Cross Hairs (8 page)

Then there was a more pressing matter: Cal could be dead.

CHAPTER 21

DAWKINS SMILED AS HE
walked back to his car. The more lies he told, the easier it got—even if he didn’t like it. Now he had lied twice in one day to Kelly. He wouldn’t let her beauty distract him from following his new orders. A night worrying about Cal would make her putty in the boss’s hands. And that’s what they needed at the moment since Cal was now missing and up to who knows what. Kelly wouldn’t think straight. Three boys would be buried on Saturday. Statenville would move on by the time she thought about revisiting the suspicious information she and Cal were gathering.

But there was a problem. A big problem.

For all of Dawkins’ lies, he didn’t know the full truth himself. The part he really cared about was Cal’s whereabouts. Cal was missing. How his car eluded the onslaught of obstacles down the hill until making a soft enough landing in the trees for him to walk away was nothing short of a miracle. But who sent him careening off the road was a bigger mystery at the moment.

By the time Dawkins arrived on the scene and found Cal’s car in the woods, Cal was gone. Did he stumble off into the woods alone? Did someone help him? What happened? Suddenly the protector of one mystery found himself wondering about another.

Just where was Cal Murphy?

CHAPTER 22

WHEN CAL CAME TO,
the massive migraine throbbing in his head was quickly forgotten. He was gagged and tied to a chair with duct tape. The solitary light bulb hanging inches from his face was blinding. The smell of manure emanated from the dirt floor.
Where am I? Why am I tied to a chair?

Cal remembered getting hit from behind and bounding down a hill where he came to a sudden but safe stop. The airbags deployed but he was just fine. He was stepping out of the car when two men injected him with a needle. That was the last thing he remembered. Cal was just now realizing that the needle contained a sedative—and he had no idea how long he had been out. An hour? A day? A week? There was no way of knowing for sure.

Just as Cal was ordering his thoughts, a man wearing a ski mask squatted in front of Cal and began questioning him in a smooth, calm voice.

“Are you Cal Murphy?”

“What is this?”

“Answer my question, please.”

“Yeah, I’m Cal Murphy. What are you doing to me?!”

“Please, Cal. Just remain calm, answer my questions and you’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Whatever, man. This is kidnapping. You’re going to jail for this.”

“Don’t make empty threats and hollow promises, boy. You and I both know that won’t happen. The men guiding this venture will never let that happen. So, you better just get comfortable with the idea that cooperation is in your best interest.”

Cal gritted his teeth. In a moment like this, restraint escaped him. He usually wanted justice—and he wanted it yesterday. But for all the mystery surrounding the deaths of the three teens in Statenville, he wanted to get some answers before getting offed. This story was not going find its way into print or online anytime soon anyway, so no need to push where pushing only led to trouble.

He decided to play along.

“OK, what do you want me to do?”

“Back off! If you keep digging into the death of these three teens, you’re going to write about some things that are going to anger plenty of people. Your safety will be at stake. Your life may be as well.”

“I can’t back off now, especially when I’m obviously rattling the cage of somebody somewhere.”

“You will have a lifetime to spin the tale of the three teens’ deaths. Now is not the time to rip open the heart of a grieving community. Wait a few months to disclose what you know and you’ll be duly rewarded.”

“A few
months
?! You mean to tell me that you kidnapped me and risked many other things just to tell me
that
?”

“My motivation is none of your concern. Your concern is following orders. Got it?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Good. I’m glad we could have this conversation.”

With that, the masked man punctured Cal’s neck with a needle, injecting another dose of the fast-acting sedative. Cal’s vision dimmed, then his head drooped.

CHAPTER 23

GOLD DIDN’T LIKE LOOSE
ends, but by midnight he had one.

His goon’s attempt at silencing Cal took an unfortunate turn when Cal not only survived the bump off the road, but he vanished as well. This was not the kind of news Gold ever enjoyed hearing, particularly after he had gone to bed thinking his kingdom was safe again.

“Have you found him yet?” Gold barked into his phone.

“No, sir. Don’t worry though. We’ll take care of it.”

“You said that last time.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep him out of the way.”

“Good. I don’t want to lose any more sleep over this, you hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gold loved ordering the Sheriff around like that. It was one of the perks of controlling a town and its dark secrets. Hunter Jones owed Gold everything, so when Gold said, “Jump,” Jones always asked, “Where to?” It was that easy for Gold.

***

Jones loathed the way Gold treated him. After all, wasn’t
he
the sheriff? Instead, it seemed like Gold thought he was the one with a badge—and never had to get his hands dirty. Tonight, Jones was about to get grime beneath his fingernails for a good cause.

He dialed Dawkins’ number.

“Yeah, boss.”

“You found Cal yet?”

“Nope. We’re still looking.”

“Well, when you do, charge him with driving under the influence.”

“We can’t do that.”

“Dawkins, have you lost your mind? You know we can do anything we want in this town. I got a call from dispatch that a car matching Cal’s was weaving all over the road. Do you need any more than that?”

“No, sir. I think I can make that work. We’ll find him.”

CHAPTER 24

CAL’S IPHONE WAS PROGRAMMED
to awaken him at 8 a.m. every Tuesday. It was his deadline day.
The Register
went to press every Tuesday at 8:30 p.m. rarely without exception.

The last time the presses were held was two years ago when Paul Hackett brought his pick axe to a board of education meeting and threatened one of the board members. When the appropriately named Hackett waved his axe within inches of the board member’s face, Kelly snapped a photo. With barely six months of experience under her belt, she managed to convince Guy to hold the presses. It turned out to be good journalistic instincts by everyone as the photo won best news action shot for an Idaho weekly.

Cal’s iPhone chimed an airy melody. He didn’t move much.

Cal was groggy. The wild events of the night before left him wondering if it wasn’t all a bad dream. There he was in his bed with his clothes on.
What happened?

Cal stumbled into the shower, hoping hot water might rouse him to his senses. Slowly, it began to come back to him. He was meeting Kelly. Then someone hit him from behind on purpose. He slid off the road. He survived the spill down the hill. Someone drugged him, warned him to back off, and put him to sleep in his apartment.

Without a second thought, Cal dashed to the window to look for his car. It wasn’t there.

Cal returned to the shower, trying to squeeze out more details from his beleaguered memory. Who took him? Where did they take him? And why? Why warn him to wait before releasing the story?

None of it made sense. Cal’s initial hypothesis was that someone ran him off the road because he got too close to the truth about the teens’ deaths. Or at least they thought he was getting close. Cal felt like he was no closer at that moment than he was 24 hours before when he was taking a shower just after hearing the news from Guy.

Not that it really mattered anyway. Guy had assigned him a benign reaction piece—and Cal doubted Tuesday before deadline was enough time to sway Guy’s opinion to allow him to write the real story. Especially when Cal had nothing but the memory of those boys’ mutilated bodies in his mind.

Cal finished his shower, toweled off and dialed Kelly’s number.

“Cal? Is that you?!” Kelly asked without the slightest thought of a greeting.

“Yeah, Kelly. I’m OK. Sorry about last night.”

“Sorry about last night? Are you kidding me? I’m just glad you’re alive. I thought you were dead after I heard your car went off the road and they couldn’t find you.”

Cal cringed. He remembered his car had been wrecked. While it was the least of his worries, he hated the hassle of being without a car and having to get it repaired.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need a ride this morning.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll come get you. Be there in 15 minutes.”

Cal finished getting dressed and mulled over the previous night’s events. He wasn’t close to having all the facts or even close enough to the truth to form a fledgling theory to float to Guy. But he knew that whatever information he had led to something more. Maybe it was sinister. Maybe it was corruption. Maybe it was a cover up. Maybe …

Conspiracy theorists irked Cal, but he couldn’t help himself.
Something
was going on, and
somebody
didn’t want him to find out what. Unraveling the mystery was as simple as that—find out who the somebody is and learn what the something is. But there was nothing simple about it.

Cal’s mind whirled with ideas. Did he hear helicopters overhead? Did a special ops guy rush him from the river where he had been lying in wait? Cal’s imagination was beginning to drift when the beeping of Kelly’s car horn broke his trance.

He grabbed his iPhone and his keys and glanced back at his room before he headed out. Then he noticed a note lying unopened on his dresser. It was addressed to him: “Mr. Cal Murphy.”

Ding, Dong!
Cal realized that Kelly was anxious to see him.

Cal stuffed the envelope into his pocket and headed for the front door.

CHAPTER 25

ON THE DOORSTEP OF
Cal’s apartment, Kelly greeted Cal with a hug that pushed the limits of simple friendship. It was extra tight with a final squeeze before letting go. In his oblivious state, Cal had no idea how worried Kelly was over his short disappearance. What seemed like a bad dream to Cal was a living nightmare for Kelly.

“I’m so glad you’re OK,” Kelly said as she turned toward her car.

“Me, too.”

Kelly fired up her Charger and began seeking details.

“So, what happened last night? How did your car end up in a ditch? How did you get home? Did this have anything to do with the case?”

“All I remember is that a big truck bumped me from behind a couple of times and forced me off the road. When the car came to a stop, the air bags deployed. I remember trying to get out to inspect the damage and then I blacked out. When I came to, I was bound to a chair with duct tape and some guys in ski masks told me to stop sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. Then, the next thing I know, I’m waking up in my own bed.”

“That’s it? Nothing else?”

Cal fidgeted with the envelope in his pocket. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled it out. After the events of the previous 24 hours, he trusted no one—except Kelly.

“The only clue I might have is this letter I found on my dresser this morning.”

Cal opened the letter and began reading it to himself. However, it wasn’t fast enough for Kelly’s inquiring mind.

“What does it say?”

“This is creepy.”

“What does it say?”

“OK, here it goes,” Cal said as he began reading the letter aloud.

Mr. Murphy,

We apologize for last night’s rude introduction, albeit one without names and faces. I’m sure you have many questions, but now is not the time to give you all the answers. We view you as an important ally, but strongly urge you to keep the events of last night to yourself and create a good cover story. We have plenty of information to give you, but the timing is not right yet. There are some things happening in your community that would put you at risk if you knew them. The best thing for you to do is to keep quiet and do your job without asking any questions.

When the time is right, we will present you with information that will surely land you in the national spotlight for your reporting skills. If you should choose to ignore our strong suggestion, we do have other ways of persuasion. And I can assure you that you’re best off not experiencing them.

We trust you will show this to no one or tell anyone about this letter or the truth about last night’s events, including Kelly or Guy. Until we meet again …

“This is disturbing, to say the least.”

“You’re telling me. How do they know
my
name?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve already done two things I wasn’t supposed to do—tell you what really happened and read you this letter.”

“Don’t worry, Cal. Your secret is safe with me—unless something horrible happens.”

“Oh, Kelly. There’s no need to be so dramatic. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“Are you crazy? You could’ve been killed last night by some secret government group or something – or died when your car smashed into a tree.”

Cal stopped.

“Who told you I smashed into a tree?”

“Dawkins did last night. I went looking for you and I pulled off the road next to his squad car and a tow truck. Then he showed me where your car landed.”

“My car? It was smashed up?”

“Well, I couldn’t see it because it was so dark, but he told me it was.”

“I don’t remember much, but I do remember coming to a stop between a pair of trees. My car wasn’t smashed as I recall. It just came to a sudden stop in between two trees and that forced out my airbag. But it wasn’t
that
bad. I wonder why Dawkins would lie to you like that.”

Silence hung in the air as both tried to form a hypothesis. Cal concluded there was only one logical explanation: Dawkins was in on some sheriff’s office plot to stop him from digging into the deaths of Statenville’s three football heroes.