The Election (27 page)

“I'll be right over,” Sheriff West responded without hesitation.

 

Ten minutes after his phone conversation with Jake, Sheriff West arrived at the Reed house with two other patrol cars close behind. All three cars pulled into the driveway of the blue two-story colonial without any sirens or flashing lights. He knew the neighbors would find out soon enough that a crime had been committed, but there was no need to alarm them this early in the morning. An ambulance arrived a couple of minutes later.

Jake greeted the sheriff as he approached the front door. Sheriff West really hadn't cared very much for Jake Reed over the years. They'd clashed often in professional circles.

But today there was something different about the man. He was visibly shaken. His home had been violated. Sheriff West knew that the emotional turmoil of such an incident was incomprehensible to most people—until it happened to them—but he understood it. He had seen it plenty of times before. Today he saw it in Jake. Today he would try to help Jake understand what had happened. Today Jake and the sheriff were on the same side…for the first time.

Sheriff West stood beside Jake and watched as the emergency medical technicians assisted Courtney onto the gurney and loaded her into the rear of the ambulance. Rachel climbed in with her, and Jake gave Courtney a kiss before the EMT closed the door. He had to stay with the boys until Rachel's parents arrived, he said.

The two men returned to the house, and Sheriff West listened as Jake repeated the details of the break-in to him and the other investigating officers. The sheriff went upstairs so Jake could show him where the intruder had left the note.

For the next two hours the deputies dusted for fingerprints, took photographs, and looked for evidence. Sheriff West suspected they would find nothing incriminating.

 

Macon, Georgia

Claudia reached Macon, Georgia, at 10:30. She needed to fill both the tank in her car and the tank in her stomach. The three-hour drive from Savannah, and the rhythmic sound of the road, had allowed her to momentarily forget about Hudson. Now her appetite had returned, and it wasn't long before the hunger pangs were more than she could tolerate. She merged from I-16 onto I-75 north and took the Riverside Drive exit in Macon. She found an Amoco gas station and a Wendy's side by side.

She entered the Wendy's. In line in front of her was a young couple with a little blond girl who couldn't have been more than four or five years old. She hung onto the rail that directed the customers toward the cashier, lifted her feet off the floor, and gently swung back and forth underneath the rail.

“How many more hours before we're home?” the little girl asked her mother.

“About four more hours, sweetheart. Now please quit swinging. You're going to fall and hurt yourself.”

They must be on a family trip of some kind
, Claudia thought to herself.

The scene caused Claudia to recall the one fond memory of her childhood…

It was in the summer of 1970, before her father died…

Claudia was nine when the three of them took a family vacation in Eureka Springs, a town in northern Arkansas, in the Ozark Mountains.

When they arrived at the small motel outside of town, Claudia noticed that the swimming pool had a waterslide attached to it. At first her father refused to get in the pool.
“We have other things to do,”
he had said. But she persisted and her father finally relented and agreed to swim with her. She must have slid down one hundred times into her father's waiting arms. Meanwhile, her mother relaxed in a lounge chair at the side of the pool and laughed and cheered with each splash…

That was the last time Claudia recalled her mother laughing. Her father died the next winter, and then things began to deteriorate between her and her mother. Claudia had never really thought about it until now, but it must have been extremely difficult for her mother following her father's death.

“Ma'am, may I help you?” the cashier asked. “Ma'am?”

The cashier's voice awakened Claudia from her daydreaming, and the images of the family vacation from long ago vanished. She placed her order, to go, and in five minutes was back in her car. She drove around the back of the restaurant to exit the parking lot, and something caught her attention. It was the gray Tahoe with South Carolina plates that had passed her outside Savannah.

It's just a coincidence
, she convinced herself.

She glanced at the truck again and, for a split second, it seemed that the man in the passenger seat was studying her.

“I know him from somewhere,” she mumbled again. “But where?”

 

“Let's sit here in the parking lot another minute or two,” Moyers told Osborne. “We know she's going to Atlanta. The GPS will keep up with her.”

The two agents watched the blip on the screen of the GPS monitor as Claudia's Jaguar crossed over I-75 to the northbound access ramp, then proceeded north on I-75 toward Atlanta. They waited another minute before leaving the parking lot. They needed to stay close enough to react when she led them to whatever it was that Milton McAdams had left behind.

 

Jackson-Madison County General Hospital, Jackson, Tennessee

Sheriff West found Jake and Rachel in examination room 5 in the ER. Courtney, who was in bed in the room, was still crying. He motioned for Jake to step into the hall.

“How's she doing?” Sheriff West asked and nodded at the examination room.

“She's going to be OK,” Jake responded. “Some bruising and the rope burns to her wrists and ankles are the only physical injuries. She should be healed in a few days. The emotional scars will take longer.”

“I hope she gets better real soon.”

“Thanks, Sheriff. I appreciate it. What did you find at our house?”

“It looks like a real pro, Jake,” Sheriff West began. “The alarm system was bypassed. The monitoring company thought it was still working, but it was disarmed. Our guess is that he picked the lock on the French doors in the study and made his way upstairs. He left no fingerprints. The place is clean.”

Sheriff West hesitated, wondering whether he would get a straight answer to his next question, but he asked it anyway. “Do you have any idea who would have done this?”

Jake's face was tense. “No, Sheriff, I have no idea. I showed you that note, but I don't know who would threaten me about the Thompson murder. Jed is still here in the hospital, and the case has slowed down.”

Sheriff West had a feeling Jake wasn't being entirely truthful, but he didn't press any further. After all, how would he feel if some thug had done this to
his
daughter?

“We're going to clean up. We should be out of the house within the hour,” the sheriff stated. “I think it would be a good idea for me to assign a few deputies to watch you and your family for a few days.”

“I'd appreciate that, Sheriff. I know it would make Rachel feel better.”

“I'll station one deputy outside your daughter's room to monitor visitors who may come in, and a patrol car will be in the parking lot. Another patrol car will be posted outside of your house twenty-four hours a day. Also, we bagged the note and checked it into the evidence room. Let me know if you get any other threatening letters or phone calls.”

“I will, Sheriff. Thanks for everything.” Jake extended his hand.

The animosity Sheriff West had for Jake had eroded away. He no longer viewed Jake as a high-priced villain. Rather, he saw Jake as a father and a husband, and as someone who cared deeply for his wife and children. Today they were not adversaries, but allies. They desired the same thing—to capture the person who had violated the Reed home.

Jake and Sheriff West shared a warm handshake.

As Sheriff West turned to leave, he paused. “And Jake.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“Take care of that little girl.”

Jake smiled. “I will. You can count on it.”

Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, Atlanta

Claudia arrived at the airport in Atlanta at 11:30 and parked in the nearest lot to the main entrance. Removing the burgundy duffel bag from the backseat, she locked the Jaguar and followed the crosswalk into the main entrance of the airport.

Then she began looking for the locker storage area.

 

“OK, she's in,” Agent Osborne told Agent Moyers. “Let's go.”

The two FBI agents quickly exited their Tahoe and followed Claudia's path into the airport. There was no transmitter on Claudia's person, so they had to maintain visual contact of her. They spotted her as she stepped onto the down escalator that led to the underground tram. From there she could go to the other concourses. They had to reach her before she got on the tram, or they might lose her.

When Bill and Al reached the bottom of the escalator, they saw Claudia standing on the platform, waiting for the tram. Bill was certain she had not spotted them. He walked past Claudia and stood with the other passengers waiting to board one car in front of Claudia's. He motioned for Al to take a position at the waiting area one car behind Claudia's.

 

Claudia removed the key from her front pocket and looked at it again.
T-25.
As she clutched the key tightly, her heart began to beat more rapidly with the anticipation that the contents of the locker would answer her numerous questions.

Just then the computer-generated voice gave its warning that the tram was arriving. “Stand back. The doors are opening.”

Claudia put the key back into her right-front pocket and waited for the doors to open. Practically all the passengers exited the car and streamed en masse toward the escalators that led up to the main terminal. Claudia waited for all the passengers to exit and the ones in front of her to board before she stepped into the middle car of the tram, a split second before the doors closed.

The computer voice repeated its admonishment, but this time with a slight variation. “Stand back. The doors are closing.”

Claudia rode the tram until it reached the atrium area of the airport and exited at that stop. The lockers were between the two sets of escalators that provided access to the boarding areas above. Claudia quickly located the row labeled
T
and began counting the lockers until she reached 25. Taking the key from her pocket, she slid it into the keyhole in locker T-25 and turned the key clockwise until she heard a click. By this time her palms were clammy. She glanced in all directions to see if anyone was watching her.

Satisfied no one was watching, she slowly opened the small door and removed the contents: two medium-size manila envelopes. The first envelope, labeled in Hudson's scrawl with the name
T. Jacob Reed,
felt as if it contained a videotape. The second envelope was addressed to her. It was thick and felt as though it was stuffed with documents. She wanted to rip open the envelope addressed to her, to see if she could find the answers to her many questions. But she resisted the temptation, deciding that discretion required her to wait until she was in a more secluded location.

Claudia stuffed both envelopes into her duffel bag and turned to wait for the returning tram. She had her head down, still trying to arrange the envelopes in her bag, when she bumped into someone. “Excuse me,” she said, glancing up at her victim.

“That's quite all right…
Ms. Duval
,” the man replied.

Claudia was startled. How could this brown-haired stranger know her name? She looked more closely at his face. And why was he smirking?

She moved backward two steps and studied the man again. Then she noticed there was a second man with him.

“I know you,” she said, placing her hand over her mouth. “You're the man from next door.”

“That's right, Ms. Duval,” the first man said. “We've been watching you for weeks, and now you're coming with us.”

“I'll take that,” his black-haired partner said as he took Claudia's bag from her.

The two men each gripped one of Claudia's biceps. She tried to liberate herself, but it was of no use. Their hold was too tight.

“Let me go,” she growled at her stalkers as they practically dragged her toward the tram that had just arrived. “I've done nothing to you.”

“Settle down, Ms. Duval,” the second man instructed.

Claudia could feel the strength of his grip increasing around her arm.

“If you make another sound,” the man added, “we'll kill you right here.”

Those words paralyzed Claudia. No further sound could come from her throat. Her mind raced as she tried to calculate her escape. She couldn't break free and run. Their grip on her arms felt like she was in shackles. And even if she could break free, her captors would certainly chase her down and kill her.

Why would no one help her? Couldn't anyone in the crowd see that she was being forced to go somewhere against her will?

“Stand back. The doors are opening,” the computer-generated voice said as the three of them waited by the tram door.

The trio was third in line to enter the tram. Claudia studied the men. They were facing straight ahead, and the muscles on the side of their faces were taut. There was death in their eyes, and she knew it was hers. As her fingers grew numb, she began to wonder if her death would be long and painful, or quick.

The door to the tram was narrow, allowing only one person at a time to enter. When the door opened and the other passengers had entered, the brown-haired man led the trio into the tram car with his right hand still around Claudia's left bicep.

“Stand back. The doors are closing,” the computerized voice said.

The metallic voice awakened her survival instinct, and Claudia realized that it also gave her an opportunity for escape. Perhaps her
only
opportunity. It was a small window of hope, but she had to act quickly. She placed the heel of her right foot in the crevice between the tram and the platform floor for leverage and pulled backward as hard as she could, like she was the anchor in a game of tug-of-war. Her backward movement created enough momentum to cause the brown-haired man to stumble backward toward the closing door. The forearm and elbow of his right arm extended through the door while the rest of his body was still in the tram car.

“What are you doing!” he yelled as the doors began to close. Claudia watched as the sliding metal and glass doors slammed together, trapping the man's right arm between them. The man screamed out in agony and released his grip on Claudia's arm.

Claudia and the other man tumbled backward. Landing on top of the heap, she heard the
thud
of the black-haired man's head hitting the concrete floor. The impact caused him to let go of Claudia's duffel bag, and it slid a few feet away.

For a fleeting instant Claudia felt freedom. She righted herself and stood to run. Almost instantaneously a hand grabbed her left ankle, causing her to fall hard again. The man began to pull her toward him, groping aimlessly for any part of her body he could reach. Claudia refused to surrender as easily as she had before. Now at least the odds were one to one. But she knew the other man would only be caught in the sliding door of the tram for a few more seconds. If she didn't escape now, she would never escape.

Her only weapon was her right foot, so she kicked wildly at the man's head as he dragged her body closer to him. She found her voice again, and over and over she screamed, “Let go of me! Let go of me!” The platform was empty, and the passengers inside the tram stared out the windows at her struggle for freedom. Despite her assailant's attempts to deflect her attacks with his left forearm, Claudia continued kicking. Soon she found her intended target. The sole of her shoe landed squarely on the bridge of his nose. Blood gushed from his nostrils and flowed over his mouth and down his chin.

When he released her ankle to clutch his broken nose, Claudia struggled to her feet again. She grabbed the nearby duffel bag and ran toward the escalator leading to the upper level.

Claudia knew it would only be a few moments before one or both of the men were giving chase. Every second was precious, and she didn't have time to wait for the slow-moving escalator to transport her, so she bounded up the escalator like it was a stationary staircase. It seemed like an eternity, but in a few seconds Claudia reached the top.

She looked back briefly. The brown-haired man was helping his partner to his feet. He was pointing with his uninjured arm toward the escalator on which she escaped. Blood covered the front of the partner's white golf shirt.

Claudia stepped off the escalator into a horde of passengers who were trying to find their boarding gates in T concourse. She frantically glanced right and left, trying to determine the better avenue of escape. She knew she could hide in the crowd, but for how long? How long would it be before they found her? And when they did find her, they'd kill her. She was sure of it.

The exit door of the airport was to Claudia's left, and she considered taking that way of escape. But she had to get to Memphis, and that meant going in the opposite direction of the exit in order to board her flight. Gathering her courage, she began running toward her departure gate.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw an oasis. “Officer!” Claudia shouted over the crowd noise and headed straight for him.

They met in the middle of the wide concourse, pedestrians passing them on all sides.

“May I help you, ma'am?” the officer asked politely, but Claudia noticed a hint of apathy in his voice.

“Two men were fighting down below,” Claudia exclaimed, pointing frantically toward the escalator.

She knew she had the officer's full attention when his expression changed.

“Both are tall,” she explained breathlessly. “One has brown hair. The other, black hair. And he has blood all over his shirt. I saw them just a few seconds ago, and my guess is that they're still down there.”

“Thanks, ma'am,” the officer responded. “I'll handle it from here.”

The officer dashed toward the escalator, simultaneously retrieving the walkie-talkie that was clipped to his belt. Claudia couldn't hear what he said but assumed he was calling for additional officers to assist him. She stepped into a gift shop next to the Starbucks and waited to see what would happen. It took only seconds before two additional airport security officers appeared and hurried down the escalator.