Committed (9 page)

Deputy Schumer looked to be young—late twenties was my guess. He coughed into his fist, clearing his throat. “I reported to the scene, and this guy showed me what he’d found. I ran the name from the tags, which came back to a man looking like our vic back there. There was an alert for the man in the system to contact the local FBI. I did, and I guess they called you. When I called everything back in to the station, they just told me to sit on the guy and wait on the scene until the FBI arrived.”

“We appreciate that,” I said. “Do one of you guys want to lead us back there to have a look?”

“Yeah, I can walk you back,” Deputy Schumer said.

Bill, Scott, Beth and I followed the deputy into the field.

Schumer looked back over his shoulder. “The deceased is up here about thirty feet.”

None of us responded but followed along, taking large steps over the bent cornstalks. I could hear the leaves of the stalks scratching against our group as we walked.

“Here we go,” Deputy Schumer said.

Our group stopped, did our best to spread out against the corn a bit, and got a look. The man lay facedown. His tan sweatshirt had two bullet holes in the back. Around the holes and down the man’s sides was blood. It looked dry. The way he lay and the lack of blood anywhere except the man’s immediate vicinity told me he’d gone down and not moved much again before he expired.

“That’s our guy that the couple took from the rest stop,” Beth said. “He’s wearing the same hooded sweatshirt.”

“I’m guessing he was killed damn near right away after they left,” I said. “The blood looks old. Forensics should be able to tell us for certain, though.”

“I spotted whatever that was there right away when I got to the scene”—Deputy Schumer pointed a bit off to the right of Bill, amongst the corn—“I figured I’d leave it for forensics.”

We all looked over where he pointed. A rectangular pamphlet lay a few feet from Bill’s feet.

“That looks like the map that she showed to this guy at the rest stop. We have that on video,” I said.

“Okay, let’s leave this for the forensics team and get back out to the street. I want to see if that guy happened to see anything else,” Scott said.

We walked single file from the field back to the street. A gray sedan approached and pulled up behind our line of cars. Two men stepped out—Agents Makara and Gents.

“You said that you wanted a word with our guy here?” Schumer asked. “We should probably kick him loose pretty soon.”

“Yeah,” Scott said.

Scott and I followed Deputy Schumer to his car. Beth and Bill went to meet with the Omaha agents.

Schumer opened the rear door of the car and motioned the man to get out.

The thin, thirty-some-year-old man stepped out, followed by the dog. He held the dog’s leash and stood before us. Schumer closed the rear door of the car and went to the group of deputies.

“We’ll try to get you out of here in a second, Mister…?” Scott said.

“Tarabay,” he said. “Jeff Tarabay.”

“Do you mind just running through what happened?” I asked.

The guy ran his fingers through his short blond hair. “Well, I was driving over to my mother’s place, and I see this little dog on the side of the road. I could see it had on a collar and leash, so I stopped—don’t want the thing to get hit, you know. Plus, with the collar on, I figure I can find out who the owner is and call. Hell, I’d appreciate that if one of my dogs got away. Anyways, as soon as I pull off to the shoulder and park, the dog bolts back into the field there. Well, I think it’s a bit odd that the dog runs directly up where the corn looks damaged, so I go in after it to see what is going on. I get about thirty or forty feet back in there and see the dog sitting next to a guy who is facedown. I walked to him, saying, “Sir, sir, sir.” The guy didn’t respond. When I get next to him, I could see that he was shot or whatever. Well, I kind of kick the bottom of his shoe with mine to see if he moves, which he doesn’t. That’s when I called 9-1-1. That’s about it. I took the dog with me back out to the street and waited for the sheriff’s department to arrive.”

“Did you give that statement to anyone?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, the deputy who just let me out of the car. He took my name, statement, all of that.”

“Deputy Schumer!” I called. “Do you have everything you need from him here?” I asked.

Schumer turned from speaking with the other deputies and gave me a nod.

“Okay, Mr. Tarabay, you’re free to leave,” I said.

“What should I do with the dog?” he asked.

I thought for a moment. “Um, leave him with us. We’ll find something suitable for him until we can contact some family for him or something.”

“Sure,” Tarabay said. He held the leash out toward me.

Though I’d meant the guy should pass the dog off to one of the deputies, I took the leash in my hand. Tarabay headed toward his car.

“New pet?” Scott asked.

“For about thirty seconds while I find someone to take him,” I said.

I looked down toward my feet, and the little dog stared back at me. It looked as though it could have been some kind of a mix with a pug, by its scrunched face. I got low and gave him a scratch behind the ears.

“Sorry about your owner, buddy,” I said. I took the dog’s tags in hand and looked at them. The first of the two was blue and read Matilda. Apparently, it was female, not male. I moved that tag to the side and checked the other. It said if lost to contact Lindsay Dunbar and listed a number. I looked back up at Scott, who was watching me deal with the dog. “Do you remember the number we tried tracking on this guy?”

Scott shook his head.

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed the number on the dog tag. My phone rang in my ear until a message came on, stating that Mr. Dunbar was out of the office on business for the week and listing two phone numbers where he could be reached. I hung up and pulled out my notepad.

“Did you get something?” Scott asked.

“Maybe. The message I just got listed two numbers to reach him at.” I hit the button on my cell phone to redial so I could jot the numbers down.

I called Ball in Manassas as soon as I clicked off from Lindsay Dunbar’s voice-mail message. I gave Ball both numbers, as well as the one I’d originally called that gave me those numbers—he said he would see what the twins could do.

Beth and Bill had filled in Agents Gents and Makara on what we had on scene. Makara had told Beth that the forensics guys had been going over the RV they had towed from the rest area but had gotten nothing other than prints.

I stood along the road’s shoulder, looking back into the cornfield. Every few moments, I caught flashes of a few guys in white clean suits walking around through the corn. A coroner had just taken the body back into Omaha, and the forensics guys were searching for any other evidence that could have been tossed. The white-and-red pamphlet we saw near the body had turned out to be an
RV Map of America
, according to the title on the front. Aside from it being a standard map, it listed all the major attractions and RV parks across the US. While we didn’t know why they’d kept it, we’d sent the sheriff’s department out in search of the locations that were local, just in case.

My cell phone rang in my pocket. I slid it out and hit Talk. The call was coming from our home office.

“Rawlings,” I said.

“Hey, it’s Ball. We have a hit on one of the numbers. It belongs to a business, which we called. They said the phone was issued to Dunbar.”

I dug my notepad from my pocket. “Where?”

“Lewis and Marcus say Sweet Creek Campground. It’s just off of twenty-nine, about five miles north of Omaha.”

Ball gave me the address, which I wrote down. “And it’s there now?”

“Yup.”

“All right, we’re going.”

“Let me know,” Ball said.

“Yup.” I hung up and jammed my phone back into my pocket. I turned away from the cornfield and faced Beth, Bill, and Scott, who were standing with the other agents at Bill and Scott’s rental car. “Let’s roll. We got a hit on one of the phone numbers for this guy.”

I took a step toward them and realized I was still holding a leash with a little dog attached to it. “Shit. Um, come on, girl.”

The dog trotted along toward the group as I walked over.

“Bringing the pup with?” Beth asked. “Deputy Mullins said he’d take her.”

“He did?” I asked.

“Yeah. Deputy Mullins!” Beth called.

He was standing at the front of his cruiser a few cars up and turned back toward us.

Beth waved him over, and he walked up.

“You don’t mind looking after Matilda here, right?” Beth asked.

He held out his hand for the leash. “Yeah, I’ll see if anyone from the department wants to take her in until we can figure out what to do with her. If not, she can come and stay with me until we do. We have three dogs at home now. I’m sure a fourth for a few days wouldn’t make too much of a difference.”

I handed the leash off to him. “Appreciate it. We’re heading over to the Sweet Creek Campground. I know some of the other deputies were out searching the local RV spots. Can we get one or two to meet us there?”

“I’ll call it back to the station. Whoever is in the area will meet you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Sure. C’mon, pooch.” He walked back toward the other deputies.

I looked at Agents Gents and Makara. “Are you guys heading over there with us? The hit on the cell came from a campground a couple miles out from Omaha.”

Both men nodded.

Beth and I hopped in our car. Bill and Scott did the same behind us, as did Makara and Gents. Beth and I led the way, and I punched the address into my phone and hit the button to make it navigate. “Back to the interstate toward the city.”

“Got it,” Beth said.

Our ride over was mostly quiet. Beth exited the interstate, and after a few turns on surface streets, the navigation on my phone told us the campground should be coming up on our right. I saw a wooden sign in the distance, with yellow lettering spelling out Sweet Creek. I pointed at the sign and exited the navigation on my phone. Beth turned in, and we found two sheriff’s cars waiting along the side of the entrance. Beth pulled alongside the leading car, and I rolled down my window.

I pulled out my bifold and showed my badge to the deputy driving. “Agent Rawlings,” I said. “This is Agent Harper. The cars behind us are agents as well. Did you guys head in yet?”

“We just arrived not more than a minute or two ago,” the deputy said. “We were over at another campground a few miles away when we got the call. Our instructions were to wait on the FBI.”

“Okay, why don’t you follow us in, and we’ll have a look around.”

The deputy nodded and raised his window. Beth continued on to the guard shack and barrier blocking the entrance. She put the car in park and lowered her window.

“Um, I’m guessing you’re not here to camp,” a woman said. “What can I help you with?”

I leaned forward a bit and cocked my head so I could get a look at her from my seat in the car. She sat just inside the building. Her hair was white and just past her shoulders. The woman wore a pair of large, thick, red-rimmed glasses.

Beth flashed her credentials to the woman, who squinted and peered down her nose at them.

“What’s that say?” the woman asked.

“FBI,” Beth said and stuffed her credentials back into an inner pocket of her gray blazer. “We’re searching for a man and woman in a late-model white Toyota. Did you see anyone matching that between yesterday and today?”

“Well, I wasn’t on yesterday, but that doesn’t ring a bell for today. Let me check the log and see what we have for yesterday.”

“Thank you,” Beth said.

The woman went back into the guard shack and reappeared a moment later with a clipboard. “A white Toyota, you said?”

“Correct.”

“Do you have a plate number?”

I pulled my notepad from my pocket, flipped to the page, and read it off.

“Well, I’m not seeing that or a white Toyota at all, for that matter.”

“We have reason to believe they are on your grounds here and are going to need to search,” Beth said.

“Oh, um, okay. I’m guessing the two sheriff’s department cars that have been sitting here are with you as well?”

“Correct,” Beth said.

“Let me get the gate for you.”

“The two cars behind us are with us as well,” Beth said.

“Sure.” The woman lifted the gate.

Beth clicked the car into drive.

“Wait a sec,” I said. “Ma’am,” I called to the woman in the guard shack.

She leaned back out of the window.

“Is this the only way in and out?”

“It is,” she said.

I gave her a wave, and we passed through.

“Hell, where do we start?” Beth asked.

“Check every site,” I said. I looked through the windshield and saw the road coming to a T a ways up. As we got a little closer, I saw that half of the campsites were to the right and the other half to the left. “Hold on. Pull off to the side here.”

Beth did, and I stepped out.

Bill and Scott, as well as Agents Makara and Gents, pulled to the edge of the road behind our rental car, and the two sheriff’s cruisers did the same. I walked back to Bill and Scott. Bill, who was driving, lowered his window.

“Hey, the woman at the front didn’t have anything on our car. We’re going to need to split up here and start searching.”

“Ball said the twins had a GPS signal that was here, right?” Bill asked.

“Yeah.”

Bill pulled his cell phone from his pocket and clicked a few buttons. He held the phone to his ear and spoke to me. “I’m calling back to Manassas to have them give me the GPS coordinates. I have an app on my phone that should be able to lead us straight to the signal.”

I nodded.

Bill said a few words to whoever he was speaking with—I figured it was one of the twins. Then he clicked off from the call.

“The signal is still active and still here. Marcus is sending me the coordinates now.” Bill stared down at his phone’s screen. He clicked a few buttons, and a map came up. “We’re headed right. I’ll lead,” he said.