The Rented Mule (39 page)

The young officer looked at him curiously and then at the padlock. “Yeah, sure.”

Obermeyer was concentrating on all he was seeing, attempting to understand Mark Wright. His trancelike state was interrupted when the uniformed officer handed him the heavy tire tool.

“Did y’all hear that?” Obermeyer excitedly asked.

Both officers looked blankly at him and shook their heads sideways in unison.

“Both of you need to get your hearing checked, probably from not wearing proper protection at the firing range,” Obermeyer explained as he smacked the padlock with the tire tool. It held. On the third whack, the hasp tore from the door.

“Hey, man, don’t we need a warrant for this room?”

“No. I told you. I thought I heard a cry for help. It’s exigent circumstances. You might wanna write that down,” Obermeyer explained.

“I heard it too,” the other officer added, catching on.

Obermeyer smiled at him, nodded toward the door, and without a word among them, they stormed the room, weapons drawn. What they saw took their breath. Rotating electronic images and videos of a brunette woman were being displayed on the monitors. The dark walls added to the sensation that they were in a cave. Unlit candles caked with melted wax suggested someone spent a great deal of time in here. On one wall, various pieces of jewelry were strategically displayed. Obermeyer knew instantly that they belonged to the rape victims. They were prizes. All the rape victims had similar features to the woman in the shrine of photographs.

On the floor next to a credenza, Obermeyer saw several white rags stained purple. “Gentlemen, I believe we’ve found our rapist.” Detective Obermeyer did a slow 360-degree turn in the room, amazed at what he was seeing.

“Whoa. This is some freaky shit, man!” one policeman replied nervously.

Obermeyer grabbed his cell phone and dialed. He kept studying the room while he waited for the commander to answer.

“Commander. Mark Wright is our rapist.”

“You got him?”

“No, ma’am. He’s not here, but he’s our perp. Get out an APB for him right now! You are not going to believe this place. You must come see it for yourself to believe it.”

“Okay, I’m on it, but hear this: it turns out that Cooper Dixon’s longtime family housekeeper lives out on Wares Ferry Road.”

“That’s it, Commander! That’s where we pinged him!” Obermeyer said as excited as he had ever been. Both of his major crimes had significant breakthroughs within minutes of each other.

“Have the patrol boys lock down Wright’s place and keep an eye out for him. Stretch police tape around the whole yard. I’ll get a warrant and a crime scene unit to your twenty to start processing, and I’ll get out an APB immediately on Mark Wright.”

“Don’t let ’em touch anything in here. It’s pristine. It’s a gold mine of information and insight.”

“O, I need you at the maid’s house right now. Blue lights to the Walmart on the Atlanta Highway. We’ll pick up a couple patrol units and go to her house. I’m getting a search warrant for her place as well.”

“I hate to leave here, Commander,” he replied, standing in the hall, looking into the shrine and wanting to dig deeper.

“You’re the only one who’s had dialogue with Dixon. If he’s there, I’ll need you to talk him out. I’ll have our snipers in place before you get there, just in case it goes to shit. Don’t worry, we’ll find Mark Wright. He’s been hiding in plain sight for months and unless he drives up, he won’t know we’re on to him. I’ll have the officers seal the house and lock down the exits to the neighborhood. Nobody will be able to leave. Don’t worry, O; we’ll get him.”

Obermeyer glanced down the hall toward the den and then turned and stared at the shrine. He had read about deranged criminals doing this, but this was his first to witness.
Normally, shrines are pictures taped to a wall and maybe a few extraneous things that remind the psycho of his obsession. This guy, though, turned it up a notch with his sophisticated electronics. This techno shrine was easily portable by downloading it to an external device, allowing him access anywhere there was a computer, modern television, or even on a smartphone. This is one kinky dude
.

His mind jumped to a thought about catching Cooper, hiding in his housekeeper’s bathtub, behind a shower curtain. He wanted to stay to study the lair, but the commander was right. Cooper was a priority. Tonight was turning into a career-defining evening for him. His irritable bowel syndrome symptoms were beginning to kick in.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m on my way,” he said and then hung up the cell phone. Detective Obermeyer was thrilled to be needed, finally.

“Y’all tape off the entire property. No one steps foot inside the tape except the crime scene guys.” He excitedly explained and continued, “And keep your eyes peeled. He just might drive up, not expecting anything. Be sharp. This dude’s an unknown, but at a minimum you should expect an irrational and disproportional violent response to us being here, disrupting his ritual. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I don’t wanna miss that!”

Detective Obermeyer sprinted to his car.

C
ooper touched the red dirt at the edge of the small tunnel, quickly peering into the void, and then tried to swallow the lump in his throat caused by his claustrophobia and loathing of the dark. The music pulsated, Mark yelled unintelligibly, and Grayson screamed in fear and pain. Cooper pushed his pistol in front of him as he squatted to get into the passageway. From what he could surmise, the tunnel was about three feet in diameter and had a fairly steep drop in elevation. He couldn’t see the end of it. He quickly tucked the pistol into his waistband at his lower back in order to crawl on his hands and knees. The dirt ceiling touched his shoulders and scraped against his backpack. The tunnel seemed to get smaller the deeper he inched. To overcome his own fears, he focused on saving Grayson from his sadistic father.

As he progressed through the tunnel, he touched Romex on the ground. He stopped to feel it.
Must be the electrical supply for the lights and music,
he thought. He considered cutting
it, but didn’t want to get shocked or face Mark in complete darkness. He momentarily considered backing out of the tunnel, covering the opening with his gun, and just waiting for the police to arrive, but Grayson’s screams shattered that idea.

Cooper was not trying to be a hero, but he couldn’t leave—do nothing—knowing Grayson was down there, experiencing some unmanageable hell. He told himself that Kelly was safe and that if Grayson were his child, he would do anything—everything—to save him.

Cautiously exiting the tunnel, pistol drawn, Cooper was stunned at the size of the cavern that lay before him. The main chamber was the size of a modest three-bedroom house. He was having difficulty comprehending that this volume of space was deep underground. At first blush it looked like a Universal Studios movie set. Taking a deep breath, Cooper took stock of the situation. The two bare bulbs did little to illuminate the vast area. Mark and Grayson were nowhere to be seen or heard.

Cooper quickly climbed down the old wooden ladder to the floor of the cavern. The music was loud and reverberating from several directions. He crouched behind an old wooden table, searching the shadows for movement. He knew from state history in grade school that Alabama had more caves than almost any other state, some of them giant and stretching for miles, but he had never been in one. There were giant stalactites and stalagmites and other formations he had only seen in magazines. Among the beautiful, natural formations were rusted chains and shackles, neatly coiled and eerily ready… for something. There were two freestanding wooden stocks and a whipping post. Several boards with shackles attached were mounted to the cavern walls. Cooper realized that he was in some sort of torture chamber.
Given the age of the house, it probably dated back to the days of slavery.

The music was so loud that Cooper couldn’t think clearly. Grayson screamed again. The faintness of the shrieks now indicated that they were traveling away from him, farther down into the darkness. Cooper saw the speakers, traced the wires to the sound system, and punched off the power. The stereo was sandwiched between two very large, empty terrarium containers.

The main cavern chamber appeared to have two large caves or tunnels branching off into the abyss. Cooper clicked on his flashlight to look for footprints. He hated the dark, and being underground, even in a large space, made him feel confined. He looked at the ceiling and swallowed hard.

“Thanks, Cooper! Now I can hear you comin’. I’m so glad you joined my party! I think you’ll like the guest list: you, me, Grayson, and the five big-ass rattlesnakes that I just let loose. They make wonderful pets. Kinda mean though,” Mark shouted in a suspiciously calm voice. “They don’t move real fast down here in the cool… but they’re still active and surprisingly nasty. I’ve got on snake chaps that will come in handy. Sorry I don’t have any for you or Grayson.”

Cooper stood, breathing hard. He really didn’t want to respond. He squeezed his pistol and flashlight, while now searching the ground and walls for snakes.

He stepped carefully as he moved toward Mark’s demented voice and yelled, “Give me Grayson!”

“You just don’t get it. You’re the problem, not the solution. I swear, how’d you get to be so successful being so freakin’ stupid?” Mark shouted as he purposely led Cooper deeper underground.

He wanted Cooper in total darkness so that he could double back and get between him and the exit. From years of
exploring, Mark had memorized every inch of the twisting half-mile-long cavern.

“Just let Grayson go. We can talk and work this out,” Cooper answered, noticing hundreds of gray bats hanging from the roof of the smaller cave area.
Wonder why these bats haven’t gone out for the night,
he thought.

Cooper could see fresh footprints in the dirt and bat dung. He used his light to follow them. His pistol at the ready.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m gonna talk with you… and you’re gonna be begging me,” Mark taunted. “You ever heard of Anectine? Wanna try some? My Uncle Don recently did, to his surprise, and I bet some of your huntin’ buddies know what it does.”

Cooper was freaking out at the mention of the drug. Years ago, when it was legal, he heard of bow hunters placing the drug behind their broadheads in tiny balloon-like bags, called poison pods. If a bow hunter arrowed a deer, even with a poor hit, and it drew blood, the poison would kill the animal inside sixty seconds. Those pods were deadly, and he wanted nothing to do with them or the drug.

After Cooper had traveled about 150 yards or so, he was ready to get out. Mark’s comments, the fear of rattlesnakes, the darkness, and his claustrophobia were starting to overwhelm him. Other than the occasional dripping of water, the cavern was silent. Mark had quit talking, and Grayson hadn’t screamed in several minutes. Cooper stood in complete darkness, thinking about what had brought him to this place, both physically and emotionally.

Utilizing a smaller tributary cave, Mark circled around Cooper. Grayson’s mouth was covered with duct tape to ensure silence. Mark’s intimate knowledge of the cave allowed him to move quickly in total darkness.

When Mark and Grayson arrived back at the tunnel to the house, Mark whispered to Grayson, instructing him to remain completely still or else he’d get shocked. Mark quietly opened an old wooden box and retrieved four sticks of dynamite. They were damp from nitroglycerin perspiring through the paper wrapper. He hurriedly inserted aluminum blasting caps and trimmed the fuses to a dangerous four inches, equaling about twenty seconds of burn. Mark knew that Cooper was in deep and smiled at the thought of what lay ahead.

Opening a newer box, Mark removed a pair of military-grade thermal imaging goggles. After twisting the fuses together, he calmly lit two sticks and tossed them into the tunnel leading to the house. He grabbed Grayson and quickly moved to the far side of the cavern, where they crawled under a giant wooden table. He placed his hands over his ears. Not knowing what was happening, Grayson sat unprotected.

Twenty-two seconds later the explosion collapsed the tunnel and blew out the lights. A fog of dirt and dust filled the air. Grayson screamed behind his taped mouth, and his demented father smiled. Mark stood up in the total darkness that he loved so much. Placing the thermal goggles over his eyes, he could see the heat from the explosion in the dirt where the tunnel had been. He looked down at the white heat signature form of Grayson on the dirt floor and heard him crying softly. The dirt showed where Grayson had thrashed about. Mark grinned at the thought of Grayson’s fearful struggling. Somehow he had freed his bound hands because the silhouette of the shock collar showed where his warm little hands had attempted to remove it. The tape he took off his mouth was lying on the ground beside him.

“Man, I love these things,” Mark said aloud but mostly to himself.

The cave’s ambient temperature made the goggles particularly effective at displaying body heat and remnant warmth from recently touched surfaces. As Grayson got to his knees, Mark backhanded him flat to the floor. Grayson screamed.

The ominous detonation at a distance echoed through the cavern like no sound Cooper had ever heard. He had no idea that the tunnel had been blown shut, but he knew whatever had just happened was not good. The entire earth seemed to shutter. Hundreds of bats were flying erratically.

Cooper clicked off his flashlight, squatted down, took a deep breath, and said a prayer for Grayson and himself.

B
rooke was feeling guilty. If it weren’t for Grayson, she’d be gone. She wanted to go back inside the house to kill Mark with her bare hands, in front of Grayson. She hated Mark—actually “hate” really wasn’t quite strong enough of a word to characterize how and what she felt for him. He had become a nightmare since they divorced. He had changed drastically. Shortly after they married, Mark admitted to a family history of mental disease and that he had been diagnosed bipolar. As long as she kept him on his medications, he seemed fairly normal. But it would take only a few days of being off them to flip his personality switch. Had she not been pregnant, they would have never married. At the time, she thought it the best option for her and her baby. Within a few months, however, she became acutely aware of her error in judgement. Dealing with Mark got much worse after the divorce because among other things, she could no longer monitor his medications. She suspected that he stalked her, but she couldn’t prove it.