Blindside (5 page)

K
atie's
phone rang at a quarter of seven that evening. It was Alice Hewett from Hewett's Pharmacy, and she was out-of-breath excited.

“Oh, Katie, that man who kidnapped the little boy—I think it was him. He just left. I called the station house and Linnie told me to call you at home.”

Katie's heart started to pound, deep and hard.

“Was he the fat one, Alice?”

“No, he was the other one, tall, almost sick-looking thin, but he wasn't wearing that long black leather coat Wade told everyone about, just a white shirt and jeans, and some scarred black boots. But he had a ponytail, like you said. And he was shivering, which means he left that leather coat in his car because he was afraid to be seen in it. He bought bandages and antibiotic cream and some Aleve. And when he was leaving I saw blood on the back of his sleeve.”

“He was in his forties?”

“Yes, I'd say so.”

“And he had a ponytail.”

“Yeah, wet and stringy-looking. He didn't say anything,
just brought the stuff up to me at the register, and paid cash. He had a really big roll. I saw a couple of hundreds, lots of fifties.”

“Did he just leave the pharmacy?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see his car?”

“Yes, Katie, the instant I saw that blood I knew. When I heard his car, I peeked out the front window. He was driving an old van, light gray I think, but it was hard to tell with all the rain.”

Katie nearly held her breath. “License number?”

“I just got part of it. He screeched out of here pretty fast. It was a Virginia plate, the first three letters were LTD—you know, like that old Ford sedan—LTD. I think the next one was a ‘three' but I can't be sure.”

Katie wanted to leap through the phone line and kiss Alice. “That's just great,” she said. “Now, was there anything about the man that was unusual, something that would make you remember him as opposed to another man?”

Silence, then, “He was wearing a necklace, you know, a gold chain with some sort of pendant or stone hanging off the end of it. I've never seen anything like it before. Oh yes, his two front teeth overlap.”

“Alice, do you want to be sheriff when my term is over?”

Alice Hewett laughed. “No, Katie, it's all yours. Just looking at that guy made my stomach cramp up. Besides, I'm too young to be sheriff, I just turned twenty last week.”

Katie was pleased, as was the rest of the town, that Alice was no longer a teenager, particularly since Abe Hewett was fifty-four years old and had three grown boys all older than their stepmama. “Well done, Alice. Thank you.”

“Let me know, won't you, Katie?”

“You bet.”

Katie called Wade at home, got him between spoonfuls
of his wife's special pork stew. “I'm really sorry about this, Wade, but—”

“I knew you'd call, Katie. I sent Conrad over to talk to Alice, see if she remembered anything else. Man, this stew is the best.” A long silence, then Katie heard Wade's wife, Glenda, say something in the background.

“Tell you what,” Katie said, “stay put. Just keep close to your phone. Call Jeffrey and have him update the rest of our people, including our three volunteer deputies. Keep an eye out for that van—we've got a partial plate. It's Virginia and it's LTD three something. I'm going to call the FBI, let them check it out.”

“You don't want me to go out right this minute?”

“Nah, stay put. I'll call you if something comes up.”

She called the Knoxville FBI field office because she knew the Johnson City field office just didn't have the staff for this sort of thing. She got Glen Hodges, the special agent in charge, pretty fast and told him what was going on. Then she dialed Agent Savich's cell phone. He picked up immediately.

“Agent Savich?”

“Yes. Is this Sheriff Benedict? Is Sam all right?”

“Yes, he is, but listen to this, please,” and she told him about the kidnapper's visit to the pharmacy. “Alice thinks they're driving a light gray van, Virginia license LTD with a possible next number of three.”

“Got it. I'll call Butch Ashburn, he's the agent leading the kidnapping investigation. He'll find out who the van belongs to.”

“I called Agent Hodges from the Knoxville field office, told him what was going on. He's on his way here.”

“Good. You have Sam with you?”

“Yes, he's still sleeping. He's just fine.” It was then she heard the deep rumbling noise. “You're in an airplane?”

“Yes, it'll take us a couple of hours since we're in a
Cessna. Sheriff, I don't like the fact that the kidnappers are still local. What else is happening?”

“Here's the deal, Agent Savich. I don't like the fact that those two guys are still hanging around here either. I'm hoping that Fatso—that's the name Sam gave one of the kidnappers—is hurt bad and that's why they haven't hightailed it out of here. But if he was badly hurt, then why not take him to a doctor? We have two doctors in town. Both of them call me from home every hour so I'll know they're okay.”

“Well done,” Savich said.

“Yeah, but you know, the truth is, I don't know what to make of it. They've got to know that everyone is looking for them. Why would they stay local?”

“You're basing this on one witness?”

“Yes. Her set of eyes is just fine.”

“You shot Fatso in the arm?”

“Yes, that I'm sure of. Then I fired several more times while they were running back into the forest. Maybe I shot him again, I just didn't see, all I heard was a yelp.” She drew a deep breath. “I know where they were keeping Sam. Agent Glen Hodges said he and his people will dust the place for prints when they get here.”

“I'm not too happy that they're still around, but it sounds like you've got everything under control. We'll be there soon. Be careful, okay?”

Katie pressed the “off” button on her cell. Well, she was being careful. She was keeping Sam with her, the FBI was on the way, and she'd called in all her people—with the exception of Wade, who'd already worked his butt off today. Everyone was out looking for that light gray van now.

Her cell phone played the first bars of “Fly Me to the Moon” a minute later. A man's voice came on the line. “Sheriff Benedict? This is Miles Kettering. I'm with Agent Savich. I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to thank you, and . . . please take care of my boy. Savich told me he was still sleeping?”

“Yes, he's out like a light. Do you want me to wake him up?”

“Oh no, it's just that I'm—” He stalled.

“I understand, Mr. Kettering. If someone had taken my child, I'd be scared out of my mind until I actually had her in my arms. You're flying the Cessna?”

“Yes. It was the best I could do on short notice, but it's a solid little plane.”

“It's pretty bad weather here, as I'm sure you know. You're coming in at Ackerman's Air Field?”

“Yes, soon now.”

She checked that Miles Kettering had directions from Ackerman's Air Field to her house before disconnecting.

She got a call not five minutes later from Glen Hodges, the SAC of the Knoxville Bureau field office.

“I've got three agents in the car with me. We'll be in Jessborough about two hours from now, give or take because of the weather. Is there any more you can tell me?”

“No. Everyone's out looking for the gray van, and doing general surveillance on anyone looking like either of the two men. I gave Agent Savich the partial license plate of the van. He said he was going to call Agent Butch Ashburn.”

“Yeah, Savich just called me. Agent Ashburn will get the owner of that van in no time.”

“Agent Savich and Mr. Kettering, the boy's father, will be here soon as well.”

“Savich didn't say what he was doing involved in a kidnapping? Last I heard he was in L.A. playing around in one of the Hollywood studios.”

“I'm sure I don't know, Agent Hodges. I just assumed he was assigned to the case with Agent Ashburn.”

“Oh no, Savich is the unit chief for the Criminal Apprehension Unit at headquarters.”

“What's that?”

“He works mostly with computers, setting up databases and data-mining programs to help catch criminals. The
Bureau set up this unit for him and that's what he and eight or so other agents do.”

“Sounds like something I'd want real simplified.”

Glen Hodges laughed. “I'm with you, Sheriff. Oops, we're starting to break up. You get in these mountains, and you're down faster than you can catch a snake. You take care of the boy, ma'am. We're coming as fast as we can.”

Katie slipped her cell back into her shirt pocket. She asked herself again what more she could do. She didn't come up with an answer.

At nearly ten o'clock that night the worst fall storm in twenty years—according to the weather folk—seemed to be fizzling out. There was less rain, but the howling winds were still a nice side show, keeping people hunkered down in their homes, hoping their trees wouldn't be uprooted.

She couldn't imagine being up in a small airplane in this wind. She looked out Keely's bedroom window, north, toward Ackerman's Air Field, and said a little prayer.

All in all, they'd lucked out, Katie thought as she closed the window and walked over to Keely's bed and gave her a kiss and smoothed her eyebrows. “I can tell you're awake, sweetie. You just smiled. You love the sound of the rain, don't you?”

“Oh yes, Mama, and the wind howling like banshees—that's what Grandma says. You told me you liked it, too, Mama, when you were my age.”

“Yes, I remember pressing my nose against the window, wanting lightning, more lightning, and with it, the boom of thunder—the closer the better.”

“Can I go press my nose—”

“No, not tonight. You're going to sleep now, Keely.”

“Is Sam okay?”

“Yep, he's just fine.” One more kiss and Katie sat by her daughter until her breathing evened into sleep. Then she walked to the window and pressed her nose against the glass. It wasn't the same. Her nose was cold and she
wanted to sneeze. She left Keely's bedroom, knowing she'd pass the night easily, the sound of the rain a lullaby to her daughter.

Wade had had
only one emergency call some twenty minutes before from Mr. Amos Halley, who'd gotten himself stuck in his garage when the electricity had gone out and the door opener wouldn't work. Even the manual override was stuck. Wade, pulled from his dinner, had nearly cried, but he'd gone over to the Halley house where Mrs. Halley stood in the entryway, arms crossed over her bosom, shaking her head, and told him, “Leave the old man in there, Wade. If you let him out, he'll just go drinking down at the tavern.”

Wade had tried his best to get the garage door open, but the sucker hadn't budged. Then the electricity came back on, and he was a hero, at least to Amos, who claimed he was near to croaking of a heart attack it was so black and airless inside the garage.

As Wade downshifted his jeep, he saw Amos Halley drive off toward the east side of town—that's where the Long Shot Tavern had been hunkered down since just after World War II.

The rain had lightened up considerably, but winds still buffeted the jeep. There would probably be some flooding, but nothing they couldn't handle. All in all, it wasn't bad. He hoped one of the deputies would spot the gray van. He'd told them to call him first.

He made it home in record time and grinned at Glenda.

But something hit him about five minutes later. It was worry, real deep worry, and he didn't know what to do about it.

K
atie
checked on Sam, then sat down with a cup of coffee after putting some more logs in the fireplace. The fire made the living room warm, shadowy, and cozy. It was as if she'd commanded it to happen. Her cell rang. “Sheriff Benedict here.”

“This is Agent Hodges, Sheriff. I just got a call from Agent Ashburn. The van is a gunmetal gray Dodge, full license is LTD 3109, registered to Mr. Beauregard Jones of Alexandria, Virginia. Is this one of the men?”

“Sam said his name was Beau, so bingo, Agent Hodges, it sounds like you guys nailed it. Excellent.”

“Agent Ashburn said he was heading out to Alexandria himself to check it all out. He'll let us know what he finds.”

“Good. How close are you to me?”

“We're only another half-hour, maybe. Unfortunately, Sheriff, we just blew a back tire a few minutes ago. It'll take us a while to get rolling again.”

She shut down her cell and leaned back. Why had Fatso and Beau stayed in the area? Why would Beau go to the local pharmacy? Were they idiots?

If bandages from the first-aid section of the pharmacy
would take care of Fatso, then she hadn't hurt him very badly. Or maybe it was a bad wound and they were trying anything they could get their hands on.

Where were they holed up? Not at Bleaker's cabin, the place was nailed down tight, police tape over the windows and a deputy outside. But where had they gone? Just stayed in the van? She raised her head, frowned and listened. She heard the rain, nothing but the rain, and the wind battering tree branches against the house.

She got up, checked on Sam and Keely. They were both still sound asleep. She lightly touched her palm to Sam's forehead. No fever.

She stood there, looking down at the boy, thinking there was nothing else to do until everyone arrived. Then her breath caught. She knew why the men were still in town, and it wasn't because Fatso was too badly hurt to be moved. No, they still were after Sam. Was there that much money involved?

She pulled her SIG Sauer out of its holster on the top shelf of her closet, shoved it in the back of her blue jeans, and pulled a loose sweatshirt over it. Then she checked her ankle holster, where her two-shot derringer was held tight. If anything happened, she was ready.

All right, you bastards, come to Mama.

Her heart raced. She could feel her skin, smell the oak trees as the winds whipped through them, even hear the soft crackle of a single ember in the fireplace.

She pulled out her cell to call over some deputies as she walked to the living room window, everything inside her alert and ready, and pulled back the drapes. She very nearly fell over. A man's face was staring in at her. He looked as surprised as she was, but his gloved fist slammed through the window, and in that hand was a gun, pointed right at her chest.

“Don't even think about moving, lady.”

She dropped her cell phone. Could she get to her gun
before he killed her? No, probably not. “You're Beauregard Jones, I take it?”

“Shit! How do you know who I am?”

“Law enforcement is pretty good nowadays, Mr. Jones. Just about everybody in Jessborough knows who you are. The FBI is already at your place in Alexandria and more agents will be here in about three minutes.” She looked behind Beau. “Where's Fatso?”

“You just shut up, lady.”

“I'm not a lady, I'm the sheriff. Surely you know that. How'd you find out where I lived? What's the matter? Is Fatso hurt so bad he can't help you anymore?”

“Shut your trap, no, wait, back up, just back up. Nail your ass to that spot and don't move or I'll kill you and that cute little girl won't have a mommy any longer.” He kept the gun pointed at her as he broke the rest of the glass in the window. Then he stepped through.

When he stood dripping water on her grandmother's prized Aubusson carpet, he looked her up and down, glanced over at the fireplace and said, “You've given us lots of trouble, Sheriff. And here you are, looking all tousled and frumpy like any good little housewife on a Saturday night.”

She was aware of her SIG Sauer nestled against her back, the derringer pressed against the ankle holster. “I haven't begun to give you trouble, Mr. Jones.”

He gave her a big grin, all big white crooked teeth, the two front ones overlapping, just like Alice had said. “I like a girl with a big mouth. Fatso's real name is Clancy and he doesn't like people bugging him about that gut of his. But no matter. He's waiting for us in the van. You'll meet him soon enough. Go get the boy.”

Beau realized in that instant that it wasn't a good idea to let her go off by herself. She didn't look at all tough, and she looked real young, what with her hair pulled back with a tie and no makeup on her face. But she had to have
something going for her, they'd elected her sheriff of this hick town, after all. He'd been watching her through the window, watching her eyes just like his daddy had taught him before he'd gotten himself blown away during a bank robbery down in Atlanta. His daddy would have called those eyes of hers hard, the kind that saw way down deep into you, and he'd never want to drink a beer with her. He hadn't realized how his daddy would have hated her eyes until he'd seen her up really close. He thought she knew things, thought things, that he couldn't.

Beau wasn't about to take any chances with her, not with those eyes. “Wait,” he said, “you walk ahead of me, don't make no sudden movements or I'll have to put a bullet in your back. You got that?”

Katie fanned her hands and said, “I got it.”

“Let's go.”

“I don't understand something, Mr. Jones.”

“Walk, Sheriff, stop trying to slow things down. You might be right about the FBI coming, but hey, they're clowns, everybody knows that.”

“I didn't know that. Why do you think they're clowns?”

“Just shut up.” He waved the gun. “Move, now.”

Katie walked out of the living room into the small front hallway. She said over her shoulder, “I told you that the FBI knows who you are, and they're on their way here right this minute. You also know they're not clowns. If you don't get out of here now, you're going to be in the deepest trouble imaginable. There's really got to be a lot in it for you to make you come here for the boy. Somebody's paying you and Fatso lots of money, right?”

“Shut up, Sheriff. Keep walking, or I'll just shoot you and get him myself. Hey, I just might take the little girl, too. Bet I could get some loot for that cute little button.”

“Yes, there must be big bucks in this for you and Fatso to take this kind of risk.” In ten steps, she'd be at the guest room door. And Sam was inside.

Beau grunted. “Keep moving.”

She had to do something, had to do it soon. It was up to her, not the FBI, not anybody else. But he was holding what looked like a 10mm Smith & Wesson pistol, a good weapon. Patience; she had to be patient. There was lots of time before he got hold of Sam.

She opened the door of the bedroom slowly.

The room was dark—and cold. It was very cold, she could feel the wind touching her cheek. The light switch flicked on behind her.

“Damn! Where are you, boy? You come out here now or I'll kill the sheriff!”

“The room's cold,” Katie said, turning to face Beau, so relieved she wanted to dance. “Don't you see? Sam heard you coming and went out through the window.”

“No, that's impossible. He's just a little kid—”

“Yeah, sure, and he went out the window at Bleaker's cabin, too, got away from you and Clancy. He's long gone now, Beau. Just feel how cold it is in here. You'd best get your butt out of here now before the FBI comes and hauls it off to jail.”

Beau didn't know what to do. He eyed the open window, the rain whipping the light drapes into the room, the wind making him shiver. “Gonna ruin the floor, all that rain,” he said. He waved the pistol at her. “Go close the window.”

Katie closed the window, taking her time. She tried to look through the thick rain, but didn't see any movement, any shadow of a little boy. Where was Sam?

She turned, hoping he couldn't see the satisfaction in her eyes. Sam was out of it, at least for now. It was just between the two of them and he was rattled. Just let him get a bit closer.

Beau walked quickly to the door and motioned with the pistol for her to come to him.

“May I suggest that you slink out of here while you still
can, Beau? Or better yet, why don't you drop that gun and let me take you to my nice warm facilities?”

“Shut up, you infernal woman. What we're going to do is get that cute little girl. Maybe we can negotiate a trade.”

Her heart nearly stopped. “No, take me and leave the little girl alone, do you hear me, Beau? Leave her alone or I'll kill you so slow and so hard you'll scream so loud even the Devil won't want you.”

But Beau just laughed, pushed her in front of him until he himself shoved open Keely's bedroom door. “Come on out, kid! I've got your mama!”

There wasn't a sound.

Beau flipped the light switch.

Both of them looked at the lump beneath the bedcovers. Katie's heart nearly dropped to her knees, but then she saw something wasn't right here. Keely had ears as sharp as a dog's. Why was she just lying there? Beau waved Katie to the far side of the room, walked to the bed, and poked the lump with the muzzle of his gun.

“Come on out, little girl. Your uncle Beau's gonna take you for a nice long ride.”