Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 06

Authors note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Tracking Evil, A Podcast: Part 6

Prologue:

The figure in a dark blue uniform sat in his car, as rain beat down against the windshield. The parking lot was full of vehicles but empty of people, the rain heavy enough to obscure the dark shape sat in the driver's seat from anyone who might care to glance in that direction.

He worried at his thumb nail with his teeth, left hand raised to his mouth as he gnawed nervously at the nail plate. As a particularly strong gust of wind rocked his car the man leaned forward and to the side, opening up the glove compartment. He pawed the assorted junk that always seems to accumulate in places like this aside with his right hand, his left thumb now fully in his mouth as he sucked on it in an unconscious throwback to a nervous childhood habit. Finally, the figure straightened back up, a small scrap of paper held between two trembling fingers.

The tremor in his hands didn't make his next task any easier as he carefully punched in the series of digits scrawled on the paper into his cell phone. He held it to his ear, clearing his throat nervously as the soft purring ringtone only seemed to increase his jitteriness.

The abrupt cessation of the ringtone was enough to make him hop in place on the driver's seat, the sudden silence no more comforting to the caller.

"He-hello?" he breathed nervously into the phone, unconsciously pitching his voice into a whisper despite being alone.

There was no reply, the man quickly glancing at the front of his phone to ensure the call hadn't been disconnected. It hadn't.

"Um, Hello...Hello?" He tried again. Again, only silence followed.

The caller had never identified himself as a particularly hardy person, especially mentally. As a child his mother's most frequent description of him had been 'sensitive', his father's less flattering appraisal had been 'damn nervous'. That sensitivity his mother had noticed in him might have been a delicateness but he also had a touch more perceptiveness than most. It was this characteristic that told him that there was a presence on the other end of the line listening.

"Uh, you asked. I mean you told me to call if I had news." he spoke quickly, anxious to finish his task, "Well there was a visitor today at the prison, a deputy sheriff, Deputy McGuigan. She was asking about you, took some stuff you'd left behind with her when she left."

The man paused then, waiting on a response.

"My regards to your wife." a low cold voice oozed from the phone and into his brain. The caller almost replied in turn before he remembered exactly who he was speaking to. Instead, he ended the call without replying, slumping into the seat, drained from the experience.

The weather washed over the car, allowing him an excuse to prolong his return to his shift at the prison. As he attempted to collect himself before returning to face his colleagues, he recalled the day he'd met the voice on the phone outside of the prison walls. Others had ridiculed the tall thin silent prisoner, guards and inmates alike but the caller had known from the first moment he'd seen him that the prisoner known as Ghost was not just dangerous, he was evil too. When the newly freed prisoner had shown up outside his house, chatting amiably with the caller's wife, a cold dread had squeezed the prison guard's lungs. To get rid of him, to get him away from his wife he'd quickly agreed to the small favour requested of him.

Now that favour had been done relief mixed with shame swept through the guard.

As the weather washed over the car, he covered his face with his hands and wept.

Episode 1: " Overland

Through the rye

Gun in hand

Bird in sky

Calling out to the world below

A-hunting we will go"

Arlene and Erica were playing to their strengths.

The Deputy Sheriff was enlisting aid for the hunt. Erica had mixed feelings about this. She fully understood the need for assistance but the loss of one of her comrades was still a painful reminder that when all was said and done, it was she who had begun this hunt, this investigation. As the instigator, some of the blame for Amos's death fell on her shoulders. She'd distracted both him and Duncan with sex, which had led, in part, to Arlene being ambushed. The distraction of the ambush had given Butterman the opportunity to find out more about his pursuers, and the sex scene he had no doubt witnessed had given him all the encouragement he needed to murder Amos.

Erica still found her sleep disturbed on a nightly basis by these thoughts.

While Arlene sought reinforcements, Erica looked to improve their odds in tracking down the killer by employing her journalistic investigative skills. She contacted the same law firm that handled Butterman's aunt's affairs. Speaking to the lawyer that Arlene had been in contact with, Erica was able to trace wildlife enthusiasts that his aunt had contact with over the years. A fruitful series of phone calls to these people had finally put her in touch with a rabidly keen local ornithologist who had been the beneficiary of the aunt's field notes. These notes recorded all of her travels and sightings over her lifetime of local wildlife, especially birds.

Some well-placed flattery later and the notes from the period where Butterman would have been holidaying with his aunt were FedEx' ed to Erica.

Erica then spent the remaining day and a half until Arlene re-joined her, pouring over the handwritten notes, attempting to decipher the flowing script and glean any information hidden inside.

Lunchtime found Erica sat by herself at a large booth in a local bar. The table was taken over by food and papers. A bowl of chicken wings to her left, that she reached for occasionally as she worked. The right side of the tables surface dominated by a map of the Ozarks region. She would read a passage from the field notes, compare something she'd seen in them on the internet, then finally a notation in red marker was made on the map itself. Watching her, the barman shook his head in puzzlement as the attractive brunette slaved away at her task, oblivious to the looks she was receiving from the bar's patrons.

Arlene had to clear her throat twice before Erica looked up blearily from her work. The older redhead grimaced at Erica's pale face a bloodshot eyes but she held off commenting on them. Behind her, a number of strangers congregated, so Arlene half turned to usher them into seats at the booth, waiting until everyone was crowded around the table before she began to make any introduction.

"Gentlemen, Lady...This is Erica." Arlene began speaking as the last person squeezed themselves into the booth. "She is the reason we're all here, the brains behind this entire event."

Erica gawped at Arlene when she heard this introduction. She hardly considered herself the brains, not after receiving so much help from experts like Arlene herself and others like Tiny. Nonetheless she recovered her composure and gave a hesitant smile at the four newcomers.

Arlene continued, now working her way around the table from Erica's right hand side.

"This is Trent." a black man in his early twenties nodded silently to Erica, "He is one of Duncan's nephews and he learned his trade following in his uncle's footsteps." Erica took this to mean that the well-built young man, with his serious eyes, had been or still was in the Army.

"Beside him is Lincoln, Duncan vouched for him, he has had some fugitive experience."

"Hey." the older black man sitting to Trent's right said, giving Erica a small wave from his hand. "Yeah, spent a few years tracking bail jumpers in Texas, before that I did some security work. By the way, Duncan said to say hi."

"Where is Duncan?" Erica asked, her face turning from Lincoln to Arlene and back again.

Lincoln smiled broadly at the question which did a lot to soften his hard flat features. The neatly trimmed goatee and freshly shaved head gave Lincoln a hard look that probably served him well in his profession. Arlene supplied the answer to Erica's question, explaining how Duncan had been showing off on a kids BMX bike and had managed to tear a ligament in his knee, ruling him out of the hunt.

"Beside me." Arlene said, going back to her role of emcee, "Is JP, who you can probably guess was born in the wrong century and has spent way too much time living outdoors."

The old man beside her cackled with good humour and stuck out a hand towards Erica, the first to do so. Erica took his hand, shaking it warmly as he continued to hoot with suppressed laughter. She automatically found herself liking him, his long white beard was raggedly trimmed as was the fringe of white hair that escaped the dirty grey baseball cap tilted back on his head. He reminded Erica of a character from the Dukes of Hazard TV show, Uncle Jesse.

JP wiped away tears of mirth, his blue eyes sparkling with humour. He gave Erica's hand a final light squeeze before releasing it and leaning back in his seat. "Don't you mind Sheriff Scarlet here." he said brightly to Erica, "She's still smartin' from havin' ta let me drive is all."

"Lastly." Arlene said as she ignored the jibe from JP, "This is Sondra. Amos was her godfather."

The black woman sitting opposite Erica didn't acknowledge the introduction at all but Erica watched as the woman's hands clenched briefly into fists at the sound of her godfather's name. To Erica she seemed a surprising choice as companion. She appeared to be no more than five foot three in height, average weight but with an impressive bust that must have been 36F in size. Arlene might have picked up on Erica's thoughts or maybe had decided herself that Sondra needed more in the way of an introduction because she continued talking.

"Sondra caught the gun bug from Amos early. She's been shooting since she was eight, so that's eighteen years of practice and training. She can handle anything with a trigger and I don't think we need to go into her motivation."

There were grunts of acknowledgement from everyone at the table, however Erica had felt Trent shift in his seat when Arlene was talking about Sondra and a quick glance toward him showed him staring at the black woman with a look of consideration on his face.

"You done with these?" JP broke the silence as his arm stretched across the table once again and he pulled the half empty bowl of chicken wings toward him.

"Good thinkin' man." Lincoln commented, "Let's get some food, I'm starving." He raised his hand, gesturing toward the barman who nodded, looking around for a waitress to send to the booth.

"What's all this?"

Sondra's question brought everyone's attention back on her and Erica saw her waving her hand almost contemptuously at the spread of papers on the table.

"Just doing some research to help us out." Erica answered.

"Research, readin', talkin' all fancy. Not much doin' though is there?" There was no mistaking the contempt in her tone but Erica didn't rise to the challenge, guessing that at least some of Sondra's issue was down to the loss of Amos.

"Well, the idea is to get us to Butterman quicker." Erica didn't bother elaborating further, instead she just began shuffling the papers together before pulling the map towards herself in order to fold it back up.

"What do you mean?" Erica realised she hadn't filled Arlene in on her work. She spent a couple of minutes explaining what she'd been up to the last few days, talking about how she'd tracked down the aunt's journals. Erica paused then to allow everyone to order some food and drinks, restarting her story when the waitress moved away.

"A book about where some dumb fuckin' birds are? What da fuck that gonna do for us?" Sondra snorted.

"Nah, nah, nah, I get it. That's clever, real clever." Lincoln said, bald head nodding appreciatively, "Go on girl, finish the story."

Erica smiled towards him and centred the map so that everyone could see it clearly. She pointed out the small red dots she had marked in various positions on the map.

"I went through the field notes a couple of times. Butterman's aunt almost never listed a name for any of her bird watching haunts so that made things difficult. But she must have had aspirations as a poet or short story writer at some point because her notes aren't clinical, they are really descriptive. Now some of them go on a bit, waxing lyrical about a bird's plumage or describing the 'sun kissed leaves of a tree sheltering a nest', again not helpful. However, there are some decent descriptions of landmarks scattered throughout the notes, hills, streams etc. So, I began matching up these geographical features with the species of wildlife she reported seeing there. Some were common enough, but thankfully there were enough that inhabited smaller more specific areas so that I could narrow down our search area."

As she spoke Erica traced out an area on the map, maybe a third the size of the one she and Arlene had originally felt they needed to search. Her research had already more than halved the workload before they'd even begun.

JP had retrieved Erica's notes and ran a finger down her list of land features described in the notes. He glanced at the map then before blowing out his breath in a long low whistle.

"Hat's off to ya, young 'un. I know this area better n' most and that's a powerful piece of trackin' done without setting foot on the ground." Lincoln smacked a clenched fist on the table in agreement to JP's words, flashing a grin at Sondra. The black woman sniffed loudly but under Lincoln's unwavering gaze and etched grin, she eventually relented and offered Erica a small head bob of recognition.

As beginnings go, it wasn't the worst Erica considered as the food arrived.

The next twenty-four hours flew by as the group prepared for the hunt ahead of them.

Erica found her time split between JP and Sondra. For a man in his sixties, he seemed to have an unending river of energy. He spent two hours gruelling Erica over her findings, making her revisit sections of the original field notes while he used his own knowledge of the locality to validate Erica's results. She quickly saw that despite his ready humour and folksy charm, he was competent and professional with regard to the project ahead of them. Watching him bent over the maps, tanned and weathered hands splayed on the tabletop, large beaked nose protruding above the unruly facial hair, Erica was put in mind of a bird of prey. JP might not be the young hawk he once was but there was still a deadly stillness to him, poise and patience concealing an internal energy.

When JP finally let her go, he bounded over to Lincoln and Trent, breaking into an animated discussion with the younger men as to supplies they still needed to source.

Freed from the old white hunter's interrogation, Erica was drawn by Arlene over to Sondra. The black woman's opinion of Erica had improved with Erica's display of research over lunch but it lurched downwards once again when Erica admitted her unfamiliarity with weapons outside of shotguns. That confession led to a three-hour training session where Erica was given the basics on safety and handling of the pistol that Sondra provided for her.

"It's a Glock G19." Sondra explained, "Light enough, simple enough and a good magazine capacity."

They took it to a quiet location that JP recommended and Erica was able to get a feel for it. She did her best to impress Sondra but the constant barrage of verbal tics, all negative, coming from behind Erica as she blazed away at a paper target told her she'd failed to score points with the gun toting ebony beauty. And she was a beauty in Erica's opinion. Sondra boasted a cleavage that Erica could only feel envious of. Her cocoa brown skin was flawless and unmarked save for a small stud piercing her left nostril. Her mouth was wide and sensual, her teeth slightly large but that tiny flaw seemed to just add to the overall package rather than take from it.

Both Trent and Lincoln certainly seemed taken by her, though Sondra seemed to have just one thing on her mind, revenge for Amos.

"Okay, that'll do." Sondra had said, calling an end to the target practice. "This is just a backup piece, just personal protection. I don't think you gonna be killing anyone anytime soon. That's my job. Just wanted to be sure you weren't gonna kill me by mistake. But you all good."

Perhaps it was Erica's despondent face as she examined the largely untouched target or just Sondra's acceptance that Erica too wished to avenge Amos. Whatever the reason the black woman squeezed Erica's hand as she took the empty pistol from her and offered her a smile.

"Don't you worry. When this all done, I'm gonna teach you to use this gun right. Girl like you, looking like you do... shit you need to protect yo'self!"

And then they were off. Three vehicles loaded with supplies as the six-person crew headed out to hunt down a serial killer, a man whose continued existence threatened their own, a man responsible for the death of one of their own. Erica drove, following Arlene, JP snoring like a buzzsaw on the backseat of the car. The journey took nearly 16 hours of driving. They stopped only to eat and use the rest facilities at gas stations they passed. Drivers swapped out with passengers every couple of hours, snatching what rest they could.

None of them knew if they were up against a clock, if Butterman would strike again the next day, next week or next year. They did know that, despite the combined efforts of Erica and JP, they had a huge area to cover and search. And every moment that monster remained at large was a slap in the face to the memory of their friend and a risk to other innocent lives.

When they finally reached the destination, the six hunters tumbled from their vehicles, pulling on limbs to stretch cramped muscles. They were all tired but not one of them voiced a complaint.

Episode 2:

" Every field

Ripe and fine

Every man

A friend of mine

On the trails that we name or know

A-hunting we will go"

Arlene hadn't been idle on the long drive. When they finally stopped at a small campsite area, she was ready to give the team a working plan. There had been some discussion about the relative merits of splitting up the group on arrival. It had been Sondra and Trent's position that Lincoln and Erica should work through the campsites and local supply stores, showing pictures of Butterman to people in the hope of generating a lead. That would play to their strengths and, though it was unsaid, keep Erica from direct involvement in the hunt.

After the ambush however, Arlene was reluctant to split the group up. She had zero respect for Butterman as a human being, but he had proven to be a dangerous opponent and she wasn't going to let anyone in his sights, Erica especially, out of her own. There was some grumbling from Sondra which was expected but Arlene's authority was absolute and after a few muttered comments a testy Sondra agreed to the group remaining together.

A further reason for Erica and Lincoln to hold off waving pictures of Butterman around was for the attention it might attract. At best the local law enforcement might get word of their presence, at worst Butterman himself might be alerted.