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He immediately e-mailed Bob Rivers and asked him to check the DNA of the preacher and of Betty’s daughter’s fetus. Then he walked outside to find Shelley, who was outside having a beer and enjoying the cool evening. “It really looks like Betty Walker is our killer. We need to call Blake.”
Shelley jumped from the chair and hurried inside to see the evidence. After a few seconds, she shouted, “I’m calling Blake!”
She paced back and forth as she redialed over and over. “It keeps going to voicemail – he’s not picking up.”
Bobby had called Taylor through Skype and was explaining what they had found out and how they couldn’t get Blake to answer the phone. Taylor said, “Can you get over there?
Bobby shook his head. “All we have is this motorhome. If she’s going to kill him, he’ll be dead by the time we close it up to drive over there.”
Shelley went outside with a pair of binoculars and walked around to the rear of the motorhome, where she climbed to its roof. She sighted along the tree line, trying to locate the tree where the preacher was killed. After a few minutes, she thought she saw some movement.
Bobby came out and shouted, “Taylor said to close up the motorhome and get to Betty Walker’s house as fast as we can.”
Shelley moved to the edge of the roof and looked down. “We’d be too late. And I’m spotting some movement up by the killing tree. It could be her. Bring me the rifle case – there’s a night scope in there. And hurry!”
Within seconds Bobby was back with the case and reached it up to her.
Shelley had been a dead shot with the SR-25 they used in sniper school, the rifle the military called the Mark 11, and she had fired a 50 a few times. The 50 kicked the hell out of her every time, but she still hit dead center with it on the range. She quickly assembled the rifle, turned it on its side, put two rounds in the clip and slammed it home. Finally, she brought the scope to her eye. She adjusted the sights and searched for the tree. When it came into sight, she adjusted it for distance, and her eyes widened when Blake came into focus. He appeared to be tied to the tree. And there was Betty! She had a machete in both hands, arms drawn back, apparently ready to strike. There was no time to think, she had to act.
When Shelley pulled the trigger, the kick from the rifle almost knocked her off the roof. She moved back into position, ejected the shell, and replaced it with a new one. She sighted the scope back on the hill, where she could now see only Blake tied to the tree. It looked as though Betty was down or had run off. “Bobby, you’ll have to go up there and make sure Blake is alive. I’ll cover you from here in case I missed Betty.”
Bobby ran back inside and got his sidearm. With it in his hand be began the climb. Shelley could hear the computer’s speaker coming from inside the motorhome as Taylor screamed, asking what was going on. He would have to wait – the only two people who could tell him were a bit busy at the moment.
To Shelley and Bobby both, it seemed to take forever for him to climb the hill. But it had been a hard ascent for Shelley even during daylight hours, so she held her tongue and waited.
At last, Bobby reached the tree, and Shelley could see him bent over something. Then her phone rang. “She’s dead, right through the head! Hell of a mess. Damn, girl! – good shooting.” Bobby made his way to Blake. “He’s alive but really fucked up. I’ll need your help to get him over to what must be Betty’s A.T.V.”
Shelley removed the unfired cartridge, stored it, and then started down the ladder. She laid the rifle on the couch and stopped by the computer, still connected with Taylor through Skype. “Walker is dead and Blake is alive. He’s up on the hill and Bobby needs me to come and help him bring Blake down. We’ll get back to you once we have Blake in the motorhome.”
She didn’t wait for Taylor’s reply, but ran out and across the yard to the tree line, where she commenced to ascend the hill. She made much better time than Bobby, but then it was her third time climbing it.
Blake wasn’t able to speak or help them in any way. He became a sack of dead weight for them to carry to Betty’s 4-wheeler. By the time they got Blake into the basket, which covered most of the rear and part of the A.T.V.’s single seat, they were both exhausted. Shelley knew that even as tired as she was, she could make it down the hill faster than Bobby. “Take Blake back and I’ll go down the way I came up. Meet me at the motorhome.”
Taylor ordered them to pack up and leave right away. He would give them half an hour and then call the police. “Make sure you don’t stop until you’re on the freeway home. We don’t need you tied up in the local jail giving interviews. Whoever is not driving, start writing a report I can send to the local cops.”
Shelley wrote the report and caught two hours of sleep before relieving Bobby at the wheel. It was 9:00 the next morning before they pulled into the A.P.S. compound.
Blake had moved a few times during the night but not woken. As they parked, Taylor and Bob came out of the building. Bob was the first to enter the motorhome. “Has he said anything?”
Shelley got out of the driver’s seat. “He’s the same as when we laid him out. Not a word.”
Bob drew blood, and then gave Blake an injection of adrenaline. Blake sat straight up, looking lost and confused. “How did I get here?”
Bob was now taking his pulse. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Blake thought for a second. “I was in a barn. There was a table of food and somebody was there, but I can’t remember who. Wait, I think it was Betty. I remember we had a drink but nothing more.”
Bob gently pushed him back down. “Take it easy, Blake. You’ve been drugged.”
Blake looked up and saw Taylor. “What the hell are you doing in Reelfoot?”
| Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers |
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