yelled over the noise.
Evan smirked at the sheriff. “Keep this up and you might have a riot in your hands.”
He slipped in through the threshold. Officer Ashburn guarded the door as Greenbell entered. “We’ll take it from here, Ms. Dedrick. Thank you for your support.”
“I brought him in.”
“And I thank you on behalf of the Van Buren Police Department,” the gray-haired officer said. “Unless you are reporting a crime, please return to your vehicle.”
The crowd pressed in as the officers ascended the stairs. While funneling inside, they demanded the people disperse. Keeping the reporters at bay with an outstretched hand and booming voice, Ashburn led Anna to her truck. He even closed the door for her.
Anna honked the horn at the people and peeled off into the road. On the same street was a 1990s Corvette. Its tinted windows shrouded the figure within. Anna remembered seeing a similar car before heading to Mrs. Santos’ house a few days ago. She double-checked the plates she jotted down back then. They matched. First time, maybe a coincidence. Second time, not taking any chances. She drove the truck forward, and the muddy orange Corvette lit up. It hummed and sped into a side street.
Anna tailed it, going five above the speed limit to avoid any more attention from the press snapping pictures of her. The Corvette swung onto Hynes street and cut over to 9th. It went north and east to Lincoln and then shot directly south to 10th. Anna stayed on him. The Corvette swung the car left but then did a hard right, speeding past a school. Anna hit the accelerator, putting her up to sixty in a forty-five to catch the unpredictable driver. She dialed Sheriff Greenbell, but he didn’t pick up. She white-knuckled the steering wheel. On my own. They cut north again to Ruby, taking them miles up to Flat Rock Creek and over onto 354 that merged into Zion. The Corvette twisted onto more back roads as Anna gained on its tail. She looked at her pistol in her front seat, double-checking its location and making sure it was within arm’s reach.
They crossed over Lee Creek and into a rural sprawl. On a long stretch, the Corvette screamed. Its tires kicked rocks as it blasted off down the asphalt. Anna watched her RPM climb to 4k as she reached one hundred and ten miles per hour. The Corvette swung a hard left, smoke and dust billowing from its wheel well as it screeched onto an unmarked dirt road.
Anna hit the brake and twisted the steering wheel. The truck’s momentum sent the suspension one side up, causing her insides to shift and the vehicle to nearly roll. The truck skidded twenty feet past the dirt road, and Anna slammed on the gas, pleased that her years of Florida driving weren’t for naught.
A rising dust cloud revealed the Corvette’s position. The road twisted and turned without rhyme or reason. Anna kept on it, fishtailing her backend and making harsh turns. Civilization vanished dozens of miles ago. Though she grew up in Van Buren, the path before her was entirely foreign. The way the stranger handled the turns proved her theory. It was the Corvette driver’s domain.
The cloud began to dwindle. Anna gritted her teeth and sped up, riding over the crest of the dirt hill. Woods to the right. Woods to the left. No sign of the Corvette or the cloud of smoke. Pop!
Her front tire exploded, sending her headlong into the thicket. “Nooooooo!”
The Silverado bounced through the trees as a branch scraped against the black paint. She plunged into a tree with a jagged branch lancing out at the windshield. Anna slammed on the brakes. The branch got closer and closer. Anna clenched her eyes shut and ducked her head, bracing for impact.
Stillness.
Chirping birds.
Anna opened her eyes to the sharp tip of the branch on the other side of the windshield. A wave of dizziness twisted her vision. She relaxed her posture and pried her fingers from the steering wheel. Her hands shook. Her fingers coiled around the shifter, parking the truck a few feet from the tree's trunk. After rubbing her face, Anna took a deep breath and dialed her father.
“Dad, it’s me.”
“Anna?” Her father’s tone was bursting with excitement. “How’s Miami? I’m sure it’s great this time of year.”
“I’m…” Anna shut her eyes, feeling the beginnings of tears. “I’m not in Miami, remember?”
“Where are you calling from? Did you finally cash in your vacation days? I hope you did. You know what they say, use ‘em or lose ‘em.”
“I’ve heard the saying.” Anna’s lip quivered. She squeezed her thumb in her fist. “I don’t recall the last time we spoke, when was that?”
“Hmm. Let me check.” She heard her father moving around on the other end of the line. “January. You mailed me a journal… I don’t remember getting that. Maybe I put it—” More shoveling of papers.
“You don’t need—”
“—No, no,no. I’m not going to let your gift go to waste. Just give me a moment.”
Rustling.
Anna leaned her head back against the seat and sniffled. “Dad… I’m sorry.” She mumbled to herself.
“Sorry about what—Found it! The Memory Journal. Interesting title. It appears someone’s scribbled some notes in here. Two Eggs, Flour, Butter. I was making a cake apparently.”
“It was good talking to you, Dad.” Anna rubbed her eye with her palm. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Sounds good, angel! Enjoy your vacation.”
Her father shuffled on the other end of the line, forgetting to hang up. Anna heard him sit down and sigh. The TV cut on. A news anchor spoke. “Keisha Rines, Pianist, Prodigy, and now the victim of one of the most menacing—BAM! BAM! BAM!” Cowboy speak. “Got to keep them Indians at bay. If they get up that hill, you can kiss your fortune goodbye.”
Anna pressed END on her phone and sank into her seat. She wanted to turn off her personal life and focus on finding Keisha, but minds didn’t work like that. The cusp of the hill reflected in the rearview mirror. Dust rose in the distance. Anna’s heart raced. She snatched the pistol from the front seat and climbed out of the truck. She moved around the front side panel and ducked into the small gap between the hood and the tree. The safety clicked off.
The cloud grew larger. With it, the rumble of an engine.
A bead of sweat trickled down Anna’s temple and slid to her jawline. The weight of the pistol became more prevalent in her damp palms. The dust cloud gathered directly on the hill above her. It settled.
A car door opened and shut.
Anna’s mouth dried out. She didn’t blink. Every breath was a struggle.
Dun-dum, dun-dum, dun-dum. Her heart raced.
The figure stood right out of view. Anna felt their presence.
A car door opened. It shut. The engine revved.
The cloud disappeared from view.
Anna waited, as still as the trees. A long moment passed. She stepped out of cover and climbed the hill. The road went on forever and revealed no cars. All that remained was a tiny velvet ring box placed neatly on the dirt.
8
Locked in a Basement
Fuzzy velvet and completely unassuming, the little rectangle rested in the middle of the road. A present for Anna Dedrick.
With trembling hands, Anna slid the pistol into the holster and approached with cautious steps. She fetched a handkerchief from her back pocket and slowly knelt before the object. Everything inside her screamed, “Don’t open it!” The handkerchief acted as a guard for her fingers. She gripped the top of the box and slowly pried it open. Resting on the luscious red cushion was a severed brown finger. The cut was clean and dry of blood, appearing to be removed exactly where the finger met the palm.
She felt woozy and the return of yesterday's meal, the last time she had eaten. She dialed the police, unable to look away from the box. “Put Sheriff Greenbell on. I found another one.”
Anna waited until the squad cars came howling down the road. Pushing herself to her feet, she spotted ridges on the right side of the dirt road where caltrops were laid and picked up again. They must’ve only been put on one side of the road so the Corvette could still speed through. Pinky retrieved them when he delivered the box, Anna was sure of that.
Sheriff Greenbell climbed out of the car and approached the box. “Did you get a good look at him?”
Forensic analysts followed and snapped pictures.
Anna shook her head. “He planted road spikes. I crashed down there. He returned, left the box, and drove back in the town’s direction.”
Greenbell stroked his white spade-shaped beard as he studied the ring box. “I put out an APB for a 1992 Burnt Orange Corvette.”
“Has my brother said anything?” Anna asked as the two of them watched the crime scene analysts work.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Anna glared at him. “If we want to find Keisha Rines, we need to be transparent with one another. Don’t you see? This guy is taunting us.”
Greenbell turned to her. “Evan hasn’t said anything. Nothing useful, at least.”
Anna looked out at the crime scene. “Doesn’t this prove his innocence?”
“He stays until we have another man behind bars.”
Anna shook her head in disbelief. “Right, because it would be bad press to say you’ve followed the wrong lead.”
The white-haired man loomed above her but said nothing. His phone rang. “It’s Sergeant Mathis,” He walked a few paces away.
Anna crossed her arms. The sheriff nodded and said “yeah” a few times before turning back to Anna with a wide grin. He lowered the phone. “We’ve got a hit on the Corvette.”
He finished his call and yelled at the analysts. “Hurry up! We’ve found the guy!”
The photographer took the last few photos and bagged the finger and box. Greenbell jogged to his cruiser, and Anna followed.
“Where at?” she asked.
“Ran a red light in Fort Smith. Seems he’s racing for Oklahoma.”
“That doesn’t seem right. He got that far west already?”
“You said the guy was speeding.” Greenbell ducked into the car. Anna walked around to the passenger side.
“But that fast?” When she grabbed the handle, the door locked. She crinkled her brow and gave him the eye. “Really.”
Greenbell smiled slyly at her. “I called a tow truck for you. It will be here in—” He checked his watch. “Two hours.”
“Fame whore,” Anna cursed him under her breath as he sped away with the sirens blaring.
An analyst stared at her.
“What are you looking at?” Anna growled.
The boy shied away, finishing packing up his equipment.
Anna marched to her truck. Silver scrapes tarnished the black paint on the doors and side panels. The front tire was a shredded mess. She climbed in, put it in reverse, and rolled up the hill with the flat tire. She elbowed to parallel the road and drove a few yards out of the crime scene. Grabbing the jack and crossbar lug wrench from the toolbox in the bed, she walked to the tattered tire, stopped, and checked her phone. Putting in the GPS coordinates from this location to Fort Smith, she discovered it would take forty-five minutes of speeding from here to the Fort Smith border. She checked the time. Either Pinky was a stock car racer, or Greenbell had the wrong Corvette.
Anna checked the plate number she jotted down and called Greenbell.
Ring. Ring. “You’ve reached Garrett Greenbell. I’m occupied. Call later.”
It was the second time he didn’t pick up, and it annoyed Anna to no end. She scrolled through her Miami contacts, finding Allen Herschel. “Pick up, please,” she mumbled while looking back at the officers clearing the “crime scene.”
“Anna Dedrick. Are you finally cashing in that date you owe me?” Allen said in his normal half-joking tone of voice.
“You do a favor for me, and I’ll pay for dinner,” Anna bartered as she jacked up the truck.
“It’s never a social call with you.” Anna could imagine her balding friend leaning back in his rolling chair and squeezing his stress ball.
“I’ll wear a dress.” Anna’s face went red as she twisted the lug wrench, removing the first bolt.
“You could do better than that.” Allen teased. He wasn’t making this easy.
Anna blew a loose hair out of her eye and started on the next bolt. “The one from last year’s office party.”
She could hear Allen straighten up. “Whatever you need. House alarm codes, untraceable firearms, sim cards.”
“A license plate number.”
“Breaking into a police database.” He sucked air through his teeth. “That’s a little risky.”
“I know you’re sitting in the bullpen right now,” Anna called his bluff.
“Not so loud,” Allen whispered back.
Anna read out the number, the make of the car, and the year.
“Give me a minute.”
She finished extracting the destroyed tire and unclipped her spare from beneath the truck’s bed. Rolling it across the dirt path, she slid it onto the rim. She used her cheek to hold the phone against her shoulder.
“I’m doing fine, by the way, in case you're asking. How ‘bout you?”
“Every minute I waste, a little girl loses a finger.” Anna tightened the first bolt.
“Oh.”
Anna finished up with the tire and began lowering the jack.
“Got a match,” Allen said and slurped from what Anna assumed was a Big Gulp. “Edger Strife.”
Anna froze. A chill tickled her spin. Her eyes went wide.
“Sixty years old. Caucasian. Lives in Arkansas. Has multiple DUIs and assault charges. Seems like an upstanding citizen.” Allen stopped talking for a moment. “Anna, you still there?”
“What’s his address?” Anna asked coldly.
“88 Shores Lake Road. You good? You aren't sounding too good.”
Her body trembled. “I know this guy, Allen.” She did. And she remembered the way he touched her and grabbed her hair. The taste of his chapped lips and the binding of his smooth ropes. Anna needed to puke. “The last time I saw him, my father put a gun to his head and drove him out of the state.”
“Dang,” Allen said with concern in his voice. “You aren’t planning to see this guy, right?”
“Bye, Allen.” Anna tossed the jack into the back seat and slammed the door. She climbed into the front and stomped the accelerator.
Tucked on an incline and flanked by trees on all sides sat the seedy doublewide trailer. Junk cars, decaying furniture, and an old bathtub filled with muddy water were but a taste of this hoarder's landfill.
The dinged-up Silverado rolled up the gravel driveway and slowed out of sight from the trailer’s front door. Anna leaned over the steering wheel, scanning the area with tired eyes. Rage bubbled within her. Old memories that were locked, boxed, and tossed into the sea resurfaced.
Children flooded out of Hiker’s Middle School and rushed to their parents’ cars. Anna bounced down the school’s outer stairs, watching them go. Adjusting her backpack on her shoulders, she headed for the sidewalk. Most days, Lacey, Ronald, and Evan would walk with her, but today Anna walked alone. She wasn’t surprised. Lacey started playing on the girls’ basketball team at the start of the year; Ronald went to the chess club, and her brother, Evan, most likely wandered off with his group of fellow misfits. It was only a few miles and the walk gave her time to ponder. “You think too much and act too little,” her eighth-grade teacher lectured. Anna took offense to that, partly because it was true.
