Eyes of the Predator (45 page)

“So, George got him,” the sheriff
said. It was not a question. It was a statement, tinged with distaste and
disappointment, which he was unable to control.

“Yes, he did. He and the GBI and
the Rye County deputy who found the car and the killer.”

“But Mackey was the one who got
him in the end, alone.” Again the distaste with undertones of incredulity.

“Yes. George got him. Killed him
if that’s what you mean.”

“Yes, about that,” the sheriff
said pausing before continuing. “The report states the subject was shot at
close range.”

“Right.”

“It also says that the trajectory
of the round that killed him came from about three feet above and five feet
away.” Klineman regarded Kupman carefully, seeking any sign of concern or
deception. The chief deputy, however, was completely unconcerned and
unperturbed.

“Also correct, Sheriff.”

“And the shotgun was on the
ground beside the subject…on the left side. He was right-handed?”

“Yes. From the thrusts of the
knife that killed the Rye County deputy and Mr. Sims, it does appear that the
subject was right-handed.” Ronnie nodded, smiling at the sheriff’s query as he
crossed his legs comfortably.

Klineman had had enough. “Cut the
bullshit, Kupman!”

“I’m not sure what you mean
Sheriff.” But Ronnie Kupman knew exactly what the sheriff of Pickham County
meant.

“The shooting should be
investigated! You know as well as I do that this was not a legal shooting.” He
stopped to control the anger rising inside, and the heartburn that accompanied
it, and then continued through gritted teeth. “George Mackey executed the
killer, Leyland Torkman.”

“He did?” Kupman raised his
eyebrows in mock surprise. “And you know this because…?”

“Because my common sense tells me
so, and the evidence in the report points in that direction.”

“Well, the report from Rye County
doesn’t…”

“Don’t talk to me about Rye
County. I know Sheriff Siler. He loves his deputies as if they were his own
kids. He would accept any report that justified the elimination of the killer
of one of ‘his boys’, legalities be damned.”

“Is that so?” Kupman returned the
sheriff’s angry gaze calmly. “Hmm. Well, there’s also the GBI’s report. I
believe it says ‘no evidence that the shooting was not legal and justifiable,
performed in the due course of attempting to arrest a violent felon who had
already committed two known murders and two attempted murders at the time of
the shooting’. I’m just paraphrasing, of course, but that seemed to be the gist
of the report…as I recall it.” He smiled serenely at the man the voters of
Pickham County had made his boss.

Sheriff Klineman swallowed hard
in an attempt to remain calm, or at least as calm as possible. “Well, then we
will conduct our own investigation into the shooting.”

“We will?”

“Yes. We will, and as I
apparently can’t trust anyone else to handle it honestly, I will conduct it
myself.”

“Really? Do you think that is
wise, Sheriff?” The question’s tone carried the undercurrent of a threat.
Ronnie let that sink in for a moment before continuing in a conciliatory tone.
“I mean that George Mackey is a hero in Pickham County. The people love him,
the press loves him, and the GBI is standing behind him.” Kupman gave a sighing
shrug. “If you try to hang George out to dry on this, it might backfire on
you.” And then Ronnie Kupman looked his boss squarely in the eye and said with
finality. “I guarantee you that it will backfire on you.”

“What? What, did you just say?”
The sheriff seemed about to come out of his chair. “Did you just threaten me?
Speak up! Say that again.”

Ronnie shook his head in disgust
as he leaned forward and spoke, raising his voice for the first time. “Sheriff,
I know that you record the conversations that take place in this office. Hell,
it’s no secret, everyone knows. So, I’ll say it again. If you try to bring
charges against a deputy who has been exonerated by the GBI and who did this
county a valuable service, and who is a hero by all accounts, it will backfire
on you. I’ll be even more clear…you will regret it.” He leaned back in his
seat, continuing. “If you want to take that as a threat, so be it. As far as
I’m concerned,” and Kupman raised his voice for the recorder again, “I am
offering advice to the Sheriff of Pickham County. As the chief deputy, that is
my duty.”

Chief Deputy Ronnie Kupman took
the shooting file off the sheriff’s desk and walked out of the office, allowing
the door to thump closed behind him.

The secret video camera, which
everyone knew about, recorded Sheriff Richard Klineman sitting motionless and
staring at the desktop for a long while. After a few minutes, his hand reached
under the desk and the video went black.

*******

Bob Shaklee leaned against the
doorframe of the office in a building in Savannah. The building, located in a
quiet office park filled with trees and manicured grass, was leased by the
state for the GBI. Inside the building, investigators considered the terrible
things contained in the case files on their desks and searched for answers.
Outside, landscapers mowed the grass and planted flowers, and lunchtime joggers
wandered the paths of the park.

“Forensics are in.”

Sharon Price looked up from the
follow-up report she was writing. Leyland ‘Lylee’ Torkman it turns out was not missed.
After tracing the vehicle identification number on the Chevy, she had started
the interviews. Work – he did his job, kept his nose clean, and people did not
interfere with him. Neighbors – he was an unknown, no interaction with anyone,
kept quietly to himself, although Mrs. Abbot across the street always knew
there was something ‘strange’ about him. Friends – none. Relatives – none.
Criminal history – none, at least none ever recorded, until now.

“That’s good. Anything?” Her eyes
met his, conveying a momentary look of concern.

“No. Not really.” He smiled back
and gave just the slightest shake of his head acknowledging her concern and
removing it at the same time. “The rounds that hit the boy were plain enough.
We were able to find one of your rounds fired from the truck in a tree trunk at
the tree line, but we dug .00 buck shot out of the trees in the woods for three
days trying to recreate the scene for the follow-up on the shooting report.”

Sharon placed the papers in her
hand on the desk and looked up and directly into Bob Shaklee’s eyes.

“And? What’s the follow up?”

“Nothing much, I guess.” Shaklee
broke away from her gaze and looked out the window behind her where beds of
geraniums and petunias showed off their colors in the sunlight. “Pretty much
like you and George said. Working your search pattern in the area when the call
comes out. The deputy from Rye County advises over the radio that he is going
to check things out and then you arrive on the scene…”

“Grover.”

“What?”

“Grover Parsons. That was his
name, the Rye County deputy. Just a boy really, barely old enough to be a
deputy.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I don’t have
much on that. Rye County is working that part of the case. He was a brave boy.
He did his duty.” Shaklee waited for a moment. It was clear that the death of
the young deputy along with everything else was a painful memory. “He did his
duty, just as you and George did.”

“Did we?”

“Yes. You did.” He waited until
Sharon’s moist eyes looked up. “You did your duty, Sharon. Saved the girl’s life
and the boy who followed her. Parsons did his duty. He did what any of us would
have done, and yes, he paid the price for it. I don’t have an answer for that.”
Shrugging as if to ward off the inevitable, he added, “Sometimes bad things
happen to good people, no matter what you do.”

“Yes, sometimes,” Sharon agreed.
“And the shooting?”

“That. Yes, well that seems to be
pretty straightforward, doesn’t it? You were in hot pursuit of a killer. He
exchanged fire with you. George tracked him into the woods. Another exchange of
gunfire. George ended it using the force necessary to take the suspect out
before he hurt someone else. One round fired at fairly close rang. Forensics
confirms it was from George’s Glock.”

“That’s it?”

“Shouldn’t it be?” He was looking
out of the window behind Price. “I can’t think of anything else, Sharon. Can
you?” His eyes shifted to her face.

“No,” she said firmly. “But I’ve
heard that that asshole sheriff down in Pickham is making a stir. That we
didn’t look at all of the evidence. That the shooting was more than just
self-defense. He’s calling it an execution, but he doesn’t want to do the
investigation himself. Too much political liability.”

“Really. So, what do you think?”

“I think George did what he had
to do.” The statement and the look on her face indicated the finality of her
opinion in the matter.

“Yes, well I look at it this way.
There was a firefight that started when the killer fired on you and continued
when George followed him into the woods. There were a number of gunshots, and
the bad guy ended up dead. Anything else is pure speculation, and we don’t deal
in speculation.” Now the look of finality was on Shaklee’s face. “Like you
said, George did what he had to do.”

The look of tranquility that
followed on Shaklee’s face as he moved his gaze to the window again said it
all. The matter was closed from the GBI’s point of view.

“So, partner,” he continued.
“Have a new case for us. Series of convenience store robberies between here and
Macon. Locals, a police chief and a sheriff, are requesting assistance with the
investigation. You up for it?”

“Chief and a sheriff? Geez, how
could I refuse.”

“Good, meet me for lunch, and
we’ll go over the case file.”

Bob Shaklee turned and walked
down the corridor with a final wave of his hand. Sharon Price picked up the
pages of the report and dropped them in the out basket at the edge of her desk.
Case closed.

*******

The small group on the porch was
quiet. The glasses of sweet iced tea in their hands dripped condensation onto
the porch where the water soaked into the bare planks and disappeared.

The parents of Paula Jean Glover
looked across the yard to the trees and the path leading through the woods to
the old church and tried to understand the events that had connected their
pretty, petite daughter to Mrs. Sims and her dead husband, Harold. There were
no satisfactory answers.

Angel Sims sat quietly, her son’s
hand resting on top of hers on the arm of the rocking chair. Other than
greetings and small talk about the weather, there had not been much
conversation.

Finally, Paula Glover’s mother
pulled her eyes away from the trees and faced them.

“I...we can’t tell you how sorry
we are for the loss of your husband, Mrs. Sims.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Mrs.
Sims replied in a small voice that was almost a whisper. “What’s done, is
done.”

“I know, but somehow, it feels…it
feels wrong that you were dragged into this situation.”

The old woman studied the younger
woman for a moment before speaking. “Honey, there is no need for guilt. You
lost a daughter. I lost my Harold. A bad man did it, not you. He did bad things
to Harold and to your girl, and now he’s gone.”

There was finality to her words.
Nothing would change what had happened. Bad things happened to people
sometimes. Too many times, Angel Sims thought, but they happened anyway. She
had lived long enough to accept the inevitability of that fact.

“Your husband tried to save our
little girl.” Paula Glover’s father turned his tear stained face towards Mrs.
Sims and her son. “I thank you for that.”

There was nothing more to say.
The losses of both families were equally tragic and equally inexplicable. A
terrible, bad thing had happened, and the lives of the old man and young girl
had meandered through the world until they met in the dark in the church
parking lot. There was no meaning, only pain.

A few minutes later, the dripping
glasses were placed gently on the porch, and the Glovers drove away.

*******

The out-of-focus form over him
slowly took shape. His eyes felt glued together.

“Cy,” was all Clay could manage
to say at the sight of his brother. He became aware of Cy’s strong grip on his
hand.

“‘Bout time you woke up.” Clay
perceived that the smile on Cy’s face was more one of relief than any other
emotion.

“Mama?”

“She’s fine. Been by your side
for a week now. I sent her back to the motel to get some rest. I’ll let her
know you’re awake. She’ll want to be here.”

Clay nodded.

“The girl. Last I remember…” his
voice faded. It was an effort to force the air up from his lungs, over the
vocal chords and out of his mouth to speak.

“She’s alive. Not good though.
The things that he did to her. They don’t tell us much, but it was bad. They
have her in a room. She’ll be okay physically, lot of cuts and scars, but
she’ll heal. They have her in some kind of counseling for emotional and mental
trauma. I’ve been checking on her. I knew you’d want to know. I guess it’ll be
a while before things get back to normal for her, if they ever do.”

The look of guilt and pain that
flashed across the young man’s face was unmistakable.

“It’s not your fault brother,” Cy
said, seeing the guilt. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I’m the one who wanted
her gone so we could get back to work. She was just a distraction.” He paused
and then continued, “I’m the guilty one. Not you. You saved her life they say.
You and that deputy in Rye County. That buckshot you put in his leg slowed him
down, and the deputy from Pickham killed him. Been in all the papers, not just
the Everett Gazette, but the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, too. You’re a pretty
big deal.”