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Wayne greeted him, “Good morning, boss. We’re ready to go to work.” Blake guessed Wayne spoke because he was the oldest.
“Okay, glad to see you three are early birds. Can I expect this every morning, or is this a first-day special?”
Shelley finished her yawn, smiled, and said, “I believe it’s more of a first-day special.”
Blake turned and headed for the front door. “First one here has to make coffee. Let’s get you your day passes and you can begin your first assignment. Don’t take making the coffee lightly – you’ll be judged.”
He parted from them at his office and they went on down to Operations. “I’ll see you at the 8:30 meeting,” he said.
His mind was already so focused on what he might find on his desk, he didn’t wait for any signal whether they had heard him before closing the door.
Two files from Peter awaited him, the top one of which was titled, “The Preacher Killings.”
Blake finished perusing the top file, about some murders in the backwoods of North Tennessee, and one just across the border in Kentucky, which opened the door for their involvement. A plan was beginning to form in his mind. It would be the ideal case for the new team. It meant they’d have to move out of their comfort zone. Going into the backwoods would be one hell of a move, but it would test them all, including himself. Blake checked his watch and, with the files under his arm, headed to Operations.
When he walked in, everybody was drinking coffee at the big table, all of them facing the screen on the wall. “Morning, everybody.”
A number of good mornings greeted him in return. “We have a lot to do today. I see you have all met, so I think we can move past introductions.”
Peter had kept quiet as long as he could. “I see you got my files. What do you think?”
Blake looked disapprovingly at Peter. “We’ll get to them later. First I’d like to go over the June Killer case and bring our newest members up to date. Do we have anything new?”
Mary Winehouse stood up and opened her notebook. Blake wanted to tell her she didn’t have to stand, but let it go. “The time of his killings haven’t changed from year to year,” Mary opened. “This might indicate he is employed during the winter – maybe with schools somehow – and kills during his vacations. We ran across a few murders in March that could be this killer’s – the time was around spring break. They don’t fit the pattern of three kills per city, though. He may be bored or trying to keep his skills sharp. I also believe he travels by bus. He is white, in his mid to late thirties. I’d say he is employed in a low-paying profession. The bus may be all he can afford.” She closed her notebook and sat down.
Without standing up, Peter said, “I have a program running now that has face recognition. It’s really cool, it scans every security camera in each bus station along the killing route. I just have to tell you it’s no sure thing. Our guy could have caught a bus and got off the bus anywhere.”
Blake looked at Bob. “Dr. Rivers believes if we ever do find him he may still possess the knife that he has used in all his killings. Do you have anything more to add, Bob?”
Bob shook his head. “No, that’s about the size of it.”
“Then, to sum things up,” said Blake, “we’re looking for a white man in his thirties, with a shitty job, traveling around the country on a bus killing people on his vacation.”
Blake shook his head. “People, that is not good enough. Come June, this asshole will be on the road again and I want us to be there waiting for him. I also want to know if there is a window to catch him during spring break. And what about Christmas break? Peter, you have the biggest and best computer in the world at your fingertips, and we know where the killer has been. You need to make that damn computer tell us where he’s going next.”
Peter tried to smile. “Yes sir, I’ll ask her. We’ll do our best.”
Blake wanted Peter to understand the importance he placed on the information he was asking for. “I expect more than that from you – I don’t want ‘your best’, I want you to accomplish the damn job. Now, tell us about these preacher killings.”
Peter hesitated. He was a little less sure of himself after Blake’s dressing-down. He cleared his throat and looked around the table. “Northern Reelfoot State Park is in the uppermost northwest corner of Tennessee. It’s part of the Reelfoot Wildlife Refuge, which crosses into Kentucky. The area surrounding the park and refuge is farm land. Scattered throughout this farming community are small local churches.”
Blake noticed, with approval, that when Peter was disgorging facts from his computers, he became much more formal and detailed, especially with a little foot-stomping by the boss. The millennial quasi-hippy, he thought, would do an FBI agent proud.
“During the past year, there were three killings of preachers: two in Tennessee and one in Kentucky. The murder of the first preacher was sloppy and seemed unplanned. The killer used a sword or machete. First, he killed the preacher’s wife and child in the church. He hacked them to death, missing the killing blow a number of times. He tied the preacher to a tree and with one blow decapitated him. The other two murders of preachers were planned, and only the preachers were killed. They were tied to a tree and each killed with one blow. The first preacher who was killed seemed to be the trigger. After that, the killer honed his skill. Other than the victims being preachers, how or why he picked his prey is unknown.
“The FBI is interested in a survival group that operates in the area. They’ve found some patches of weed, and they think these guys may be moving some serious weight.”
Peter pressed a key on his keyboard and everybody looked up at the screen. “This is a picture taken at a rally outside of Union City, Tennessee. You can see there are about 35 people at the rally. Look to the left, at the end of the second row. That man has a machete on his hip.”
Peter checked his file. “The agents that took the pictures have identified him as Roger Willcocks. He’s an only child, raised on a farm by his sharecropper parents, who died of the flu when he was 10 years old. Roger was passed from one foster family to the next until his 17th birthday, when he ran away. There’s no record of him until he showed back up in Lake County seven years later. He should be our prime focus. In Mexico, Central, and South America, the machete is a weapon of choice, but not many people carry one here. The odds are good he spent the last few years outside the U.S. – maybe Mexico.”
Peter closed the folder. “I found nothing on Willcocks. He doesn’t pay taxes and doesn’t have a driver’s license.” Peter shrugged his shoulders. “He’s living completely off the grid.”
Blake stood up and looked at Wayne, Shelley, and Bobby. “Peter, give copies of that report to our new people. By 3:00 this afternoon I want you three in my office with some ideas. The four of us will be going into the backwoods.”
“Blake,” said Taylor, “I think I should be there. Things could go south on you real fast and, with all due respect, these officers don’t have the expertise that a job like this calls for.”
Blake sat back down. “What I’m about to say isn’t directed at Taylor, who, by the way, has more expertise than anyone in this room, but the idea that my decisions can be second-guessed isn’t going to be tolerated. I make the decisions, and if I’m wrong I take the heat, but I’ll not have any member of this team question my decisions.” He looked around the table. “Are we clear on this point?” He watched as heads nodded up and down.
Blake stood and told Taylor, “Let’s go to my office.”
In Blake’s office, Taylor roared, “You had no right to berate me like that in front of the troops.”
“Sit down. You were the one that couldn’t wait to speak to me alone. You spoke out of turn, and you paid for it. Don’t act like it’s the first ass-chewing you ever got.”
“Still, I stand by what I said.”
“I understand your concerns, but they need to get their feet wet. I’m not running a school here. The mistakes will be made on the streets in real time. These officers, as you call them, will come back better prepared for the next job or they’ll be gone and someone else will take their place. It’s that simple.”
“Look, Blake, I know who’s in charge. I worry that you’ll get yourself killed trying to save one of them after some stupid mistake.”
“Like we’ve never made any?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, Taylor. But I have another job for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Mary put together a profile of a local murderer. It seems we have a serial killer in Memphis who is taking out women. This is the file. I want you to work it with one of the new people. I’m already having second thoughts about taking all three of them. I’ll leave Wayne with you.”
Taylor took the folder. “Okay, but if the shit looks like it’s going to hit the fan, you call me for help.”
“I’ll do that, my friend.”
As Blake closed his door behind Taylor, his burner phone rang. “Rainbow, I’ve got a job for you. It’s at Reelfoot State Park. I’ll leave the file at our drop.”
| Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers |
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