“And the only ones that can get you out of this in one piece,” Harper added.
After Jason left, Cain asked Cassie, “You know anything about these guys? Jessie and Dalton?”
“Never heard of them.”
Cain looked at Harper. “Time to dig in.”
She nodded. “Mama B.”
“Mama B?” Cassie asked.
“Our source,” Harper said.
“The one that dug up the phone info?”
Cain nodded. “She can get into places most people don’t know exist.”
“She sounds sinister.”
“She’s actually old enough to be your grandmother. But, the Navy trained her well.”
“And she’ll be able to find out who these guys are?” Cassie asked.
Harper raised one shoulder. “Maybe. Probably.”
Cassie considered that for a few seconds. “Okay. Let me know what you find. I’m going to hit the road and help hunt down the SUV. Or the cabin. Right now, I’ll take anything.”
CHAPTER 42
Cassie drove through town, toward the hospital and the park. The ER looked quiet as she rolled by, no ambulances, only a few cars in the lot. The park was the same. Only one car, a couple inside who appeared to be eating fast-food burgers. She rolled on east and then north, following the county road that would eventually plug into I-75 much farther north than she was going. She looped left and wound through the forested hills, turning off on a number of side roads, climbing a few gravel and dirt drives. Some muddy enough to make traction less than ideal. She encountered a few clusters of homes and isolated cabins. Most were quiet and uninhabited since they were owned by folks over in Knoxville, maybe even Nashville, who came here for R&R when time permitted. She stopped and chatted with a few folks, mostly pulled near the front porch, talking through her lowered window to stay out of the rain.
No one had seen a black SUV, at least not one they didn’t know. No strangers. No unusual traffic. All quiet.
The rain kicked up as she ascended a slope, now almost directly north of town. Thick woods on either side, ratty Johnson’s grass and other weeds edging the pavement, scattered water-filled potholes in the road. Not like she hadn’t complained to the county about the condition of the roadways up this way, but they did nothing. The truth was that they didn’t have the budget and probably weren’t all that interested. Frustrating.
But not as frustrating as trying to find the SUV. Maybe they were wasting their time. Maybe the killer/kidnappers were far away. Knoxville, Nashville, Kentucky. Hell, they could be in Deadwood, South Dakota for that matter. She was beginning to lose confidence in her initial assessment—that they would go to ground nearby, with one of them hit and obviously in trouble, enough to take a doctor hostage right from the ER. Ballsy move. Desperate for sure. To her that meant the victim was seriously damaged. Not a mere flesh wound as they say. This belief was underscored by the considerable blood she found on the floor at the Finleys.
If they were still in the neighborhood, how hard should they be to find? They’d have to come out of their hole sooner or later, wouldn’t they? For supplies, if nothing else. If not, it meant they were well-supplied. Which was a direction Cassie didn’t want to go.
Had they invaded someone’s home? An occupied residence? One that was well stocked because the owners were there? That would mean they had taken hostages and that would up the ante considerably.
The other possibility that popped into her head was just as dark. What if the bad guy is dead? Killed by Tommy Finley’s single gunshot? That just might mean that the killers were long gone and they should be searching for Dr. Buck Buckner’s body in a ditch somewhere.
Frustration didn’t seem strong enough to cover what she felt. Anger, fear, a sense of personal violation. This was her town after all, and her responsibility. She had somehow failed. At least, that’s what it felt like.
Her cell buzzed. Fowler. Maybe he had found something. A little sliver of sunshine would be welcome about now.
“What’s up?” Cassie asked when she answered. The signal was weak, Fowler’s voice static-filled. She couldn’t make out what he said. She slowed, diminishing the tire noise. “Say that again.”
“I can’t find Duckworth.”
“What do you mean?”
“We been talking every half hour or so. Sort of coordinating things, but it’s been an hour. Actually a little longer and his phone goes over to voicemail.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have a signal.”
“Could be, I guess.”
“Maybe he’s talking to someone.”
“Chief, are you serious? Ever known anyone who hated to talk on the phone more than Scotty?”
That was true. Scotty Duckworth made no bones about that. He hated phone calls. Despised texts. Always went out of his way to talk face to face. “The way folks was meant to communicate,” was his belief.
“I take it his radio doesn’t work either.”
“Nope. I got Poppy working on contacting him but so far she says there’s no signal.”
Another source of frustration. Only her SUV and Duckworth’s sedan were actual police vehicles and the city groused about buying those two. Fowler and everyone else drove their personal rides and got reimbursed for the miles. Sort of. But it meant that their radio network consisted of two, everyone else relying on their cell phones as the primary means of communication. Most of the time that was sufficient but not always. Like now. Up here, in the hills, miles from town, the service was weak, spotty, or nonexistent.
“I hope he didn’t slide off the road somewhere,” Cassie said. “Down some ravine.”
“Today would be the day for it. Pretty slippery out here.”
“Where was he, last you heard?”
“Up north of The Crossroads. Zigzagging through the hills.”
“He hadn’t found anything, I take it.”
“No. None of us have.”
“Where are you?”
“Out west a few miles. Not far from Joe Curtis’ and Guy Richland’s places. They ain’t seen anything. No one else either, so I’m headed back and then up toward where Duckworth was
