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But there was a potential problem. Taylor had posed a question that had been in the back of his mind: “What if the killer ran for home after the encounter in Dallas? That would mean he is already at home, or packed and gone.” Blake had no answer.
They stepped off the plane at a small airport outside Cary, and Blake’s phone rang. It was June. He listened for a while and said, “I’m sorry, June, but we’ll catch him.”
He clicked off as Taylor and Shelley pulled up in an oversized SUV. Blake waved his arms for Wayne and Tony to go ahead and get in. He knew they had been watching him on his phone. “Get in, I’ll tell you all about that phone call after we get underway.”
Shelley got out and jumped into the back seat with Tony and Wayne, leaving the front for Blake, who slid in, shook Taylor’s hand, and looked around at the others. “It’s time to put an end to this bastard. That was June on the phone. I think you all know that the killer took her gun in Dallas. Well, last night he used it to kill three men in Memphis and he left it near the third body. He was right there in town with us, throwing it in our face that we can’t stop him!”
There were moans and groans from everybody, but Shelley was the only one to ask, “How is June taking this?”
Blake shook his head. “I think she’s okay, but it can’t be easy knowing your gun was used in three murders, for Christ sake. And Homeland is not happy with our performance and is talking about calling in the FBI. June has stalled them, but Cary is our last chance.”
Taylor turned onto the highway and changed the subject. “There’s an older motel on the outskirts of Cary that we’ve set up as a headquarters. They had only ten rooms, and they were all empty. We took them all for a week. We have two more SUVs waiting there. This is almost a high profile in a small town like this, but no one will bother us there.”
Blake said, “That sounds ideal, Taylor. We’ll take the rest of the day to work out a search plan. Tonight, I want us hitting bars, restaurants, fast-food joints, anyplace where a person might go at night.” He accessed the artist’s sketch on his phone and stared at it.
Taylor pulled into a burger drive-through. “We ordered a bunch of burgers and fries for pick-up on the way to collect you guys – I hope everybody’s good with Cokes.”
As he pulled back onto the street he asked Blake, “Has Peter still never spotted the killer at any bus stations? I was thinking maybe he rented a car.”
“Peter believes he might be riding local buses – you know, the ones that stop in every small town along the route. You can catch them anywhere and get off anywhere, thereby avoiding the cameras in the stations. His plan got all messed up with the fiasco in Dallas and almost getting caught, so he may have cut his vacation short and be headed home.”
“But he was in Memphis last night,” offered Shelley. Everyone was quiet the rest of the way to the motel.
They ate and kicked around a plan to divide the workload for the night: Tony and Shelley would hit the dance halls. While the other three men would work their way toward the center of town from three sides, hitting eating places and local bars, showing the sketch to as many people as possible in the hope that someone would recognize the killer. Everyone had downloaded a map of the places they were to visit, so the rest of the day Monday was spent around the pool or napping. If there were no hits that night, the next day they would leave downtown and rattle around in the farther-out areas of Cary, which had annexed a lot of county land southwest of Raleigh. It was a simple plan: cover as much ground as possible before the end of the week.
Blake told them to use their Agent title and say they were from Homeland Security, but after showing the drawing, give no more information than they had to in order to get an answer. The cover story was that they were working a missing-person case and couldn’t discuss the details.
The first night, they came up empty – in downtown dance halls, eating places, and bars. Blake hadn’t expected they would find anything that fast, but they had to start someplace. Most people they approached weren’t quick to get involved, and people in the farther-out areas would probably be even less so.
Mary had pointed out that this man, when not killing, would be a quiet, down-to-earth, normal person. She stressed that he would be highly thought of at his job and in his community. That was going to make their job even harder, because even if someone thought they knew him from the drawing, they would assume he couldn’t possibly have done anything to interest Homeland Security.
The team covered the north side of Cary on Tuesday. They checked banks, stores, cafés, and small shops – again without any luck. That night they covered what bars and eating places were open at night for dinner. Then they all met up at the last bar on the list and had dinner and a few beers.
Wednesday found them on the south side, where they all came up dry again. It was during his last stop that night that Blake received a call about three murders in New Orleans – murders that fit the original M.O. of their killer. Back at the motel, Blake called everybody together. “I got a call from June that our killer is in New Orleans – or was in New Orleans. He killed three people there and if he is true to his routine, he’s on the homeward leg of his trip. We’re running out of time.”
Taylor looked serious. “I know it’s hard to be an asshole, but we have to start pushing these people harder. When they say they’ve never seen the man in the drawing, put it back in their face and demand that they guess who it could be. This guy is more than likely friends with some of the people we’ve spoken to and they can’t make themselves believe their friend knows anymore about a missing person than they do.”
Tony entered the conversation. “I thought I saw a flicker in a few eyes, but when I pushed them they dug in their heels. That first night, Shelley and I were even asked to leave two bars for being too pushy.”
Blake ended the discussion. “Tomorrow is Thursday, and it looks like he has cut his vacation short, so our killer could be home by Friday; he may not return until Saturday or Sunday, but we can’t count on that. We have a lot of area to cover on the west side, and if we get nothing there we start over and work until we find him. Get some sleep, the day starts at 6:00 tomorrow morning.”
The next day they divided into the three SUVs and headed out. The plan was to go door to door, street by street on the west side until they found someone who would admit they knew the killer. Blake was on his own, and Shelley and Taylor were teamed back up, as were Wayne and Tony.
By 3:00 that afternoon, a large part of the west side had been covered. Blake was in the shopping section of a bedroom community close to a high school. He had had no success and was feeling hopeless. He was becoming more and more nagged by the doubt that maybe the computer was wrong and it wasn’t Cary but some other town that was the killer’s base.
He crossed the street and entered a small hardware store. The little bell over the front door of the store tinkled as he entered. A middle-aged man and a teenage boy were restocking shelves. “Hello, I’m Blake Harris, with Homeland Security.”
The man came down from the ladder he was on. “How can I help you, Mr. Harris? I’m the owner.”
Blake smiled and said, “That’s Agent Harris. I would like you to take a look at this drawing on my phone and tell me if you know anyone that resembles the man shown. The man may not look exactly like this, but close to it.”
The store owner looked hard at the drawing, and at first Blake thought that, at last, he had found someone who knew the killer, but then the man said, “I’m sorry Mr.— um, Agent Harris, but I can’t help you.”
Blake’s heart fell. “Are you sure? Take a closer look, please. This is of the utmost importance.”
The owner looked again, and this time the boy stared over his shoulder. The man shook his head and was about to hand the phone back when the kid took it out of his hand. “I know who this is – it’s my English teacher.”
The man took the phone back. “No, this isn’t Mr. Thacher. You’re wrong, son!”
But thankfully the man’s son wouldn’t give in. “Dad, I’ve looked at that face every day for the last year. That’s Mr. Thacher.” He addressed Agent Harris: “Mr. Thacher teaches English at Aline High School, right down the block.”
Blake took the phone back and turned his attention toward the teenager. “Have you seen him around lately?”
The boy shook his head, but the father said, “He goes on vacation every June, but I think my boy is wrong about that being him. He’s the nicest guy you ever want to meet.”
Blake smiled. “Maybe you’re right. We’ll still need to speak to him, however, just to be sure. You understand this goes no further than right here. If I find you have spoken to anyone about this conversation – even if Thacher isn’t the person we’re looking for – you two could go to jail.”
Before turning to leave, Blake softened and said, “Thank you for your help.”
| Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers |
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