Red Dog Saloon (21 page)

“Chief!
We have some movement near the wood line,” Patrolman Kent Stallings said
excitedly over the radio.

Sam
jumped as the policeman's warning sounded on the radio. Their patience may be
about to pay off.

“Can
you make out what it is?” the chief asked, pointing for Sam to train his field
glasses toward where the policemen were staked out.

“It’s
something dark,” Stallings responded. “Hold on a second. It’s moving again.”

Sam
and the chief exchanged looks, wondering if this could be the killer. Were they
about to end the string of murders in Castle County?

“It’s
a person!” Stallings shouted. “We have a subject dressed in black, a dark man,
and he's carrying something moving toward the house!”

“We
all need to hold where we are,” Sam responded. Let's let him get out in the
open so we can surround him."

“What
is that, a scythe?” Stallings yelled, not hearing the sheriff’s orders to hold
his position. “This guy looks like the Grim Reaper!”

“Did
you hear? Hold your location until we can get staged!” the sheriff yelled.

His orders
went unheeded as he saw the two police officers bolting across the snow,
disappearing from view behind the house. They were chasing something.

“Quick!
Everyone converge on the backyard!” Sam ordered over the radio.

Sam
and the chief wasted no time dashing from the minivan, their advance slowed by
the ankle-deep snow.

“He’s
running for the woods!” Stallings yelled on his portable radio. “Be advised
- our subject is armed! He’s running for the woods!”

The
patrolmen were a couple of hundred yards in front of their closest back up when
they followed the black-clad figure into the dense forest behind the mayor’s
estate.

“I’ll
follow the footprints. You loop around and we’ll catch him in between us,”
Stallings ordered Officer Goodwin. “Just be careful not to shoot me - you
hear?”

Stallings
raced along behind the tracks like a hunting dog tracking an animal through the
woods. The heavyset patrolman moved quickly through the powder given his size.
The tracks were easy to follow in the fresh snow. They read like a road
map in the dimly lit forest.

“Freeze!”
came the voice of Officer Goodwin just a few feet in front of Stallings. “Hands
in the air! Drop your weapon!”

The
older patrolman topped the hill to find his younger partner with his gun trained
on the man in black.

“I
said drop the weapon,” Goodwin repeated as he looked down the sights
of his gun at the suspect. “I will fire!”

The
figure, his face and body covered in black from head to toe, dropped the
long-handled weapon in the snow.

“Now
on your knees!” Goodwin repeated.

The
suspect complied with the officer's orders and slowly went down to his knees.
He then placed his hands behind his head.

“We
have him in custody!” Stallings exclaimed.

The
officer's announcement caused the sheriff’s heart to jump as he reached
the wood line. This was it!

“Hold
on! We’ll be right there,” Sam responded as he plunged into the forest.

The
policemen, not waiting on their backup, decided to handcuff the suspect. They
would save the unmasking for their bosses.

“Who
are you?” Goodwin asked.

The
patrolman pulled out his handcuffs and approached the dark figure while he
partner stood covering the suspect. He would slap the cuffs on the dark man to
ensure he didn't try to take flight again.

His
plan, however, was foiled as the figure, moving like a cat, leapt from the snow
landing an elbow squarely to his jaw. The lightning blow snapped the
officer's jaw. Screaming in pain as the handcuffs went spiraling into the
forest, Goodwin felt himself being drawn in by the man in black as his stunned
partner raised his gun.

“Stop
right there!” Stallings yelled.

No
sooner than the officer made the command, the dark figure pushed his injured
partner into him. Stallings' gun went off, the round whistling through the
trees above them. The sound of the gunshot gave pause to the other lawmen as
they were making their way through the woods about a hundred yards behind.

“Oh
no,” Sam said as he doubled his pace. “That can’t be a good sign.”

In
the meantime the masked man landed a pair of well-placed blows on either side
of Stallings’ head. The punches flattened the heavyset officer. The dark man
then disappeared into the night leaving the injured officers not knowing what
hit them.

Sam
and the chief found the policemen moments later, lying side-by-side in the
snow. Goodwin moaned as he held his broken jaw. Stallings, blood pouring from a
badly busted lip, pointed toward the woods where the man disappeared. Bo and
Kendal raced with guns in hand after the tracks.

Sam,
now remembering to draw his gun in all the excitement, looked around the
immediate area. There in the snow lay a home-made scythe. Its crude
construction told the officer this wasn't the work of a grim reaper but instead
of a man with some knowledge on how to make a weapon. The blade, the sheriff
noticed, was razor sharp.

“All
units, all units, we have our murder suspect on foot behind Mayor Satterfield’s
house heading toward Lowery Lane,” Sam called out over the radio. “The suspect
is dressed in black and may be armed. Approach with caution. We have two
officers down. We will need an ambulance at this location – now!”

A
loud scream came from deep in the woods at that moment. It was Kendal Parks!

“Kendal!”
Sam shouted as he left the chief behind to care for his injured patrolmen.
“Where are you at?”

“Over
here, sheriff,” the muffled sound of his investigator’s voice came a few yards
deeper in the woods.

Rounding
the heavy undergrowth, the sheriff was met with the spectacle of blood-covered
snow.

“What
happened?” the sheriff asked in a worried voice as Bo entered the clearing
where they stood.

“He
came out of the dark,” Kendal said, holding his nose as blood poured from
around his fingers. “He just appeared out of nowhere and kicked me square in
the nose. I never had time to react.”

“Get
him back to the others,” Sam ordered.

The
sheriff raised his gun and began to make his way deeper into the woods.

“But
sheriff,” Bo protested.

“You
heard me. That’s an order,” Sam called back as disappeared into the dark.

Sam
moved cautiously through the trees, his gun held at arm’s length, ready to fire
in an instant. What kind of man could take down three trained officers like
they were nothing? What was he up against in this wooded labyrinth? Sam felt at
a disadvantage despite being armed with his forty-caliber.

The
sheriff wandered through the tenebrous darkness for several minutes, one
snow covered tree looking the same as the last. He kept his eyes trained on the
tracks as he navigated his way through the tangle of limbs, bushes and briars.

After
five minutes the sheriff caught sight of Lowery Lane. It was the road
which ran behind the woods in back of the mayor’s estate. The tracks
led onto the road and seemed to disappear suddenly. Perhaps the fugitive had a
car parked there or maybe he had an accomplice.

Sam
stepped onto the road and looked for any additional tracks. There were none.
Instead, headlights approached, blue lights activating on top of the car
telling the sheriff it was an officer.

“Sheriff,
is that you?” came the voice of Deputy Faulkner.

“Did
you see anyone?” the sheriff responded. “Did anyone come through here?”

“No,
sir,” the young deputy replied. “I came this way when you put out the call a
minute ago.”

Not
wanting to let his close encounter go so easily, Sam resolved to go back into
the woods on the off-chance the suspect doubled back. The sheriff ordered the
officer to patrol the back edge of the woods in case the masked man was still
waiting to escape the forest.

“If
you see someone, don’t you try doing anything alone,” Sam cautioned worried for
the welfare of the rookie officer. “You get on the radio and you call for back
up. Don’t even get out of your car. Do you understand?”

Sam
disappeared back into the woods after giving his order. He re-traced the
tracks through the snow. His mission, however, was for naught as found no
further signs of the dark man.

Sam
soon came upon the pool of blood where Kendal had been ambushed, telling him he
had again covered the trail left by the suspect.  The flow was solid
enough to where Sam used it like bread crumbs leading him to where
the lawmen were gathered. They stood bleeding and injured like they were
in a MASH unit.

“Nothing,”
Sam said with disgust as he holstered his gun.

“At
least we have his weapon,” Bo said, holding the long scythe like a trophy.

“I’m
not so sure he even needs a weapon,” Sam said.

The
sound of a horn interrupted the sheriff. The sound was coming from the mayor’s
house.

“What
is that?” Sam asked as the horn continued sounding.

“Maybe
it’s a signal,” Bo suggested. “Maybe there’s trouble back at the mayor’s
place.”

“Let’s
go,” Sam said as he bolted toward the sound of the car horn.

Sam
dashed through the snow, staying mindful the masked suspect could still be
lurking somewhere in the trees. He kept his head on a swivel as he hurried
through the remaining woods. He and Bo emerged from the forest together,
the sound of the horn getting louder as they neared its source.

“There,”
Sam pointed.

The
sound was coming from the mayor’s car which was parked in front
of his house. Its headlights were on but its hood and windshield
were still covered with snow.

The
officers cautiously approached the car not wanting to fall into an ambush like
their fellow lawmen. Sam pulled his weapon as the men neared the car, the horn
still blaring. Looking at his investigator, Sam nodded his head, silently
telling him to open the door. It was the worst case scenario.

Inside,
Mayor Glenn Satterfield sat in the driver’s seat. His face was pressed against
the steering wheel, a zip-tie wrapped around his neck. Bo instinctively reached
inside and pushed the mayor back against the seat. His eyes were wide
open, fixed in terror.

“He’s
dead,” Bo pronounced as he found no pulse.

“No!”
Sam yelled, slamming his hand in frustration against the snow-covered hood.

In
three … two … one

“This
is Hal Greene - Channel Five News - live from Easton where this city’s mayor
was assassinated last night, the latest victim in the gruesome killing spree
believed to be the work of the man dubbed the Red Dog Killer.”

The
whole scene was surreal as Sam watched the newsman, who appeared to be wearing
a half-inch of makeup, begin his live report from the front steps of Easton
City Hall. The smooth-talking reporter was just the first of which Sam expected
would be a constant parade of news media. The town would soon be full
of satellite trucks beaming the developments of the formerly peaceful county
around the globe. It certainly wouldn’t be a good day for the Castle County
Chamber of Commerce or one for the county’s sheriff who would soon be on the
hot seat.

After
all, there were now five unsolved murders on his watch, the last being the
slaying of the town mayor. It was funny, Sam noticed, how the other members of
the Red Dog gang were considered murder victims while Glenn Satterfield’s
killing was being called an assassination. All were targeted for the same
reason, that being the atrocity they committed together more than twenty years
ago, yet somehow the mayor’s passing held more importance than the other four
combined.

Sam
got little sleep after the discovery of the mayor’s body. The entire manpower
of his department was called in to help sweep the snow-covered landscape for
any sign of the killer. Their efforts were in vain. The sun rose
on an investigation that was no closer to catching the killer
than it was the day Andy Crouch’s body was found. It seemed the killer had a
knack for eliminating every lead, leaving Sam butting his head against a brick
wall, always one step behind. Now, as he stood in the chill of the morning air
on the steps of city hall watching the talking head give his report, the trail
of the killer was, pardon the pun, cold.

“This
horrific chain of events began Tuesday with the discovery of local factory
worker Andy Crouch. He was victim of a gruesome ax attack, his body found
lying just inside his front door,” the dapperly-dressed reporter said,
recapping the killings in an overly dramatic voice as if he were narrating a
horror film or doing a commercial for a monster truck show at the civic
auditorium. “Next we had the slaying of his co-worker and friend, Eddie Young,
the following evening, his headless remains found Wednesday inside his
home. Then came a pair of grisly discoveries, the bodies of investment broker
Stevie Grissom and career criminal Rhody Turner, both found inside the trunk of
a stolen car after it plunged into the murky depths of Castle Lake the evening
before last. Then our most recent victim, the mayor of the city of Easton,
Glenn Satterfield, killed as he sat inside his car in his own driveway.”

Listening
to it, things sounded bad, really bad. How had Castle County gone from one of
the safest places in the country to murder capital?

“The
question is, if the mayor himself can be killed in his own driveway is anyone
really safe in this formerly peaceful little hamlet?” the reporter posed.

The
newsman shoved the microphone into the sheriff's face.

“I
have with me the sheriff of Castle County, Samuel Delaney,” the reporter
continued. “Sheriff, how can the citizens of your county feel safe so long as
the Red Dog Killer is on the loose?”

Sam
was caught off guard by the reporter’s absence of segue. His lack of sleep left
him slow at a time of the morning that he normally wouldn’t be awake. How he
missed the good old days when he would occasionally get a full night’s sleep.

“We're
doing everything in our power to ensure the safety of all the people of Castle
County,” Sam replied nervously as he wasn't used to being on camera. “The
people can rest assured that we are following up all leads and leaving no stone
unturned in our investigation.”

Sam
couldn’t believe he just said that on live television. The entire thing sounded
like some kind of pre-written press release aimed at dodging the question.

“Leads?
So does this mean you have a person of interest in this grisly string of
unsolved murders?” Hal asked.

“Well,
we haven’t eliminated anyone at this time,” Sam stammered. “We are taking all
information we obtain and examining it closely.”

“So
that means there are no suspects in the case?” Hal surmised from the sheriff’s double-talk.
“Tell me sheriff; are you any closer to solving these heinous crimes than you
were after the first body was found?”

“Well,
we …” the sheriff began, only to be cut off by the cocky newsman.

“And
what about the case of Rhody Turner?” Hal posed. “Our news team has learned he
was actually a prisoner in your jail before he was able to break out only to
fall into the hands of the killer.”

“Well
yes, he was an inmate in our facility but …” Sam said, again cut off by the
aggressive interviewer.

“Had
the security in your jail been better, do you think Mr. Turner would still be
alive today?” Hal asked.

“Do
I what?” Sam replied, incredulous the reporter would be making such allegations
on live television.

“I
mean it would appear the Red Dog Killer used a break down in security at your
jail to gain access to one of his victims,” Hal clarified. “Does that not make
the Castle County Jail guilty in some way in the death of Rhody Turner, perhaps
even liable?”

“No,
these cases are all … ” Sam began, cut off again by the reporter.

“And
what about the assassination of Mayor Satterfield?” Hal asked. “We have
information that your department was conducting surveillance in the area at the
time and he was killed under your very noses. Would you consider this a cause
for concern if you were a citizen of Castle County?”

Sam
stood silently, his mouth closed as the reporter again pushed the microphone
under his nose. The sheriff looked calmly at the reporter as if he didn’t hear
the question.

“So
you have no answer?” Hal asked.

“Oh,
you want me to answer that one?” Sam answered mockingly. “I was waiting for you
to answer the question like you did the others. You seem to have all the
answers.”

“I
wasn’t ... " Hal began only to have the sheriff jerk the microphone away
from him in midsentence.

“I
mean I was rather enjoying hearing you interview yourself,” Sam declared on
live television. “I was hoping if you kept talking you’d solve the case
yourself. You seem to be doing pretty good there, Hank.”

“It’s
Hal - Hal Greene,” the reporter countered as he snatched back his microphone.
“I’m just trying to get answers as to how five people can be killed in five
days and yet there’s not a single suspect.”

“That’s
simple, Hank,” Sam responded. “Our killer keeps killing the people who could
identify him. By the way, I didn’t say we have no leads. We do, in fact, have
several leads which I’m optimistic will lead us to our killer.”

“And
if they don’t?” Hal asked. "And, it’s Hal not Hank."

“If
they don’t, Harold, then I guess you’ll be interviewing me a lot more,” Sam
responded. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s time to go follow up on one of those
leads I was talking about.”

“Sheriff,
one last thing,” Hal called after the sheriff as the lawman started
to walk down the steps of city hall. “What would you like to say to the people
of Castle County who are living in fear that a serial killer is in their
midst?”

Pausing
for a second in reflection, Sam walked back up the steps and looked straight in
the camera.

“Two
things. First, to the killer. Whoever you are, and I’m sure you’re watching, I
will find you. Rest assured of that,” Sam pledged. “And second, to the people
of Castle County, don’t believe everything you hear on television. Most of it
is a bunch of [bleep].”

News
Channel Five was fortunate to have a seven-second delay in its live telecast. The
delay gave them just enough time to bleep Sam’s last word to the camera.
However, those who could read lips had no doubt of the four-letter word Sheriff
Delaney uttered.

While
Sam was admittedly dancing around the questions during his interview, he told
the truth when he said there were leads. His reference was to the still-sealed
medical records of Gina Porter, records Sam believed could hold the key to
finding the killer. Shelby Mental Health Institute would be his destination. His Saturday
was going to be spent going over the records with a fine-tooth comb, looking
for anything that might solve the puzzle.

First,
Sam would have to drop in on his injured investigator, Kendal Parks. The lawman
took one for the team Saturday by coming into the office despite the events of
the night before.

“How
are we feeling this morning?” Sam asked as he entered his investigator’s office
on a two-fold mission.

He
was there because he legitimately cared for his employees and wanted to check
on his officer’s well-being. He also wanted to see if the always reliable
detective had been able to subpoena the late mayor’s cellphone records. Sam had
found phone records were good for connecting the dots when it came to linking
the Red Dog conspirators together.

“How
does it look like I’m doing?” Kendal replied in a nasally tone.

The detective looked
back at the sheriff through two black eyes, his Roman nose even more Roman
after his encounter with the masked suspect last evening.

“The
doctor says it’s broke,” Kendal revealed.

“It
just makes you look even more dignified,” Sam quipped as
he eyed the bandage draped across the bridge of the detective’s nose.
“I’m sure it had to hurt his foot too if that’s any consolation.”

“I’m
sure you didn’t come here just to discuss the condition of my nose,” Kendal
noted.

“Well,
now that you mention it ...” the sheriff began.

Kendal
reached across his desk and held up a paper. He already knew what his boss was
looking for.

“It
wasn’t easy, since it is Saturday and all, but I got it,” Kendal revealed,
handing Sam a copy of the mayor’s phone records. “I haven’t even checked it
yet. My eyes want to cross when I’m reading.”

Sam
immediately pored over the records. A familiar number at the bottom of the page
drew the sheriff's eyes. It was the last call made before the mayor’s
death. It was Bart Foster’s number, the call lasting around five minutes.

“He
called Bart Foster right after I left,” Sam declared. "I bet I'd just
walked out the door when he called him."

“Is
that really a big surprise since we know they were in this together?” Kendal
asked. “I’m sure there are a lot of calls on the list between them.”

Kendal
was right as a closer examination of the records netted numerous communications
between the mayor and Bart Foster. However, it was the final call that
intrigued the sheriff.

“Did
you ever wonder how our suspect was able to double back so quickly and just
happen to catch the mayor in his car with his bags all packed?” Sam asked his
detective. “I mean, the timing would have to be perfect to pull that off.
That's not to mention that the guy would have to have superhuman speed.”

“Well
I can vouch for that superhuman speed,” Kendal countered, rubbing his nose. “It
was like he appeared out of thin air.”

“What
if there are two?” Sam asked. “What if our killer has a partner?”

Kendal
nodded his head, realizing the sheriff’s suggestion wasn’t that far-fetched.
Perhaps the man they chased in the woods that evening was simply a decoy meant
to lead the officers on a wild goose chase while his partner was murdering
the mayor.

“That
could be, but then we’re still at square-one since we don’t have even a single
suspect,” Kendal noted. “But logic would tell us if we catch one then we can
catch the other. Care to venture a guess as to the identity of our second
person?”

“What
if it was Bart Foster?” Sam asked. “Hear me out for a second. All this time
we’ve been assuming our beloved car dealer is a victim waiting to happen but
what if he’s not. What if he and the killer have mutual interests? What if this
isn’t about payback after all? What if this is about eliminating anyone who was
there that night?”

“Go
on,” Kendal urged the sheriff.

“Maybe
we’ve been wrong about the motive all this time,” Sam continued. “Maybe instead
of looking at Bart as a victim, we should be treating him as a suspect.”

“But
everyone knows Glenn and him were tight,” Kendal countered. “I mean Bart was
always one of Glenn’s main contributors at election time.”

“True,
but that might be part of it,” Sam replied. “It was common knowledge Glenn
intended to run for governor next election and something so perverse from
his past would have derailed his candidacy. Now, this next part may sound a bit
far-fetched, but what if Glenn and Bart combined to get rid of the rest of the
witnesses?”

“But
that wouldn’t explain why Glenn was killed,” Kendal pointed out.