Chapter 3 #2
“We just need to know what you think you’re doing.
And I imagine that coat you’re trying to clear the ground with might belong to an elderly woman named Sadie, right?
” Jackson said. “You helped Darrell get her and the other young woman through the trees and to a car that was right beyond us on the highway. And then you were ordered to make this trail disappear. Too late. And you hear that?”
Of course, he was just hearing it himself. The baying of hounds.
Officers were out with their K-9 crews, and the dogs were easily finding the trail.
“They’re going to eat me! The dogs . . . they’re hell hounds and he sent them to eat me because I’m a failure, I failed him!” the man cried.
“Um, no!” Angela told him.
He was unarmed. She glanced at Jackson and holstered her own weapon before walking toward the man and hunkering before him and saying gently, “You’re not a failure—that wretched man who talked you into—or threatened you into—doing this is a failure.
He thinks he has great plans, but . . . well, if we hadn’t stumbled upon you, those officers would have.
But listen to me. We’re going to see that you get to the closest police station so you can get something to eat and drink.
We’ll have both cops and agents there, and you can help us, help us bring down a horrible monster.
Allow us to help you. And then we will need a great deal of help back from you.
First, please . . . are the women still alive? ”
For a long moment, the man just stared at Angela.
“My soul . . .”
“Darrell Manderley isn’t a god, a fallen angel, or Satan himself,” Angela assured the man.
“He’s just your run of the mill human monster who preys on the weak.
Please, you’re not going to be consumed by hellhounds, no one is going to hurt you—they will, in fact, protect you.
Are the women alive?” she asked softly again.
Jackson heard the man whisper, “Yes, just drugged, no idea, can barely walk . . . but alive. He wanted them alive.”
“I’m Angela, Angela Hawkins Crow,” she told the man. “Who are you?”
“Willie Jenkins. William Jenkins. And these days . . . I’m no one.”
“No, sir, every life is valuable; and you are a valuable human being who has fallen on some hard times. You will not be consumed by hellhounds, and no demons are coming after you. We’re going to see that you get some help.”
Jackson shouted out, identifying himself as he moved back along the trail.
Police were coming with their dogs.
He wanted to get back to them quickly and have one or two officers come and escort the man they had found trying to erase Darrell Manderley’s trail into Krewe headquarters.
They obviously couldn’t just leave him, though sweeping the ground with a coat wasn’t a legal offense, despite his admission of what he’d been doing. He still might know something that could help, and then there was another danger.
If by strange chance Darrell Manderley was anywhere near, he would find and kill the man who had failed him by getting caught at his task.
Of course, they needed any information Angela could pry from him, so he stopped the cops, got permission to pet the dogs, and gave them his request. They would continue with the dogs to see if Darrell Manderley had made any other excursions through the forest, but they would see to it that one of their team by the coffee shop would be right out—and protect their witness with their own lives if necessary, Jackson was assured.
And the feds were lead on this case; they would see that he was taken into Krewe headquarters.
He returned to the tiny clearing with the police right behind him.
“No, no, hellhounds!” the man cried.
One of the officers nodded at Angela who had been looking at him.
“Not hellhounds! Sweethearts!” Angela assured the man.
And with the officer’s permission, she snuggled the great German shepherd scent dog and managed to get the man to pet him, too.
“See? No hellhound! Just a big sweetie who does an unbelievable job at finding people when they need to be found. He’s fine; you’ve been duped, but you see the truth now, right?” Angela asked him.
He nodded and looked at her desperately.
“I’m just so hungry!” the man said.
“Willie, we’ll fix that,” Angela told him. “Now, what kind of car was out here and which way did Darrell Manderley go when he got the women into the car.”
Willie looked at her. “Uh . . . dark car, but I think it was a wagon or a . . . no, they call them SUVs, but not a huge one. I . . . I don’t know exactly. The back seat was down so that the old lady and the young lady could be laid out in the back.”
“Beat up? A new car?”
“No, older. I think.”
The officers were standing by; one on the phone already with his headquarters so that the car—most likely one of those recently stolen—would immediately be on their radar.
“Sir, this officer behind me and his partner are going to get you to our offices, and we’re going to get you some food!” the officer promised.
“And then you tell them everything, too,” Angela said. “And anything else you might think of as you get comfortable, get some food into your belly! You’re all right, right? They’re going to take you now!”
She helped him to his feet. As the officers walked him away, he looked back and Jackson smiled.
Angela had a way with people. She could learn things that others might not because she knew when to be fierce.
And when to let empathy be her guide, to offer understanding and care.
“She’s good!” Trent whispered, watching as the man was escorted away.
“She is,” Jackson agreed, “I’m just wondering if there isn’t more that he can tell us.”
“Well, on the one hand, Darrell Manderley might have given that man a fair amount of money to do his bidding—and the fellow could be a hell of an actor getting out of this mess,” Angela said.
“And,” she went on, looking at Jackson, “I would have suggested that we be the ones to keep questioning him, except—”
“He doesn’t know more than what’s he’s told us, and I have them taking him to Krewe headquarters where our people can find out more if there is more,” Jackson said, nodding.
“Okay, so, he left in one of the stolen cars with both women. But I don’t see where he might have taken them into a city—or even a smalltown public strip, a hotel . . .”
“He’s doing something with Halloween,” Angela murmured. “Let’s get out to the road. The dogs can’t help us, but I’m wondering just how far he might have driven. I still can’t believe he wanted out of the forest. This place is vast and huge, some private, fences, walls, and thousands of acres . . .”
“And we have forest rangers, police, agents, everyone out there,” Jackson reminded her. “Here’s the determination that we must make now—do we head out to the road and search for the car along the forest, or—hang on.”
His phone was ringing. Jackson quickly answered it; Bruce.
“On speaker,” he said.
“Good. The local police have already found a dark SUV that had been reported stolen, and they’ve got CSIs working on it now.
But as soon as the officer called it in, they reported back on what they’d discovered.
He abandoned the car, or sorry, the SUV, about half a mile up from the coffee shop and drove it into a ditch in the embankment.
He either had another vehicle there or he dragged his victims back into the forest,” Bruce told him.
Jackson looked at Angela.
“He’s in the forest. He’s . . . he’s doing something—or has already done something—very Halloween,” Angela said.
“Bruce! Keep every agency out there searching through the forest. I know he’s out there, and we know he’s capable of getting help, twisting anyone he can.
And if that fails, he threatens their lives.
I’m willing to bet our missing women aren’t the only people he’s already kidnapped or .
. . or taken to work on whatever his plan may be.
They’re bringing you a man, William Jenkins.
We caught trying to hide Darrell Manderley’s trail.
He’s pathetic, or worthy of an Oscar, one or the other.
Get someone feeding him and appealing to his better side—I think he’s given us all that he might, but . . .”
“You never know,” Bruce said. “We’re on it.”
“He’s really hungry—feeding him will help,” Angela said.
“Food. We can manage that!” Bruce promised. “And you’re—”
“He’s in the forest,” Angela said with determination. “We’re headed to the spot where the SUV was discovered and we’ll go from there.”
“Be careful,” Bruce warned. “This guy is . . .”
“Different! But they have me!” Trent Fielding’s spirit assured Bruce, causing both Jackson and Angela to smile as they looked over at him.
“Yep. We have the best,” Jackson agreed. “Keep us up on anything.”
“Got it.”
“All right, back track, get our vehicle, get to the SUV,” Angela said.
“And then . . .”
“Into the woods again,” she told him.
“I’ll lead the way and try to warn you before your pathetic little mortal feet make you trip over any of the roots!” Trent told them lightly.
“I have pathetic big mortal feet,” Jackson assured him.
Trent laughed softly but hurried through the trees, tracking them quickly back to the coffee shop parking lot where they found their vehicle—actually a dark SUV, too, but a brand new model.
There were agents and police officers on duty at the coffee shop.
They got a nod from the agent in charge and therefore didn’t need to see to it that all was well within.
However, how well the long-time family owned and beloved little shop would fare when all came out in the media, Jackson didn’t know.
He hoped the place would survive.
They were quickly on the road.
The stolen SUV remained in the ditch, almost completely hidden by trees and growth. It was readily apparent in the darkness that it might have easily been overlooked.