Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Sloane
I glance at my cell phone.
Shit.
Maybe I should’ve thought this through more, but I was so eager to do something productive. I feel like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
After talking to Sheriff Ewing earlier, I was leaving the office to grab a coffee across the street and figure out who to hit up for a ride, when I bumped into JD in the parking lot. He’d been at the motor vehicle department next door renewing his license and offered to drive me back to the ranch.
JD doesn’t talk a whole lot, so I had a chance to mull over this case. I was worried we weren’t peeling away the layers of this case quickly enough. Sometimes the wheels of justice turn too slowly, and although this task force has a broader reach, it also needs to run through proper channels, losing some of the urgency. It could give our subject a chance to cover his tracks or—God forbid—reoffend.
Finding out Michael Cedric has basically been off the grid for ten months or more was unexpected, but discovering those prints don’t belong to him really threw a wrench into the investigation.
Two perps? Or had we been barking up the wrong tree with Cedric? Did this mean we needed to start over?
No. Cedric had to be involved somehow. He owned the truck and inherited the cabin near the dumping ground. That could not have been a coincidence.
So when we got back to the ranch, I popped in to see my little girl, had a quick bite for lunch, and then went to see if I could borrow one of the ATVs.
My plan had been to head back up the trail and get a firsthand look at that cabin to see if there is any sign someone had been staying there recently. Just a little peek in the windows, see if there are any unlocked doors. I wasn’t going to enter but maybe I could poke my head inside, and if I’d seen something of interest, I could’ve perhaps sped up a search warrant for the place, since that’s in the FBI’s hands now.
The river crossing was a piece of cake, I only got a little wet, and the trail has been easy so far. I stopped near where Dan and Wolff pulled me from the gorge and—using a big stick I found for better balance—walked to the rock edge above where Emo found the remains.
There wasn’t anything left to see down below, except for trampled ferns. All the pale bones gone, and for a moment I just stood there in respect to the poor souls whose lives ended up at the bottom of the gorge.
I was about to turn around when my phone started vibrating in my pocket, almost making me jump.
Special Agent in Charge Bellinger’s number is displayed on my screen.
“Special Agent Bellinger, word of warning,” I start off. “Reception may be spotty where I am.”
“Detective Eckhart, I’m not sure what happened, … an issue with the files you sent me.”
“An issue?” I parrot.
“As in, … are glitches in the security feeds around the time markers you …. A section of six minutes in total is missing … three videos provided.”
“What? How is that even possible?”
“I was hoping … able to tell me.” He sounds none too pleased.
“Sir, I have no idea. I even made sure to send you the Google Drive link to the original files instead of the ones I downloaded to my computer to review.”
“Did … download them … last Wednesday?”
The wind is starting to pick up which seems to make reception even worse.
“On Tuesday, actually.”
“And those downloaded … the only ones you reviewed?”
“Yes, sir. Why?”
“Because it … Drive … accessed last … morning …”
Abruptly, the line goes dead.
I try to reconnect, but notice where I had a single bar before, I now have none.
It’s a short walk back to the ATV, where I check my phone again. Nothing . I can turn back, but I’m probably more than halfway to the cabin already. I really don’t want this to be a wasted trip.
I just wish I could give the sheriff a heads-up, but I’ve heard sometimes text messages make it out when you have spotty reception, so I quickly type one out to my boss.
Call Bellinger: Exxon security video tampered with?
Who all had access?
I’m checking the cabin, spotty reception here, will call when I can.
Then I sit down on the ATV with my walking stick between my legs, fire up the engine, and continue on up the mountain. I may need that walking stick because these machines make a lot of noise, and I’d prefer not to advertise my approach should someone be there. Wolff showed me where it is on the map, and I know there’s a narrow path off the trail that takes you to the cabin. I figure I can find some place to hide the ATV from sight, and move in on foot.
The whole way up there I replay the conversation with the SAC. Was he saying someone accessed the files Wednesday morning? He must have, because there was obviously nothing missing from the files I downloaded.
Who did have access to that folder? Ewing, obviously, and whoever sent it to him in the first place. I remember him mentioning he’d ask one of the guys to have a look at the tapes, but I don’t even know if he got around to it. Things have been rather hectic this past week.
I almost end up driving past the cutoff to the cabin on my left. The path is narrower than the trail, but would still fit the ATV if I wanted to drive it all the way up. Instead, I roll the vehicle off the trail and into some underbrush a few hundred feet farther down. Then I grab the walking stick and start to backtrack.
It’s not until I’m only a few feet from the pathway, I notice tire tracks in the looser sand on this side of the trail. They appear to turn onto the path. Someone seems to have come up the trail from the other side of the loop. They may actually be there right now.
I stop and pull my phone out to check how many bars. I have none, but I must’ve hit a pocket with some reception at some point, because my text to Junior seems to have gone through. I quickly type out an update.
Instead of walking up the smaller trail, I duck into the trees. At least they give me some coverage. I check my belt for my sidearm on my hip and the small of my back for handcuffs. At this point, all I want to do is confirm someone is there and wait for others to arrive, but I won’t hesitate to stop them if they try to leave.
I don’t see an ATV, but from what I can see from my vantage point in the trees, the cabin itself is pretty basic, a front door with a small window on either side. It’s nestled in the trees, which is good for me, because it gives me cover while I check out the sides and the back to see if anything is parked back there. It’ll also give me a chance to check for possible additional access or exit points. My goal is to gather information so when backup arrives—I hope—we can draw up a plan of attack.
The going is tough with that damn walking boot hampering me, and I’m tempted to take it off, but I don’t think that’s gonna get me far. Instead, I do my best to keep cover as I circle the cabin.
No vehicles, and only two small windows at the back. No door, which means only one way in or out, since those windows wouldn’t be big enough for someone to get through.
Encouraged by the fact whatever ATV made those tracks coming up here appears to be long gone, I approach the rear of the cabin, hoping to get a glimpse inside.
The window is caked with dirt and I use a tissue I had wadded in my pocket and some spit to clean a tiny corner, enough for me to see through.
The inside looks like one open space, no doors, no plumbing, just what appears to be a chemical toilet in one corner and several jugs of what I assume is water, lined up against the far wall. There’s a kitchen chair with its back underneath one of the front windows, and there appears to be an animal hide of some sort on the floor.
I move to the next window, giving a small patch a quick clean before I bring my eye close to it. I have a slightly different perspective from this angle and just catch the corner of a mattress which must be butting up against this wall.
As fast as I can manage, I round the cabin to the front to see if I can get a peek into one of the front windows. These ones seem to have been cleaned a bit more recently than the ones in the back. I peek over the windowsill and almost have a heart attack when I hear a scream from inside.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, as I process what I’m looking at.
A woman, huddled on the mattress in a corner of the room, shackled to the wall, mouth wide open as she screams. It’s not until she finally quiets and stares straight at me, I recognize her face.
Shelby Vandermeer.
My brain is trying to grapple with the fact a woman I saw just a few hours ago, at her parents’ store, is now held captive inside a cabin on the mountain. She’s even wearing the same clothes she had on earlier.
While I’m still trying to process, my body is already in motion, moving toward the door, only to find it locked.
It’s a very basic mechanism; a hinged metal plate that slips over a ring through which a padlock is hooked. A good kick might do the trick, but I don’t think my ankle would survive. I put my shoulder into it but that doesn’t do much good, and the last thing I need is a bum shoulder to go with my ankle.
I scan my surroundings for anything I could use, pick up a brick-sized rock, and slam it on the lock. It likely won’t do much for the padlock, but I might be able to loosen the metal bracket from the wood it’s screwed into.
A series of well-aimed whacks, and I notice the door having a bit more give. I put my shoulder in again, and then once more, when I hear the wood splinter as the ends of the screws break away from the post. Picking up the walking stick I dropped, I push open the door and walk inside.
“Are you okay?” is my first question as I crouch down beside Shelby.
Her blouse is ripped open, exposing a lacy shelf bra supporting ample breasts. She’s shaking and clearly terrified, eyeing the open door behind me. Any edge she had this morning at the feedstore is long gone.
“He’ll be back,” she sobs.
If someone is coming back, I realize they’d be able to tell something was wrong from a distance with the door open. If it’s the same person who shot at me, they have a rifle and could shoot up this place and us in it without coming close enough for me to stand a chance with my gun.
I get up and close the door. He’ll have to come close enough to see the broken hinge. It’ll give me a fighting chance.
Unless I can get us out of here first, but looking at those heavy metal chains bolted into the wooden beams, I’m not so sure. Those are bolts, not like the wood screws holding the door lock together. The cuffs on her wrist are not standard handcuffs but look like something from the Middle Ages; rusted, with a wider metal band and an actual keyhole.
“Who is coming back?” I ask her as I crouch back down.
I notice dried blood on the side of her neck and follow it up past her ear and into her hairline. A knock on her head? She does seem out of it, could be with fear, could also be a head injury of some kind.
“Shelby?” I prompt her. “Who is coming back?”
“He thought I told you, but I never told,” she suddenly rattles, grabbing my hand so tight I’m afraid she’ll snap my fingers. “ Don’t tell on family , and I never did, but he didn’t believe me. He’s going to kill me…” Her eyes, wide and terrified, turn on me. “You too.”
“No one is going to kill us,” I assure her. “I’m going to get us out of here.”
Family? Is she talking about Cedric or someone else?
Her father?
As soon as the thought enters my mind, I shake it off. I can’t imagine her father doing something like this. Then again, I would never have thought my own father would almost kill my mother and then himself.
At this point it doesn’t matter, all that matters is getting us safely out of here.
I check the cuffs again. If I had a piece of metal wire, I might be able to jiggle the old lock, but I don’t carry paperclips on me, and my hair’s too short for pins.
I look around the cabin, checking to see if there’s anything I might be able to use, but there’s nothing that would serve the purpose.
For once I wish I was partial to underwire bras, but I hate the way those cut into my chest. I turn to look back at Shelby, huddled on the mattress, her blouse gaping open.
“Hey, Shelby?” I sit on my knees in front of her. “I need to get you out of these cuffs, but I’m going to need the underwire in your bra to do it.”
My initial thought is my request caused the panic in her face, but then I hear it…
The sound of an engine approaching.
“It’s him,” she whispers.
Her eyes are wild as she turns to me.
“My cousin.”