Eyes of the Predator (32 page)

“Sorry. Can’t. Gotta get home.
Thanks anyway.” Ronnie put one booted foot up on the first step and leaned
against the railing along the steps, lighting up a cigarette. Inhaling deeply,
he turned his head skyward looking into the early night sky. A tinge of red
still lingered dimly on the western horizon. The two GBI agents came up to the
porch and stood to his right at the foot of the steps. The two on the porch
watched patiently, sipping their beer until Ronnie figured it was time to get
to the point of his visit.

 “Hell of a day, George.” It
was a statement of fact.

 “Yep. Hell of a day.”
George nodded to the GBI agents. “Fel Tobin, this is Agent Shaklee and Agent
Price from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. They’re working the murders.”
George took another pull from his beer can.

“Sorry, George,” Ronnie said
looking to his right. “Should have made the introductions. Just got distracted.
Seems like a long time since yesterday.”

“No problem.”

Fel Tobin gave the obligatory
head nod to the two agents, smiling with particular interest at Sharon Price.
Now this was something different. Sheriff deputies, even the Chief Deputy,
stopping by, that was one thing, but the GBI. Well, that was
something
.

“Workin’ the murders, huh? Get
‘em figured out yet?” Fel was seriously interested. George never talked much
about what was going on in the county. And this, well today he had been
downright closemouthed about things. But by now, everyone in the county knew
about the killings, except Fel Tobin.

“Not yet Mr. Tobin, but we’re
working on it. We’ll figure it out.” Sharon Price smiled an affectionate smile
at him as if he were an old uncle.

A little embarrassed by her
pleasant but steady gaze and not knowing what else to do in response to the
pretty girl’s smile, Fel smacked a weathered hand on his bony knee and gave a
short laugh, managing to say, “Well, that’s good. That’s real good.” He raised
the beer can to his lips never taking his eyes off Agent Price of the GBI. Yep,
this was something. Two GBI agents, and one of them a girl. Really something.

George turned his head regarding
Fel curiously. Since losing his wife, old Fel did not interact much with the
ladies, and he was always taken with any female that showed him any attention.
It didn’t take much for him to start acting like a bashful teenager.

“So, Ronnie,” George said getting
back to the business that had interrupted their beer drinking. “You didn’t come
all the way out here to talk about what a shitty day it’s been. What’s up?” It
was the third time he had asked the question, and it resulted in disappointing
Fel when the pretty lady agent turned her attention to the deputies.

“Got an assignment for you,
George.”

“Really? What’s that?”

“You’ve been assigned to assist
the GBI,” Ronnie Kupman shrugged towards the two agents at this side.

“Assist. What does that mean?”

“Means you’re gonna work with
them and find the killer.”

“Really?” He turned the beer can
on his knee and then looked thoughtfully for a few moments at the dark, wet
ring on the denim. “I don’t know, Ronnie…”

“This is not a request, George.”
Kupman cut him off. “Take it as an order if you need to, but we need you to
focus on this case. You are relieved of all other duties for the duration.” And
with that, Ronnie released a cloud of cigarette smoke that hovered over his
head as if to settle the matter.

George gazed at Ronnie wondering
what he had told the GBI agents about his failures of the night before. He was
about to speak when Bob Shaklee settled it for good.

“Look Deputy…George, we realize
this must be tough for you. We know that maybe you feel somewhat responsible
for some of what happened.” George shot a look at Kupman who gazed back calmly
from his wreath of cigarette smoke. The look was not missed by Shaklee who
continued, “Look, we’re not stupid. Checking your notes before revealing that
you might have seen the perpetrator’s car…well, like I said, we’re not stupid.
The bottom line, and I don’t say it as a compliment, it’s fact that most of the
evidence and leads we have in the murders came through your efforts. We want
this case solved. You want it solved. You should be part of this, George.”

George listened, no emotion
discernible on his face. Shaklee looked hard into his eyes and added one final
thought. “If you’ve got sins to pay for George, this is how you do it. We’re
going to find this killer. You will be part of that.”

The flicker of emotion that
darted across the deputy’s face indicated that Bob Shaklee had struck a nerve.
Yes, there were sins to pay for. That was surely true.

“Okay. Meet at the office at
seven in the morning.” Ronnie Kupman pulled his boot off the porch step and
turned towards the car.

There was nothing else to say.
The two agents turned and followed. A few seconds later, the sound of the tires
receded as the county car returned to Everett.

“Got the fucker.”

George looked up from his beer at
Fel’s exclamation. One of the feral yard cats that hung around the place was
just visible in the dim pool of light cast across the yard from the living room
window. It had apparently successfully stalked and hunted some small prey and
was now pinning it to the ground with its paws as it tried to gain a grasp with
its teeth. The cat suddenly shook its head ending the struggle of the small
animal in its jaws and trotted off across the yard, ignoring the two men on the
porch.

Downing the last of his beer in
salute to the cat, George tossed the can into the trash crate and headed across
the dark yard to his place above the barn.

“’Night, Fel,” he called over his
shoulder.

Walking through the dewy grass,
the image of the cat with its helpless victim dangling from its mouth remained.
If the killer leaving bodies across Pickham County was the cat, what were
George and the others? Hunters? Different though, he thought. Hunters don’t
think too much about the cat’s prey, they just hunt the cat.

The image of the cat was replaced
in his mind by the memories of old Mr. Sims bled out in the gravel and of the
girl’s lifeless body thrown away like so much trash. Shaking his head as if to
shake the memories out, George stood at the bottom of the barn steps and took a
deep breath. To catch this killer, he reminded himself, he would have to focus
on the killer, the cat. This was now a hunt, so hunt, George. Find the son of a
bitch and there won’t be any more victims.

He plodded slowly up the steps to
his apartment over the barn. It would be a restless night, he knew.

The old Chevy pulled up the exit
ramp and turned left, crossing the bridge over the interstate. Bouncing across
some railroad tracks in the dark, it turned left again so that it was headed
south, parallel to the interstate. The car moved smoothly over the sandy road.
Ruts and bumps filled in by sand and ground shells made for a soft ride. After
a mile or so, he turned the car right onto another dirt road that ran up into a
pinewoods. This was logging country, and large tracts of land were owned and
planted by lumber companies who harvested the trees and then planted more in
their place. For Lylee, it was sufficient that the area was secluded, and that
at this time of day, the loggers would all be throwing down beers at some
honky-tonk.

The car stopped silently in the
soft sand. His head turned towards her, and Lyn cringed as far away from him as
she could in the confines of the car.

“Pit stop. I need to take a
piss,” Lylee said with a grin. “How about you?”

Eyes wide, Lyn made no sound;
unsure if he was serious or if this was just a continuation of the mental torture,
or part of his plan, whatever that might be. Young and possessing a naiveté
born of her humble, backcountry origins, she was not naïve enough to be unaware
that she was in serious danger. This man, who could change so completely in a
matter of seconds, was ominous and frightening, and she sensed that her fear
pleased him in some way.

He studied her curiously, waiting
for some response. After a minute, Lylee shrugged and pushed open the driver’s
door. From the front seat, she watched as he walked to the front of the car,
unzipped his pants and began to urinate.

She could not see clearly in the
moon light, diffused by the surrounding pines, but she could hear the stream
splash loudly in the dirt. He arched his head back while the pee flowed. The
backlight of the moon caused his narrow, dark silhouette, pointing up to the
evening sky, to take on an animal-like appearance. Framed in the moonlight,
head back, he reminded her of a picture she had seen of a wolf on a snowy night
with its head back, howling at the moon. A shiver moved uncomfortably between
her shoulders.

Finished peeing, he moved toward
the passenger side of the car, zipping his pants as he walked. The door jerked
open rapidly, and Lyn saw the knife in his hand. A gasp caught in her throat
and her eyes widened. “No! No!” The words screamed through her brain, but
before she could make a sound, he reached down and cut the plastic tie that
held her to the frame of the seat.

“Get out and pee.” His hand took
her arm roughly and jerked her up and out of the car.

“I, uh I don’t…,” Lyn started,
but was stopped by a short, hard open-handed slap across the face.

“Pee,” Lylee said, still holding
her arm with his other hand. “Squat down and pee. I’m not going to have you
piss all over my car, so get to it.” Sensing her continued resistance, he took
hold of her throat and with one arm threw her to the ground.

Lyn’s face stung from the slap,
and she tasted salty blood on her lip. She rolled over on her stomach in the
sand and pushed herself up. Squatting, she lowered her jeans and did as he had
ordered, trying to be as discreet as possible. The wet splash in the dirt
embarrassed her, and she could not help but glance at him. Lylee stood watching
her with interest, holding the knife in one hand and tapping the blade in the
other.

As she finished, he jerked her
upright and pushed her towards the car. Lyn fought for her balance and then
squared her shoulders and stood up straight. She walked steadily to the car.
She had begun to sense that her continued survival would depend on her ability
to walk a fine line between complete surrender to her terror, and her ability
to maintain some sense of dignity and identity. She must resist in small ways,
but not enough to anger the man. She felt that doing so might result in her
immediate death. But completely submitting would result in the same end.

Her understanding of this was
completely instinctive, in the same way that a person might instinctively react
to a large barking dog by facing it and trying not to show fear or run away.
You could not outrun the dog, and when he caught you, it would be worse.
Running was not the thing to do, at least not yet. She knew what the result
would be if she ran and was caught. Her instinct for survival was not evident
to her as even a complete thought. It was a subconscious response to the man
and his actions from moment to moment.

For his part, Lylee smiled and
felt the thrill burning in him at her ever-so-discreet defiance. He would take
his time with this one. Slowly turning that defiance into trembling, quivering
terror would be sweet and delicious work.

Lylee guided the car through the
pines, retracing their route back to the interstate. Picking up speed down the
ramp, they merged anonymously back into the northbound traffic.

Clay’s arms and legs ached. He
became conscious of the discomfort and realized that he had been hunched
forward clenching the wheel of the truck as he tensely scanned ahead and around
for any sign of an old Chevy. A couple of times he had passed cars that might
fit the description, but pulling up beside them, had not seen Lyn or anyone
that looked like the man that might have taken her from the truck stop.
Dragging himself out of his thoughts and back to the interior of the pickup, he
forced himself to relax a bit. Think. He had to think.

The first thought that came to
him was, ‘what the hell are you doing?’ It was a legitimate question. He had no
better answer for himself than he had for his brother. Lyn might have gone
willingly with the man in the Chevy. From what he had learned at the truck
stop, it seemed that the man had rescued her from whatever old Henry had
planned for her, so maybe he was just offering her a ride north. After all,
that was why they had brought her to the truck stop, to find a ride to Canada.

Canada. It sounded silly,
childish, but that thought made him feel guilty. Who was he to judge?

Clay remembered the look on Lyn’s
face when she had told them about her running away dream. The one she and her
brother had constructed. Their lives at home must have been hell. Living in
hell might cause anyone to dream a dream that might seem crazy to others not
living in hell. He couldn’t really relate to that. Life had been full of hard
work for the Purcells, but it was a long way from hell.

Was it unrealistic, maybe even
farfetched? Yes, he had to admit, looking at it from the outside. But it was
not childish. No, there was nothing childish about the pain and weariness he
had seen in her face.

The girl’s dream was a dream of
escape. Clay did know a little about that. With the support of his mother and
uncle, he and Cy had never suffered. But they knew what it was like to want
something more than could be had just scraping by in the south Georgia
backcountry. Poverty and hard times were the life they had lived with their
widowed mother. He and Cy were working on their dream now, building their
business. There had been those who thought they were crazy for striking out on
their own.