The Hum (5 page)

DUI, the regular domestic abuse cases, and the once in a blue moon robbery were the only highlights he’d dealt with since assuming his position over five years ago; he’d taken close to a year off, recovering from the last case he was given at the bureau—that year was needed to help pull his family back together. The
Club Stalker
not only kidnapped his wife, he’d also gone after Russell’s parents.

Small town living wasn’t entirely boring for Russell and his wife, Sam, though, thanks to their son Little Colby. Their daughter Julie was fourteen, and she helped look after the rambunctious little eight-yearold, when needed.

In Russell’s mind his family life in Wise couldn’t be better. Their home was beginning to get that
settled in
feel to it, Sam’s cooking was improving more and more, and he had numerous friends throughout the community with whom he regularly went hunting and fishing. Most of them he’d met at church.

The small church where they spent many of their waking hours was thriving beyond everyone’s expectations, and he’d gotten really close to the pastor there over the last five years. After the toll the bureau and the Stalker had taken on his life, Russell knew he should be enjoying his life of peace and quiet, but there seemed to be a piece missing in the puzzle of his life and he believed it had something to do with the job.

At some point during his random thinking, Russell finally ceded to sleep.

CHAPTER
8

When the phone began ringing off the hook at around five o’clock the next morning, Russell had a hard time coming to. Filling in on occasion for his deputies on the night shift was really taking its toll on his sleep schedule, but truth be told, he actually looked forward to the nights down at the station to get caught back up on his paperwork. An early morning phone call definitely wasn’t welcome at this particular point in his life though.

Shaking the morning fog from his head, he said, “Sheriff Jent here. How can I help you?”

“Good morning, Russell. This is Bonnie. I just got word that someone robbed the service station at the top of the hill, and killed the four men inside.”

“What? I’m here at the police station, and you get word? How’s that?”

“Connections, Sheriff. It’s all about connections.” Bonnie said.

“I’ll wager one month’s pay that those drug dealers finally took each other out.” Russell said, knowing the place had been selling more than alcohol and snacks for quite some time. He’d tried catching them in the act, but they were smart enough not to sell to his deputies. “What time is it, Bonnie?”

“It’s exactly 5:05 in the morning. Sorry to call so early, but Ramos is already on site, and he could really use your help. I think your background at the Bureau could really come in handy on this one.”

Russell jumped into detective mode. “Tell him to tape off the area and don’t allow anyone in or out. And get the coroner out there immediately. This town hasn’t had a murder in years; it might take a while to process everything.”

“Will do, Sheriff. How long do you think you will be?”

“Give me time to release the couple I brought in last night on a domestic, and I’ll meet everyone at the service station at around 7:00 o’clock.”

“Just as a forewarning, it’s a pretty gruesome sight out there—according to Deputy Ramos. You might want to skip breakfast this morning.

“Maybe this will finally close that place down for good. That service station could be the attributed to what little crime we do have here in Wise.”

“Oh, it will be closed for quite some time. You can bank on that, Sheriff. They’re all dead—hard to run a business, legitimate or otherwise if all partners are murdered.” Bonnie said matter of fact.

“This doesn’t sound good at all, Bonnie. Tell Ramos to hang in there. I’ll hurry up around here, and try to make it to his location as quickly as possible.”

Russell hung up the phone, relieved himself in the small bathroom and showered for the day’s activities. Thankful to have something to look forward to—murder or not—he smiled as he passed by the bathroom’s tiny mirror. That smile didn’t last long though. Standing there looking at his own reflection, he couldn’t believe how gray his hair had become over the last few years. He also had more wrinkle lines on his forehead, and what appeared to be a small Volkswagen bug tire trying to attach itself to his waistline.

He tried to remember the point when his old routine of constant running and working out had slowly been replaced with getting up at all hours of the night with the kids, and changing their sheets after the occasional upset stomach.

Russell was thankful at least to be past changing some of the worst smelling diapers he’d ever come across in his life. He noticed right away that the one big difference between boys and girls was that boys stink a whole lot more. He’d changed tons of diapers for Julie and she never brought tears to his eyes. Colby’s diapers were an entirely different story altogether. The boy smelled like death, and Russell was thankful to finally be past that stage; even though it took the kid to the age of five before he completely transitioned to underwear.

After he finished dressing in his uniform, Russell made a short mental note to get back on the treadmill or the elliptical as soon as possible; maybe both. Making his way back to the jail cell, he yelled, “Wake up, sleepy heads. It’s time to go home.”

Russell herded the duo back to their home, gave them both a stern warning about either learning to get along or separating for the good of everyone involved— him included. He finished by telling them if he came out again, he’d lock them both up for a very long time. He knew he was only bluffing, because to lock them up for an extended period of time, meant he’d have to stay around the jail area himself, and that wasn’t likely to happen. He only hoped he’d gotten through to Elmer and Melissa this time around.

Russell arrived home at six-twenty in the morning to the smell of bacon frying on the stove. Sam’s cooking was the other reason for the new look around his waistline. She loved to make bacon and eggs or gravy and biscuits for breakfast every morning, which is funny because before they moved to Wise, she never made either for breakfast. They ate cereal, bagels, and toast religiously for their first twelve years of marriage. Something about the Appalachian region always brought out the buckets of lard in the kitchen.

“Hey stranger, you’re home early today.” “Good morning to you, too.”

“
It’s always a good morning, when I get to see you, honey
. Is that better?”

“A little too late, but I’ll take it. Did you make enough for me, too?” Russell asked, completely ignoring Bonnie’s suggestion that he skip breakfast. Truth be told, the sight of blood and gore no longer messed with him, thanks to the Club Stalker.

“You better believe it, skinny boy. You need some bacon to put some meat on your bones.”

“You’ve been doing a great job of that so far. I’m home early today because we’ve got an unexpected robbery and homicide at the service station at the top of the hill.”

The look of alarm on Sam’s face was evident, but she tried to play it off by saying, “The same place you’ve suspected drugs being sold in?”

“That would be the one. Deputy Ramos is there now. All four of the gentlemen running the joint are dead.”

It was hard for Sam to hide her concern. She’d been through enough murders with Russell during his days with the Bureau, to do her a lifetime. She managed to ask, “How long do you think it will take?” “To tell you the truth, I really don’t have a clue, babe. The suspect fled the scene, so we’re still searching for him in the woods behind the place.”

“I just don’t want you to get caught up in anything, honey. We’re finally moving forward with a normal life, and I’d hate for something to come along and change that.”

“I will be extra careful, babe. I’m hoping to be back by tonight, or at the latest, tomorrow night.”

With a mixture of fear and anguish in her pretty brown eyes, Sam said, “Well, you better eat a big breakfast before you head off to save the world. There’s no telling when you’ll get to eat again.”

After enjoying a hearty breakfast with his family, Russell headed out the door en route to meet Eugene. He settled back into the leather seats of his police cruiser—a new Dodge Challenger—which was actually a pleasant surprise for any small town sheriff. The previous sheriff had somehow gotten the town council to budget in the beauty, and Russell was thankful they had. It wasn’t the same as the Chevy Suburban’s he was accustomed to in the Bureau, but it had grown on him over the past five years.

The inside of the cruiser had racing gauges that actually lit up in orange at night, and the beast registered 200 miles per hour. Russell rarely got the chance to get the car up past seventy-five, but on occasion he liked to drive out to the old Peterson farm and
see what she’d do
. He’d gotten it up to 135 miles per hour on the Peterson’s twenty-five acre tract about a year ago, and it scared the heck out of him. The force of the vehicle alone plastered him to the seat, and the rear of the car fish-tailed quite a few times as it hit some of the low spots on the old dirt road.

Glancing over at the middle of the car, Russell took in the new state of the art communications system. He had a GPS that was programmed for the entire Appalachian Region, a military-style tracking system called a Blue Force Tracker, which no one seemed to understand how to operate, and a CB radio to communicate with the station and his deputies.

The money spent on the car, along with all of the high tech tracking devices, was definitely not needed for Russell’s small town. High speed chases would imply a perpetrator had a vehicle with enough speed to attempt a getaway; most of the automobiles in the area were lucky to even be on the road. Car bondo and duct tape wouldn’t fare too well at speeds in excess of 100 miles per hour. Russell figured since the government was spending taxpayer dollars so freely as of late, why shouldn’t some of the smaller counties and states do the same?

CHAPTER
9

PRESENT AND PAST

Once they made it to the police station, the policeman led Kevin to his new living quarters. Truthfully it was hard to complain about the living conditions, because they were actually better than the roach motel he’d just come from. The floors were clean, and the twin comforter lying on the bed actually felt softer than anything he’d ever laid out on before. The bedding in his motel was similar to a super-sized sheet of sand paper; it doubled as a skin exfoliate and comforter.

After looking around the small area, Kevin plopped down on the bed and kicked his feet up. He had no idea how long they’d hold him or whether he’d ever be released or not. Fortunately, he was used to wasting the day away locked up, so it didn’t irk him too bad. It was the part about actually being innocent of this attack that bothered him. That normally wasn’t the case. Kevin’s mind decided to step away from the jail cell and go back to the horrible cavern, the turning point in his life of crime.

*         *         *

Back inside, Kevin found himself staring out into nothing as the place forked in two opposite directions. He closed his eyes and wondered quietly which way to go. He was sweating once again, his hand throbbed from striking the concrete cover, and the nice slippers he’d chosen to wear for the heist were leaving monster blisters on his heels. He decided to rest on his seat for a few minutes, in an effort to think through the craziness of the past twenty-four hours.

As he sat there on the cold damp floor, he wondered once again how his life has gotten to this point. He was somehow voted most likely to succeed in high school, and yet here he was, a thief and a murderer, on the run from the police. The questions eventually faded as did Kevin—sleep overtook him as he spread out right there on the floor of that musky tunnel.

In the dream, Kevin was running from his past through tall fields of corn nearby the old farmhouse his father had left him after he died. He knew he’d done an awful thing, and he had to get away before being caught. He had blood all over his hands and clothes, and that familiar feeling of needing to cover up another crime.

Looking down at his hand, he noticed the six inch kitchen knife he’d used to commit the awful murders. He’d taken it with him when he fled the scene with thoughts of burying it somewhere in the woods behind the old farm.

Kevin ran for about 500 yards before he came upon the burned out hull of an old maple tree. He’d seen this particular tree on numerous occasions as he made passes with his dad’s old farm tractor through the corn fields. Now he decided it would make a perfect marker to hide his sin, just in case he ever needed to find it again.

As the winded and scared young man of twenty-five dug a two foot hole to bury the knife, Kevin heard the rustling of corn, like someone running through the field behind him. He quickly shoved the knife in the earth and threw the dirt back over it to conceal his heinous act. After throwing some of the loose twigs and dried grass back over the now disturbed ground, he ran out of the field to meet whoever was coming his way.

Seeing his wife Jeannie running with his kids Rosie and little Kevin in tow, he stopped cold in his tracks. When they were within five feet of him, his legs came back to life and he took off in the opposite direction. The faster he ran, the closer they got to him. When he felt his wife’s hand graze over his shoulder, he let out a loud scream.

Kevin awoke, and bolted upright on the cavern floor, sweating like a pig. He could still hear his own screams echoing throughout the cavern. The dream— if you could call it that—left him shaken for the next few minutes, so he thought it best to get back up and continue his blind reconnaissance. He had no idea where he was heading, or what awaited him at the end of it all. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t have any other option but to press further into the darkness.

Glancing at his watch under the glow of the lighter, he saw that it was now 1:00 in the afternoon. He couldn’t believe he’d slept away six hours on that damp floor.

Standing at the fork, Kevin decided to take the left tunnel, because in his mind he’d never been right before, so why go that way now. He couldn’t believe how hard his life had been over the past ten years. How had things gotten to this point? First his family, then his job, and now he was on the run again. He was starting to see his life as one of forever being on the run. He cursed himself for moving to the small town, for thinking he’d ever be able to hide from it all. He knew now that it was impossible to hide from the humming sound—it owned him.

He continued walking for over thirty minutes in darkness, feeling his way through the tunnel by dragging his hand across the wall as he stumbled forward.

When his hand began to feel wet from touching the wall, he quickly wiped his palm across his slacks and flicked the lighter back to life to investigate.

The sight of what appeared to be blood forced a small yell from Kevin, and caused him to viciously wipe his hands on his pants in an effort to remove the substance. Holding the lighter closer to the wall, he saw only damp earth there; no blood in sight. Fear and confusion gripped him, and temporarily froze him in his tracks. Questions bombarded his mind, as he struggled to figure out what was going on.

Was his mind playing more tricks, or was that really blood on his hands? Where did it all go? He was sure he’d felt it on the walls, but now it was nowhere to be found. Shining the light back down to his pants, he noted that they were still smeared in blood, or at least something that resembled blood.

Kevin shook his head from side to side in an effort to rid himself of some of the haze. Nothing made any sense, so he decided to continue further into the tunnel. With the lighter now extinguished, he couldn’t believe how dark the place really was. He’d heard stories from some of the soldiers deployed to Iraq about the pitch black darkness in the area, and Kevin imagined this place compared quite well. According to the reports, a few of the soldier’s had actually ran into the big twelve foot concrete barriers—Texas Barriers they called them—and had suffered broken noses or even lost a few teeth. He was thankful for the soft earthen walls, if nothing else. At least he wouldn’t lose any teeth during his wandering; now his mind, that was a different story.

The quiet and the darkness were really wearing on Kevin as he pressed further down the tunnel. He was no longer gliding his hand along the wall as he continued on. After walking around in a daze for another thirty minutes, Kevin caught glimpse of a small flame of light up ahead. He quietly made his way to the source, and was surprised to find an old style lantern hanging

from the tunnels wall.

The light illuminated the tunnel about fifty to sixty feet to the front and rear of where he’d found it. Knowing that the light hanging on the wall didn’t just magically appear, Kevin decided to try a different tactic in order to get something from whoever was down in the tunnel with him.

“Hello. Hello, my name is Sheriff Jent—he’d made it a point to look up the law in the area, when he first moved to town because he wanted to know what he might possibly come up against later on. “Who are you? Do you know a way out of this place?”

It wasn’t what the voice responded back with that scared Kevin, it was the voice itself.

Grabbing the light off the wall, Kevin took off at a full sprint back the direction he’d just come from. He didn’t stop to see if he was being followed, he just took off. When he made it to where the tunnel forked, he chose the opposite side and ran in that direction.

His shoes quickly became too much for him to take, so Kevin tossed them to the side and ran in his socks. He noticed right away that the cold floor actually felt refreshing on his feet. He ran until he couldn’t run anymore, and then he collapsed on the earth’s floor. Struggling to regain his breathing, he prayed that the owner of that voice wouldn’t find him in his current state.

*         *         *

It was around 7:30 by the time Russell pulled into the parking lot of the service station where Deputy Ramos stood anxiously awaiting him.

“Good morning, Ramos. How are you holding up?” Russell asked.

“Been better. There’s a lot of blood in there, Sheriff.”

“Any suspects? Any idea who killed them? Other drug dealers?”

“That old Ford pickup over belongs to a man named Kevin Black. No priors—just moved here from West Virginia about four months ago. He’s our only lead thus far.”

“Anything else? Did they have a surveillance camera? Video footage?”

“Sure did. It shows a man—I’m thinking it’s our Mr. Black—walking into the station and waving money in front of the gentlemen running the joint. They all disappear into the back room for a few minutes, and then shotgun fire blasts throughout the tape. Even though it doesn’t show what went on behind that closed door, the sound of bodies slamming to the hard surface as a result of gunfire, make it pretty obvious that our perpetrator went on a killing spree.”

“Did the video show which way he headed?”

“Out the back door, into the woods. He was carrying what I assume to be some cocaine and a bag of money. He was pretty spooked when he headed out.”

“Have the men combed the woods?”

“Deputies Rosewood and Carlson went over every inch of those woods, and came back empty handed.”

“Good job, Ramos. Give me a few minutes to walk through the scene, and the woods. In the meantime, get me that report on Mr. Black. If he is our man, I want to know everything about him.” Russell said.

The day seemed to fly by, but the progress of the investigation didn’t follow suit. They had nothing but an abandoned truck and a video tape to go on. They were able to compare the picture in Kevin Black’s file to the video and confirm that he was the perpetrator, but it didn’t do any good if they couldn’t find the man.

Before he knew it, daylight turned to dark, and everything from the crime scene was bagged up and taken back to the lab. After placing the
Do Not Cross
tape all around the station, Russell decided to take a walk in the woods himself. He’d spent a lot of his youth hunting deer and various fowl, and had become a pretty good tracker. If Mr. Black was out there, he’d find him.

Popping the trunk, Russell grabbed his flashlight and police baton for the late night investigative hike.