PREVIOUSLY ON CH 01
EP 02
I’d had a brief talk with the other two who had been at the table with Clifford and friend—one Jordan Smith. They had told me that they knew Smith from high school, but hadn’t seen him in years until tonight in the bar. They willingly gave me their ID’s and told me that they were graduate students—one in California and the other in Massachusetts. It was easy to verify their stories. I did the following morning. They were in the clear; both had been hundreds of miles away when the crimes had been committed.
Clifford and Smith had been trapped by DNA evidence. Clifford had briefly served in the U.S. Army after graduating high school. He had been in basic training only three weeks when he lost his temper and tried to punch his drill instructor—a big mistake on his part. The DI took him down in a heartbeat. He was court marshaled and spent six months in the stockade before receiving a dishonorable discharge. His DNA was on file with the Army and it was that file that had led to his arrest. Both switchblades had traces of their victims’ DNA in cracks in the cases and the mechanisms that opened the blades. Tracking them down had been a long and arduous job, but that’s why they pay me the big bucks. I left for home in eastern North Carolina the following afternoon, planning on taking a well deserved three week vacation.
The skies were filled with dark threatening clouds when I left around three in the afternoon. I hadn’t been on the road an hour when the heavens opened and traffic slowed to a crawl. Max walked aimlessly in the back seat before lying down for a nap, leaving me to navigate through the maelstrom on my own. I was driving my personal vehicle—a specially modified Ford Explorer. It was a good dependable SUV with four-wheel drive, that had been structurally changed to accommodate Max, but even with it the trip was challenging. I had hoped to be at least a third of the way home by the time I stopped around ten that night, but it wasn’t to be. The interstate was closed due to flooding and I had to take an alternate through back roads that weren’t any better. A deputy sheriff tried to give me directions for a detour, but I must have taken a wrong turn in the heavy downpour. It wasn’t until 12:35 that I spied lights ahead on the dark deserted road. I prayed it wasn’t the “Hotel California” as I approached. Those lights turned out to be a diner—Lulubelle’s, if the big sign in the parking lot was to be believed. The sign in the window said “OPEN” when I drove into the empty lot.
I pulled on my yellow rubber rain parka, raising the hood over my head as I exited, leaving Max in the dry car. The sign said open, but the door was locked when I reached it. Looking in through the windows I could see a woman behind the counter and, peering into her eyes I could see her fear. I was hungry and thirsty and I was getting wet below my parka so I opened the front of the jacket and stood as close to the window as I could so she could read the letters on my shirt.
It took a few seconds, but I could see her relief when she exhaled and began to relax. A minute later she had opened the door and I had hung my parka on a nearby hook. “I’m surprised you’re open at this hour,” I said.
“I’m really not. That sign goes on automatically when I turn the lights on. I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything I can offer you.”
“How about a fountain soda and some chips or pretzels? It’s been a long difficult night.”
“Coke I can get for you and how about a couple of bags of chips? Think that will tide you over until tomorrow morning?” I smiled and nodded my appreciation as she went into the kitchen for the chips and a plate.
I was dumping potato chips onto the plate while she poured a large fountain Coke over ice. “Thank you, Ma’am. This plate was a good idea.”
“Well, when I saw the size of your hands I knew you’d never get them into one of those little bags.”
“I do appreciate it. Mind if I ask why you’re here at this ungodly hour?”
“My car doesn’t run too well in the rain and even if it did I still would have to drive through a big puddle to get home. Last time I tried, the damned thing stalled right in the middle and I was stuck until a tow truck pulled me out. I made a few calls, but nobody wants to come out in the rain. I think a lot of them are afraid of going through the puddle, so here I am.”
“Is there a motel anywhere nearby? I need a place for me and Max…my dog”
“Normally, I’d say you had about twenty miles to the nearest motel, but a deputy sheriff stopped in earlier and told me that the bridge over Bascomb’s Creek was closed. Apparently, it’s under water from flash flooding. Last time that happened, it was closed for two months while the state checked it out. It’ll be more than a hundred miles up north and around the lake and then another hundred back down. You’ll never make it in this weather. Half of the roads are probably flooded out.”
“Then I guess I’ll be sleeping in my car.”
“I wouldn’t do that either. The sheriff’s deputies will arrest you. There’s a county law about it. We had a problem with Gypsies a few years ago and that was the county’s solution. I guess it worked. They never returned”
“Surely, they wouldn’t arrest a federal officer.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew our sheriff. He’d take the greatest pleasure in locking you up. He’s a legend in his own mind. He’d brag about it for years. If you can get me home you can sleep on my couch. I’m Lucille; I own the diner.”
I laughed briefly before asking if she was also known as “Lulubelle.”
“That’s what my father called me when I was a baby. I thought it was cute when I was little, but I learned to hate it by the time I was ten. Unfortunately, he had opened the diner long before that and the name has stuck. And your name is…?”
“Matt…Matt Cahill.” Now it was her turn to laugh. “Don’t say it. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard someone say, ‘Cahill, U.S. Marshal?’ It’s probably more than five thousand times and in a bar it’s even worse. The more people drink the more times it’s repeated.”
We talked and joked around for about ten minutes while I ate and drank. I offered to pay, but was refused. “Register’s closed,” she informed me with a smile as I donned my rain parka and led her out into the rain. She locked up and set the alarm as I led her to my car.
“You’ll need to give me your hand when I open the door.” I continued when she looked up in shock. “Max will probably attack you. He won’t understand that you’re with me the first time. Once he gets a sniff of the two of us together you’ll be fine.”
I took her hand as I opened the door. Max was right there—on the job—to make sure I was okay. “It’s all right, Max. She’s a friend.” Lucy was shaking a bit when I pulled her hand toward Max’s muzzle, but those concerns died when Max leaned forward first to sniff and then to lick. “Okay, Lucy…you can get in now. Max likes to have his head and ears scratched, don’t you, boy?”
I had just taken my seat and removed the parka when I asked, “Okay, where do we go?” She pointed me to the left—the direction I was headed in when I stopped for my snack. The heavy rain forced me to go slowly through the dark streets. I did see a sign that said “Welcome to Bascomb’s Landing—Population 27,606. I could barely see the large puddle Lucy had warned me about. “Any idea how deep this is going to be?”
“Last big storm it was about seven inches…too much for my car.” I drove slowly, barely creating a wave as we passed through. Once on the other side she directed me through a series of turns until we turned off in front of a single-wide mobile home that looked like it had seen better days. Lucy must have read my mind because she immediately told me that it was much nicer in the daylight. Once I was dressed again for the weather I stepped out, opening the back door for Max. He followed Lucy to the door while I retrieved my bag from the back, slinging my two gun bags over my shoulder and grabbing Max’s bowls and a ten-pound bag of dog chow in my one free hand. I joined Lucy and Max less than a minute later.
Lucy considerately brought out an old bath sheet that I used to dry Max then I put out a bowl of water and a full bowl of food. He sat motionless despite his hunger until I released him to eat.
“Wow, he sure is well trained.”
“Yeah, I’ve had him since he was three months old. I was an MP in the Navy and I was involved in training several dogs there. Technically, Max belongs to the Marshals Service, but I’m the only person he’ll really obey. If something were to happen to me Max would have to be put down. He’s too big and too strong to adapt to another handler.”
Lucille looked at my two cases and asked, “Are those guns?”
“Yeah, the red one is a Winchester 12-gauge pump-action shotgun and—yes—it is loaded. The black one is an M-16 military rifle with a scope in case I have to be a sniper on a case. The last case where I used it was a bank robbery gone bad. Three robbers held twelve hostages until we figured out how to get to them. I never leave them in the car overnight for several reasons.”
“I guess you don’t want them stolen.”
“That’s one of the reasons. The other is that on occasion I’ve needed them during the night. I was in a motel in Mobile a few years ago when Max woke me. I heard a ruckus in the parking lot. It was late—almost 3:00 in the morning when I heard shots from an automatic rifle. It’s illegal for citizens to own fully automatic weapons so I was pretty sure it was some kind of criminal activity. I used the shotgun then, taking out three men who turned out to be members of a big Mexican drug cartel. Of course, I was shot in the process.” I pulled up the left sleeve on my shirt to show where the bullet had entered my bicep, commenting that it could have been much worse. Lucy reached forward to touch the slight circular indentation in my skin.
Max finished eating and drinking and walked to the door to be put out. “Don’t you need to put a leash on him?”
“No, I don’t even have one. He’ll be back in five minutes or less. Why don’t you tell me where we are while we wait?”
“This is Bascomb’s Landing, a small city in western Tennessee. I’ve lived here all my life. We were watching the Weather Channel in the diner and they said that I-40 was closed due to flooding. There are some low areas east of Memphis that are sometimes subject to flash flooding. Is that why you’re here?”
“Yeah, I was supposed to follow some detour, but it was all I could do to watch the road, let alone signs.”
“That figures. Hardly any strangers come here…no reason to. We’re pretty much off the beaten path here. Anyway, my folks met in the local high school and they still live here in an old house in the center of town. Dad sort of retired two years ago…or was it two and a half? Doesn’t matter; he’s retired and the diner is mine. It really is a good place to live. There’s hardly any crime although we have had a rash of armed robberies of some stores, mostly convenience stores, over the last three months—two men in raincoats with a shotgun and some kind of rifle. I hope that’s not a sign of the future. I love the city and just outside there are plenty of undeveloped wild areas where I like to hike and camp out. There’s some good fishing, too—small mouth bass and even trout in some of the streams.”
I had taken a good look at Lucy while she was speaking. Nobody would call her a ravishing beauty, but she had a pleasant wholesome appearance—tall and thin with smallish breasts and narrow hips. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and it looked like she had incredible skin with only an occasional freckle. I thought that, with a little makeup and the right clothes, she’d look good—not great, but pretty good. More important than that—she had a positive upbeat personality, something that was a real asset in the restaurant business.
“What’s your story, Matt?”
“I’m told I was born in Brooklyn and that I lived with my parents in Nassau County, Long Island, but my parents took a long weekend to a resort in the Catskills in upstate New York when I was three. There was a fire and they were both killed because the sprinkler system didn’t work and they got trapped on the third floor. I was staying with friends at the time and I didn’t understand why my parents didn’t come back for me until my Uncle Chuck came to take me to live with him and my Aunt Nell. So I grew up with them in Wilmington, North Carolina. I went to the same high school as Michael Jordan, except that he was more than fifteen years ahead of me. I still live in the area in Carolina Beach.
“My uncle sued the hotel on my behalf and eventually they settled out of court for $950,000. To my uncle’s credit he invested the money and never spent a cent until he turned it over to me when I turned twenty-one.
“I played high school football and put the shot and threw the discus on the track team and I was a decent student, but rather than college I joined the Navy once I graduated choosing the military police once I had completed basic training. I served for four years then attended UNC—North Carolina—earning my Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice in three years before joining the Marshals Service. I’ve been with them for the past ten years. I’m working toward a Masters in Criminology online. I should have it in another six months…a year at most. I usually work on the courses at night except when I’m on a big case like the one I just finished.
“Five years ago I was given the opportunity to train a dog, something I’d done in the Navy. Max is the result of that training. He’s the best partner I’ve ever had. I just closed out an investigation involving a team of brutal rapists who tortured and murdered young women they kidnapped. I had one under control when I whistled for Max. He ran in from the car and kept the second suspect on the floor while I cuffed mine.”
“How’d he get out of the car?”
“It’s equipped with a panic bar like you’d see in a building and the door is spring-loaded so it also closes automatically. All I needed was someone to open the bar’s front door. Speaking of doors….” I opened the door and let Max in, drying him again, saying good night to Lucy and brushing my teeth in the kitchen sink before lying down on the couch. It was small and not very comfortable. I was trying to get into a tolerable position when Lucy returned in a robe.
“I’m sorry, Matt. I should have realized that the couch would be too small for you. Come and sleep in the bed with me. I think I can trust you. Come on.” She reached down to pull me up, holding my hand while she led me to the bedroom. It held a queen-sized bed and I saw immediately that the right side had been turned down, I assumed to accommodate Lucy. After thanking her I started to climb into the opposite. I stopped when Lucy began to laugh.
“What?”
“Do you always sleep in your clothes?”
Um…no; I usually sleep in my boxers.”
“Well, why don’t you take everything else off? Don’t worry–I’m not going to rape you.” Then she laughed again and rolled over facing away from me. I stripped off my tee and my shoes and socks before dropping my cargo pants to the floor. A few seconds later I pulled my Colt from the holster, placing it on the floor where I could reach it easily if necessary. Max came to me for our nightly ritual of petting and ear-scratching before he walked to the foot of the bed and lay down to sleep.
