Chapter 30
Cutter had always associated the odor of mildew with his elderly relatives’ homes in the humid piney woods of East Texas.
Holly Odom’s sandstone house had a leaky roof that gave it plenty of that.
Worse yet, the place wreaked with the sour stench of filthy laundry and unwashed dishes, the felony smell that Cutter knew well but never got used to.
He’d been in dozens of such houses over the course of his career.
As bad as it smelled, Cutter took his time, working from room to room the way he worked a track—step by deliberate step.
Cutter flung open the back door and ran headlong into Chief Smith as he hit the porch.
Smith began talking before Cutter could say anything.
“Why are you sending someone to my house? What the hell did you find in there?”
“It’s a list of anyone who had access to the scene of the armored car robbery,” Cutter said. “Ray Gene Bryant’s name is at the top.” Unwilling to waste any more time, he keyed the handheld and finished explaining the names on the list to the chief and Dispatch at the same time.
Smith got on his radio as soon as Cutter stopped talking. “Parker County,” he said. “You can put my residence at the bottom of your list. My wife’s in town getting her hair done. I just left her a few minutes ago.”
With most Parker County deputies responding to work Cutter’s shooting, highway patrol, Weatherford PD, and constables began to respond, attaching themselves to whichever address was nearest their location.
Cutter jumped in his Caprice, speeding toward North Main and Lucy, lights on, siren on yelp to set him apart from the other speeding police cars on the road.
“Parker County 62.” It was Nikki, her voice burdened with the fatigue from double shifts overflowing with stress.
“Go ahead,” Cutter said.
“Wayne,” Nikki said. “I’m on the phone with Lucy right now. She told me to tell you she’s—and I’m quoting here—‘alright, all good.’ Granger with the Weatherford PD is heading her way, but I thought you’d want to know.”
Cutter heaved a sigh of relief. Alright, all good was their code, meaning exactly what it said. Alternately, everything’s fine was a sign of distress.
“Thank you, Nikki,” he said. “I owe you. Tell her I’ll check in on her soon as I can.”
The entire Sheriff’s Office knew Lucy was ill. All prayed she would come through it. A few, like Nikki, knew how bad things really were.
Cutter pulled himself forward in his seat, chewing on his bottom lip in thought.
He slammed the flat of his hand on the center console and snatched up the mic.
As much as it pained him to do it, he’d trust that Lucy was taken care of for the time being.
Clem Morton was one of the original crime scene investigators, along with Manny Garza.
“Parker County 62,” he said. “Who have you got going to 63’s place?”
“No one at this time,” she said. “Confirming, he’s next on the list?”
“Affirmative,” Cutter said. “I’m half a mile from 63’s residence. I’ll head that way, because the Weatherford PD unit is checking in with Lucy.”
“Ten-four, 62,” Nikki said. “Appreciate it.”
No sooner had Cutter turned off Zion Hill onto the back road that would take him to Deputy Morton’s place than Johnson came over the radio looking for him.
“I need you to call me as soon as practical,” Johnson said. “I found something you’ll want to hear.”
“Stand by,” Cutter said. “I’m four minutes from a phone.”
“Talk to me,” Cutter said almost ten minutes later, after he’d checked on Morton’s wife, Theresa, and asked to borrow her telephone.
She’d shown him to the kitchen, where the phone hung on the wall, and got him a glass of iced tea while he told Johnson over the radio that he was ready to take the call.
“Ricky Lee’s aunt is a gold mine,” Johnson said from the jump.
“I didn’t want to put it out over the radio, but Ms. Odom said ‘Little Ricky’ came around a couple of weeks ago, asking her if he could borrow some money.
She thinks he’s moved to some of those cheap apartments over by Carswell Air Force Base.
She’s trying to find the address as we speak. ”
“Do you think she’s covering for him?”
“Not at all,” Johnson said. “She told me Pink’s running with a man named Allen Duvall.
Dispatch found an Allen Duvall from Tyler.
Last known address is North Fort Worth. In and out of prison for everything from auto theft to strong-arm robbery.
He’s doing life on the installment plan.
But here’s where it gets interesting. Ms. Odom said her husband used to lease some land from the railroad on the far side of the dam that runs along Sunshine Lake.
I used to go swimming there all the time when I was in high school.
We always thought devil worshippers were using that little area by the spillway—”
“Get to the point, LJ.”
“Right,” Johnson said. “Evidently there’s a little line shack tucked in the trees there beyond Town Creek.
Ms. Odom says there’s no electricity, but they have a working windmill and an outhouse.
Sounds like her husband used to take Ricky Lee to help him with the cattle, even before his parents left.
She said it was a ten-year lease. Won’t run out for another two, which means no one else should be running cattle out there at the moment.
It’s supposed to be well-hidden. Hell of a place to hole up when every badge toter in the county is looking for you. ”
“That’s the first good news I’ve heard today,” Cutter said. “You were smart not to put that out over the radio. Is there a road leading in?”
“Ms. Odom says you have to take a little two-track if you want to drive,” Johnson said.
“It’s a hair under a mile. Probably grown up with weeds.
Get this, though. There’s a trail in from the backside of Sunshine Lake that’s less than half that distance.
Ms. Odom said her husband would park at the lake and then take horses or even walk in with Ricky Lee.
I had her draw me a good map of the shack and outbuildings, along with all the approaches. ”
“That’s good work, LJ.”
“Like you say, don’t go anywhere the first time.”
Cutter’s throat went tight. Lucy had just …
“You still there?” Johnson asked.
“I am.” Cutter coughed to hide the catch in his voice.
“I was thinking,” Johnson said. “Maybe we should get some horses and ride back in there from the lakeside. If they’re hiding out, we’ll be able to creep up on them. If they’ve moved on, maybe they left something behind that will point to where they’ve gone.”
“Not a bad idea,” Cutter said. “I’ll get in touch with the chief and see if we can borrow some from him—”
Garza broke squelch over the radio.
“Parker County 65. I need a supervisor and the medical examiner at my location.”
A cold chill ran up Cutter’s spine.
He stood, walking to the wall-mounted telephone as he pulled the handheld radio from his belt.
“Six-Two to 65,” he said. “Call me as soon as possible in reference to that subject you’re with.
” He looked at the phone number printed in the center of the rotary dial.
“I’m at 63’s residence. Do you need the number? ”
“I have it,” Garza said. “Call you in two minutes.”
“Ten-four,” Cutter said.
Clem Morton’s voice came over the radio next. He was out with the chief, working the scene for Cutter’s shooting.
“Everything alright there, 62?”
“All good, Clem,” Cutter said. “Nothing to worry about here.” Then, to Johnson over the phone, “I need to hang up. I want to keep this off the radio. Stand by. I’ll call you right back after I talk to Garza.”
Cutter had no sooner hung up the phone than it rang again. Theresa Morton poked her head in the kitchen, thinking she was getting another call. Cutter forced a smile and waved her off.
“For me,” he said as he picked up. “This is Cutter.”
“What’s up?” It was Garza, and he sounded distant, as Cutter expected he would.
“You mentioned the medical examiner,” Cutter said. “Are we talking Trina Foster?”
“We are,” Garza said.
“Shot?”
“No,” Garza said. “Cut. A lot. The assholes who did this took their time, Wayne. I nearly puked when I came in.”
“They’re still after those diamonds.” Cutter nodded to himself. It was exactly what he’d feared. “Okay. Best guess. How long do you think she’s been dead?”
“Not too damn long,” Garza said. “Body’s still warm. No lividity. Ten minutes earlier and I would have walked in on them.”
“Got it,” Cutter said. “Stand by a second. I need to call the chief.”
“What’s going on?”
Cutter grabbed his radio off Theresa Morton’s kitchen table. “Hold on.” Then into the radio. “Parker County 62 to Parker County 63.”
As a chief deputy, Smith was bad about leaving his handheld radio on the seat of his car. Cutter reached out to Clem Morton directly.
“Go for 63,” Morton said.
“I need to talk to the chief.”
“Whatcha got?” Smith said a moment later.
“How close are you to a telephone?”
“I am right where you left me,” Smith said, sounding exasperated. “Unless there’s a phone in the house, I’m at least ten minutes away from that little stop-and-rob at the edge of town.”
“Okay,” Cutter said, his mind going into overdrive. “It’s not optimum, but trust me, it’s the best we have. Get to a phone ASAP and call Garza at his location. I’ll let him know what’s going on and he’ll brief you.”
“Why can’t you brief me?”
“We need to keep this off the air,” Cutter said. “I’ll already be in the car.”
“Listen, Wayne,” Smith said. “I want you to—”
“Trust me, Chief,” Cutter said. “We need to do it this way. Find a phone as quick as you can and call Garza.” Then, into the phone again, “You still there?”
“I’m here.”
“The Foster place is a couple of miles outside of Peaster, right?”
“Right,” Johnson said. “Northwest, toward Adell.”
“Okay. There’s a good chance we know where these bastards are heading next. I’m going to get rolling toward Sunshine Lake. Smith’s gonna call you in a minute. When he does, I need you to tell him my plan. …”