A bllind eye, p.22
A Bllind Eye, page 22
Chapter 48
Friday February 28th – 8:56 p.m.
We listened.
“They should be alive.” His tone was flat with little urgency.
“Should?” Geonetta snapped.
“The more we talk, the less chance we’re going have a deal.” Bobby Rae tilted his head.
“We got a deal?”
I hesitated but had little choice.
“Now,” Bobby Rae said, “I need a map.”
Command Post
Clamped to the sides of the table, reading lamps illuminated a large map of the park. Bobby Rae leaned over it, gliding a finger through an area known for its abandoned mineshafts.
His finger stopped at a demarcation on a ridge, overlooking Mariposa County. He picked up a pen from the table and made an “x” on a patch of land that had not yet been searched. “You’ll find them here. In an abandoned commercial mine two miles up this trail.”
I noticed he didn’t say he was the one holding them in the mine.
With his finger, Bobby Rae drew an imaginary line up the ridge to show them the direction to the holding sight. “Follow the road up to the top of the ridge. There’s a road to your right with a locked gate and a sign that reads, Keep Out—Private Property. You’ll need to cut the lock.” He straightened. “Stay on the dirt road for another mile to the entrance. There’s a lot of mines up there. There will be several abandoned cars out front.” He turned away from the map and leaned against the table, arms folded. “The mining company placed a locked cage inside for their equipment. That’s where you’ll find them. They’ve got food, water and blankets, but it won’t last forever. It’s going to take you about two hours to the entrance.”
“Where are the keys to the locks?” I asked.
Bobby Rae stopped talking, curved an eyebrow and looked down.
He never intended on letting them go.
Bellows placed a hand on Bobby Rae’s shoulder and squeezed. Bobby Rae’s legs buckled as he fought back a wince. “God help you if they’re not alive.” Bellow looked over to the guards. “Keep him in the holding room down the hall.” Then back at Bobby Rae. “I want you accessible if I find out you’re feeding us a line of shit.”
“Sounds good to me, Hal.”
Bellows reached for Bobby Rae’s throat. I saw it coming and stepped between them. As much as I’d love to see Bobby Rae take a beating, I needed his cooperation. Bellows pulled back.
“I’ll be back for you,” Bellows said.
Out Front of the Mariposa County Sheriff’s Office
We shoved our gear, including an emergency medical kit and heavy blankets, into several large black tactical bags. Two paramedics from the local station were contacted and quickly made ready to travel with us. It was almost 11:00 p.m., too late to gather additional deputies at the station; rather they were called and told to be on stand by and ready to go. The search and rescue teams had been out all day and would be too exhausted to help. I had to work with what I had and get to the abandoned mine as quick as possible. The evidence and crime scene would be secured for Hoskin to manage in the morning.
I crossed the parking lot, threw my bags in the back of the FBI Suburban. “Hal, we’ll take two SUVs followed by the medic truck.” Bellows opened the back of his Tahoe and dug out his bolt cutters, then waved over a corporal to ordered him to join.
I jumped into the front Suburban. Geonetta slid onto the front passenger seat and shut the door.
“Do you believe him?” she asked, her voice filled with doubt.
“I don’t trust anything he says,” I confessed. “We’ll know in two hours.”
I called Hoskin, instructed him to wake his team and have them ready for a possible crime scene examination.
“I don’t know if you’ll be collecting evidence of a kidnapping or a homicide. There’s no cell coverage out there. I’ll have Bellows reach out through dispatch when we find our location.”
The SUVs growled in a deep rumble awaiting our departure, the medic truck positioned close behind. Bellows pushed slowly forward and I followed him out of the parking lot toward the upper ridge in Mariposa County. The hills were littered with abandoned mines, each one identical to the other. One wrong turn could significantly delay our rescue, and the slightest deviation in Bobby Rae’s instructions could be disastrous. I’m not a religious person but quietly I took in a deep breath and asked for help. At this point, I would take whatever I could get.
Mariposa County Sheriff’s Department – Holding Cell
Bobby Rae Olsen
He could hear Agent Paris leaving the parking lot.
Good Luck!
He pressed his face against the small window on the holding room door and smiled at the deputy standing guard. The deputy intentionally did not secure Bobby Rae’s handcuff to the metal bar on the wall. He had asked Bellows for this favor when he was brought back to the holding cell. To his surprise, Bellows granted it. Bobby Rae never thought he would be so lucky. A golden opportunity that made things easier.
He scanned the hallway through the window, watching and studying every movement. His gaze followed each person that walked by. He counted until the next one passed, committed the time to memory. It didn’t take long to confirm: other than the two guards and the receptionist, the building was empty.
Chapter 49
Friday February 28th – 10:35 p.m.
East on Highway 108
The moonless night made it difficult to spot our landmarks. We flew passed them in the evening darkness. The vehicle engine roared when pressed for more power only to be challenged by the rattle and squeak from the vehicle’s rigid frame being torqued and twisted by the jagged, uneven path below our wheels.
I called to Bellows on the radio. “I’ve lost cell coverage. Maintain communication with dispatch through your two-way.” Bellows double clicked his microphone, acknowledging my request.
“I’m still feeling uneasy about this.” Geonetta asked.
“Same here,” I had to admit.
She fumbled with her Surefire flashlight, shoved candy bars and bottled water into her fanny pack—nourishment for survivors. According to Bobby Rae’s directions, we were still an hour away. I pressed on the accelerator, and the SUV began to dance a rough tango on the rocky surface.
Mariposa County Sheriff’s Department – Holding Cell
Bobby Rae Olsen
He sat in his holding cell, watching the two deputies converse outside the locked door. The hallway was empty and dimly lit. He could hear the echo of the receptionist’s shoes clopping back and forth from the lobby to the Xerox machine in the conference room. Work got done at night when there was less commotion. He pressed his ears against the door, caught bits and pieces of the deputies talking on the other side.
One of the deputies yawned. “This is one fucking long night.” He snorted long and deep, filling his lungs with air, hoping to shake off his drowsiness.
“If I drink one more cup of coffee to stay awake, I’m going to piss a river.”
One of the deputies passed the window, placed a paper coffee cup on a small table near the bathroom door. There were muffled words, something about “being awhile,” before disappearing from sight. The remaining deputy grinned, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and closed his eyes.
It was time.
Bobby Rae tapped the window with a knuckle. “Deputy, a little help?”
The deputy rolled around and peered in. “What do you want, Olsen?”
He squinted and turned an ear toward the officer as if unable to hear. The deputy swore under his breath and unlocked the door. “Step away,” he commanded. Bobby Rae complied.
“What’s your problem?”
“Hey man, I gotta’ piss—real bad.”
The deputy peered back at the bathroom, stared at his partner’s coffee cup still perched on the side table. “It’s being used. You’re going to have to wait a little longer.”
“I’m going burst.”
The deputy dipped his head and gave Bobby Rae a look of being inconvenienced before stepping out of his view. A second later, the door opened with the deputy dragging a set of ankle chains. He pointed at a chair. “Sit down.”
Bobby Rae did what he was told.
The deputy bent down at Bobby Rae’s feet, securing one of the large half-moon steel cuffs to his left ankle.
That was the moment he had been waiting for.
Reaching into his jumpsuit, Bobby Rae retrieved the ballpoint pen he stole from the map table; the one he’d taken when he told Agent Paris about mines and dead-end roads. A slight distraction of hope gave him the opportunity to slip it down his jumpsuit.
The deputy still crouched low, his focus on securing the other ankle bracelet had no inkling what was to come. With all his strength Bobby Rae raised his arm high before plunging the pen deep into the base of the deputy’s skull. The plastic case flexed then broke from the force. The deputy’s body jolted, jerked, then twitched. Bobby Rae wrapped his arms tight around the deputy’s neck and squeezed, continuing to ram what remained of the pen even deeper. The deputy’s body tensed and arched, his legs kicked at open air until slowly coming to a halt.
After a few seconds, he heard a slight gurgle, blood filling the officer’s mouth. The convulsions slowed, then he fell still. Bright red spilled from his lips; a thick stream trickled across the stark white floor.
He shuffled the deputy onto his back, preventing the uniform from becoming soaked in blood. Without a clean uniform to change into, the killing would have been worthless.
Redressed, he slipped from the holding room and across the hallway. Knowing where the other officer was, Bobby Rae pushed open the bathroom door. He heard him in the far stall. The door swung shut as he drew the K-Bar steel blade he had taken from his previous victim.
This would only take a moment.
At the sink, Bobby Rae washed the blood from his hands, watching it swirl counter-clockwise, before picking up speed, disappearing down the drain. Tucking his hair under his newly acquired hat, he turned and quietly exited the bathroom, up the empty hall and out the front entrance. The receptionist was returning to her station. She looked up to the sound of the sliding door but Bobby Rae was too quick, already heading into the parking lot, out of sight and into the night.
Chapter 50
Friday February 28th – 11:22 p.m.
Bellows sliced through the first set of locks at the entrance to an old mining campsite. The gate grinded hard on the craggy surface and Bellows ended up having to boot it open. He stepped to the side and waved us in.
The unpaved road was pockmarked with deep crevices. Rocks and bushes besieged the way, making the travel impossible for anything but a four-wheel drive. It took another thirty minutes before I spotted a leveled clearing, covered in trash. Busted refrigerators and rusted washing machines that once kept this makeshift outpost operational were left abandoned. Portable out-houses tilted, doors wide open, having been forgotten, the stench still prevalent. It would have cost the company more to clear the debris than to pretend the rubbish didn’t exist.
We drove past piles of empty propane cylinders before locating the opening. A pair of abandoned vehicles, Chevys, stripped to bare metal, blocked the entrance, just as Bobby Rae described. The cars had been gutted by scavengers, riddled with bullet-holes, used for target practicing.
I stopped in front of the entrance and stepped out, strained to see inside the dark, endless cavern. Bellows had parked next to me. He walked up, assessed the large black hole before pointing his flashlight forward. The immense depth, giving no clues to where it ended, quickly swallowed up the light. Geonetta retrieved two hundred and fifty feet of bright yellow nylon rope from the back of the SUV.
Slinging it over her shoulder, she knotted one end to her belt. “I’ll have a deputy stay outside with a hand-held. He’ll radio to help us find our way back.”
I looked at the bulky rope. Was 250 feet enough?
The entry was tall and wide, more than enough to walk in without having to bend at the waist. The walls were sharp and jagged, cut by massive commercial drilling tools. The air was heavy, damp and musty. We were able to illuminate the interior to see smaller tunnels jutting out in different directions, all pushing deeper into the hill.
Bellows’ voice echoed. “When these mines were active, shafts were drilled to locate large veins of gold or bauxite. Makes the opening look like an oversized ant farm.”
“Bobby Rae’s instruction pointed to the largest shaft.” I pushed a finger to my right, toward a vein that disappeared into more pitch-black. “That’s got to be it.”
Geonetta took lead. Bellows and I followed close behind, my hand occasionally touching the yellow rope for assurance. The paramedics took up the slack, in case something bad happened. The walls were unstable; chunks of rock crumbled away as we passed, raining on our shoulders and necks.
The tunnel went on forever, swallowing up light from our flashlights, like a backyard telescope tracking a distant star. The farther we went, the narrower the tunnel became. Tighter, touching, scraping. The walls coned, and the narrowness forced us to hunch to avoid hitting our heads on the spikey ceiling.
Fifteen minutes in, Geonetta tugged at the rope. It stretched into a tight and straight line. There were only a few loops left on her shoulder meaning we had penetrated most of that two-fifty. At best, we had maybe twenty yards left and yet, we still hadn’t found any signs of life.
Did I make a mistake, take a wrong turn? Is this the right tunnel?
Bellows moved passed me and disappeared. A second later, I saw his light dimly illuminate a ridge that dropped below his boots. He was gingerly standing at the crest of a ledge, overlooking a bottomless black pit. We quickly made our way to him and directed our lights into the drop. Shafts of light rays danced on every side and corners, surveying the surrounding walls in an attempt to comprehend the size. The walls were rougher, scalloped by heavy equipment, the dirt floor long settled into gray dust. Debris was left in place and trash not cleared. This was the end of the shaft. Where the miners gave up.
No one spoke but knew what each one of us were thinking. The cavern was cold but more obviously, undisturbed for at least a decade. I could still smell metal in the air. Other than the remains of discarded drilling equipment and bent scaffolding, there was no storage of food to keep someone alive, no lights to keep someone comforted, and no bars to keep someone captive. The Samuels were never here. Bobby Rae lied. He sent us on a two-hour goose chase. The question was why?
Chapter 51
Saturday March 1st – 12:28 a.m.
Chris Hoskin
He slowed, allowing the patrol car to pass.
The black and white stopped, then accelerated onto the darkened road toward the hills. Hoskin pulled the Suburban into the empty parking lot at the Sheriff’s station. It was half past midnight and he wanted to get a jump on loading up his equipment for a possible crime scene. He stepped out of his SUV and dashed to the front door, trying not to catch a chill. The door flew open, slammed against the back wall with a heavy clunk! Carolyne gave Hoskin a stern look as he stomped his boot clean of snow on the linoleum floor. The slush quickly morphed into a small puddle in the warm lobby.
“Got called from Agent Paris telling me he may have found the Samuels?”
Carolyne shrugged. “They tell me very little.” She pointed toward the holding cell. “Your prisoner is around back. You can ask the two deputies what’s going on. I’d think they would know.” Carolyne buzzed the door open and Hoskin quickly pushed his way in.
The hallway was quiet as he approached the holding room door. He anticipated hearing banter, officers joking, trying to stay awake. But instead, there was no conversation, no laughter. The hall was dark, lifeless. He rapped on the first door but no one answered. His eyes were drawn toward the floor where he caught sight of a pool of red slowly creeping around his boot, gooey and slippery. He straddled the pool, now spreading to the other side of the walkway linoleum.
Then he saw him.
“Shit!” He yanked hard on the door but found it locked. “Hey!” he yelled louder, pounding on the door, the sound reverberating off the walls. “Open the door!”
Carolyne peered around the corner, staring through frantic eyes.
“What’s with all the shouting?”
“Get me a key to this door, now!”
Carolyne disappeared. The sound of her heels clapping across the floor in the adjacent room echoed down the hallway. There was a pause, the sound of a cabinet drawer opening and closing, and then Carolyne running back toward Hoskin. She passed a silver key to Hoskin, who jammed it in the lock and twisted. The mechanism clunked open. He drew his pistol, pushed it forward and around to the right, covering the blind corner. Slowly he peered in. A lifeless body lay crumpled on the floor. It wasn’t Bobby Rae. Half-naked, a young male with a thin sharp object protruding from his neck. Thick, dark blood had coagulated and pooled along the edge of the floor. Holstering his weapon, Hoskin reached down, tried not to slip in the slurry and pressed two fingers on the deputy’s carotid artery, hoping to find a pulse. Nothing.
He turned to see Carolyne, frozen at the door, her stare locked on the deputy. “Is he dead?”
Hoskin nodded.
“What do we do?” she stuttered.
Hoskin stood and guided Carolyne out the door. Suddenly, he remembered. You said two deputies? Where’s the other?”
Mariposa County – Mining Camp
The dim light from the moon entered the opening of the mineshaft. A strong metallic odor from within the cave clung to my clothes as I stepped into the cold open air, making me feel gritty. The deputy holding the other end of the rope stood in front of the opening, watching each of us come to the surface.
