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Inside, at the big table, were Peter, Blake, and Tony, aka Rainbow. They all had beers and were laughing. Taylor jokingly shouted, “So this is what goes on when I’m not here!”
Blake hollered back, “Get a beer from behind the bar and join us. We were just talking about your latest case.”
Wayne and Taylor came to the table with their fresh beers and shook hands with everybody. Taylor slapped Tony on the back. “Did he tell you how that cracker got the jump on him and when we arrived he was dressed up like a turkey waiting to go into the oven?”
Blake suppressed a laugh. “Well, the story didn’t go quite that way, but there was some mention of being tied up.”
As Taylor and Wayne took a seat, Tony stood and laughingly raised his beer. “Here’s to the heroes of Decatur County, Alabama. I might add, without whose help I would not be standing here tonight.”
Tony took his seat and Blake raised his beer, “Here’s to all three of you. You did a hell of a job. You took a serial killer off the streets and solved a 20-year-old double murder.”
Wayne twisted in his seat. “About that double murder. It won’t be going into our report. The only witness to the murders is dead. While we know who the murderer is, there is no more proof today than there was 20 years ago.”
Tony said, “But we have the motorcycle parked out front.”
Taylor cocked his head to the side. “About that motorcycle. It might be a little hard to explain to the FBI what it’s doing parked out front. We were there to catch a serial killer, and we did that, so let’s put it to bed and move on. I believe it’s about time to revisit our plans for the next killer we go after.”
Blake became serious. “You people were the ones on the ground, and if that’s how you wish to close the case, then that’s how it’ll be closed. Also, Taylor is correct, it’s time to go after another killer.”
Blake pulled a file from his box. “We’ll worry about the June Killer after we deal with this ‘Interstate Killer’ in Louisiana.”
Taylor looked at the screen. “Tell us about this killer, Peter.”
The screen filled with a map of the lower half of Louisiana. Peter described what they were looking at. “The computer first tagged this as a serial killing some months ago. There were three murders in and around New Orleans. We offered our help but it was turned down. However, the killer has moved. I have highlighted where he dumped the bodies of the most recent women he killed – in small towns along Interstate 10, from Sulphur on the west side of the state to Crowley, Rosedale, Port Allen, and Hammond, in Louisiana, and Pearl, in Mississippi, where the last body – and the one that opened our door – was discovered. In crossing the State Line, the killer made it Federal. We don’t need to ask anyone to invite us in.”
Blake turned to Wayne. “Are you up to this?”
Wayne put up his hands, “I’m ready to roll, boss.”
“In that case, I want you and Tony to handle it. Home base out of Baton Rouge. There are a number of truck hubs there. Mary thinks, and I agree, we’re looking for a truck driver. We have pictures of the victims. Hit the truck stops and ask if anyone remembers seeing any of these women.”
Tony had moved behind Blake and was looking over his shoulder at the pictures. “When do you want us to head out?”
Blake though for a moment. “Wait until after the weekend. A lot of trucks shut down on Friday. There’s no need to waste your time down there now. Do all your background work here before you take off.”
It was close to the middle of March before Wayne and Tony parked in front of the Holiday Express in Baton Rouge. From there they had easy access to and from I-10, and, as their marching orders had been to roam one end of the freeway to the other, the location made sense.
After they checked in and dumped their go-bags in their room, they headed to Mickey D’s for lunch. Tony was driving. “After we eat, how about we drive toward Mississippi and check out some truck stops?”
Wayne was tired and his ribs still ached after the long strain of the car trip, but he knew the sooner they started the case the better. “That’ll work. We can eat dinner at the last stop and come back to the motel.”
They ate in the car while parked in one of the spaces Mickey D’s provided its customers. The sun was out, and they were enjoying the warm rays coming through the windshield, but clouds were moving in from the northeast, laden with moisture. Tony shook his head. “Damn, I hate winter – it’s snow and ice and cold rain. I had hoped March would be drier and warmer.”
After eating lunch, they headed toward the freeway. The traffic was light and Tony set the control to cruise at 70. Wayne pointed to the right. “There’s our first truck stop, that 76.”
Tony tapped the brake and disengaged the cruise control. He slowed and moved over to the off-ramp. He parked in front and they got out.
Wayne asked, “How are we handling this? Do we give them the badge treatment or pretend we’re looking for a lost member of our family?”
Tony pulled out his I.D. “I’m sure we’re not the first ones to come here with some of these pictures. I say we go with the badges.”
They took a stool at the counter. A girl in her early twenties waited on them. Her name tag said she was Judy. Tony showed her his I.D. and Wayne showed her a picture, then another and another, but the girl couldn’t remember seeing any of the women.
People remember events. If someone goes into a restaurant, eats, and pays their tab, they are forgotten the second they leave. However, get in a fight, break something, or do anything to make yourself stand out, and your picture will trigger the memory of that event, and thereby of you. This was their only hope, that one of these women had drawn attention and would be remembered.
Three truck stops without any luck wasn’t a good sign. They crossed into Mississippi as the light was fading at their backs. The last woman killed had been dumped on a farm road in Pearl County. The spot was easier to find than Tony had expected. The locals had made the site into a shrine. Crosses, flowers, and teddy bears covered the side of the road.
They stopped and got out. Five feet off the road, yellow tape could still be seen wrapped around a few bushes.
Wayne held up the picture of the victim. “Wanda Arnold, age 26,” he addressed her, “what, or who, did you get mixed up with?”
Tony started back to the car. “Let’s go. There’s nothing to see here.”
As Tony drove back toward the freeway, Wayne kept looking at the picture, as if waiting for it to speak. He was staring out the window. “We know he kills them on the spot where the bodies are found, but how long does he keep them? Also, how does he keep them? If we knew that, it might help us find this creep.”
Tony headed onto the on-ramp and picked up speed. “There’s nothing in any of the reports that even indicates the killer is a truck driver, which Mary came up with. In fact, the reports, which were made by the local police, are useless. Each killing was treated as a single one, not as one of many by a serial killer traveling the highway from one side of the state to the other.”
Wayne put the picture away and pointed out that there had probably been a shift change since they visited the truck stops. “We should hit the truck stops again on the way back to the motel. Different people will be on duty.”
Disappointed at all of the truck stops they had revisited, they pulled into the last stop, a 76, around 11 o’clock. Judy had gone home, and Tammy waited on them this time. They both ordered hot roast beef sandwiches with mashed potatoes and a glass of milk.
With little expectation, they showed Tammy the pictures. They were shocked when she picked out one of the women. “I’ve seen her. I was working the graveyard shift. She came in about 3:00 in the morning half frozen to death. She didn’t have any money, but I made her a sandwich and poured her a cup of coffee.” Tammy pointed toward a booth back against the wall. “I put her back there, and the last time I checked on her she was asleep. When the 6 o’clock breakfast crowd poured in, our morning person was running late and I was so busy I forgot about her. When I glanced at the booth sometime during that rush, she was gone.”
Tony leaned across the counter and in almost a whisper asked, “Think real hard – this is important – was anyone else seated close to her booth?”
With her thumb on her temple, Tammy rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I’m sorry, but during the breakfast rush things turn into a big blur of people asking for food, more coffee, and complaining about the wrong order. I was all over the place and I don’t remember anyone but her and a couple of regulars.”
Wayne asked, “Do you remember what day of the week it was?”
Tammy lightened up and smiled. “It was a Wednesday, because that’s the only day I work the graveyard. Normally I work swing shift. In fact, I get off in about 40 minutes. I don’t know the date, but I can check the schedule tomorrow, when the manager is here.”
Wayne handed her a card with his cell phone number on it. “That would be great. Call that number anytime and I’ll answer.”
He left $25 for the $16 check, and he and Tony headed to the car. As Tony drove them back to the Holiday Express, he told Wayne, “The killer didn’t murder her until Saturday, so he would have had her for three days. Were they on the road the entire time? Surely he didn’t stop at a motel.”
“Maybe he lives around here, has a house someplace.”
Tony thought about that for a minute. “If that’s the case, then he doesn’t need to drive a truck. He would be a local.”
“On second thought,” Wayne groaned, “that would only explain the murders around here. What about the other side of the state? Also, we now have three shifts to check at each truck stop.”
Tony shook his head. “I’m beat. Maybe things will be clearer tomorrow morning.”
The first drops of rain hit the windshield as they parked.
| Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers |
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