The Daily Novel

CHAPTER XXII

For any number of reasons, the main one being that there was no official confirmation, the media did not jump on the story with their Saturday editions. By the time producers and editors and assignment chiefs woke up to the potential in the story, Saturday papers were already printed and delivered, Saturday television provided insufficient programming and insufficient viewers and The Courier-Journal was running a front page on their Sunday paper with nearly an entire section inside on The Cloverleaf Murders and on Harlan and Gloria. They even had a fairly good photo of Sue Ellen.

It dawned on those editors and producers that, somewhere out there, the people who had so accurately predicted the first half of the crime had not been interviewed. There was no footage on them. There was no current art on them. There was no one standing in front of them asking the obvious questions, like, Who is he, where does he live, has he disposed of the body yet, will it be in a cloverleaf, which one, when. With only minor variations, they all issued the orders: Find them! Get me something!

Bobbie phoned Sunday morning as Harlan, Gloria, and company were having breakfast. Harlan answered and set the phone on the table with speaker on.

“Hi, everybody,” Bobbie started. “Calling with a heads-up. The beginning of the feeding frenzy is here. Our phones are flooded with demands from other media outlets for information, interviews, access, you name it. The timing was off, mostly because of the weekend and all. Now, I think they’re going to try to make up for lost time.”

“We had one trespass yesterday,” Harlan said. “One of the local stations.”

“Dad chased them off with a shotgun,” Craig said.

“You can’t do that, Harlan,” Bobbie said immediately.

“I know, I know,” Harlan said. “We called Jack and he came over. He strung some yellow crime scene tape across the entrance from the road, shooed the two that were up there off with official talk. Right after breakfast, we’re going out to the property line and put up No Trespassing signs. Jack says that if we were to end up actually pressing charges, the signs have to be in place, so nobody can claim innocent ignorance.”

“But, officer,” Samantha singsonged, “I was simply out for a walk in the woods.”

“Exactly,” Bobbie said.

“What about you?” Gloria asked. “Are they trying to get to you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bobbie sounded exasperated. “Upstairs informs me I cannot stonewall other media on this. So I have interviews scheduled for most of the day. Thing is, upstairs can make me talk, but they can’t make me say anything.”

“Good luck with that,” Gloria said.

“Have you had a chance to talk to Gene or anyone at the Bureau?” Harlan asked.

“No,” Bobbie answered. “I can’t go directly and officially to Gene. Have to handle it through normal channels. Why?”

“When we talked yesterday, he had some encouraging news about the computer work on the motels. He also said that the Troopers in Bowling Green were recording license plate numbers that night,” Harlan said. “I think he may have put extra crews on to process the information, starting today.”

“I’m pretty sure they can nail this guy with what they’re doing now,” Gloria added.

“I sure wish I could talk to Gene,” Bobbie said.

“Hey, you can call Betty,” Gloria said. “She has a direct line to Gene. Maybe she could relay some information between you all.”

“I’ll try,” Bobbie said. “Think it’s too early to call?”

“No. She keeps farmer’s hours,” Harlan said. “She might be at church, but she won’t be in bed. The sun is up.”

“Okay,” Bobbie said, cheerily. “Anything else?”

There was silence. Samantha implored with her eyes, her face. Gloria shook her head.

“I guess not,” Harlan said. “If you have a chance to come up for air, give us a call later.”

“Will do. Bye.”

“What’s the problem?” Samantha asked, after the phone clicked off.

“If we have a prediction and if the prediction is right,” Gloria explained, “like the situation they have in Bowling Green right now, there could be a problem.”

“How?” Craig asked. “Explain it again.”

“Say I have a strong hunch about the timing and the location,” Harlan began. “What do I do with it? Give it to the authorities? Three possibilities there. One, they don’t do anything with it and it is now officially on record. So, if the hunch is right, they’re in big trouble. Two, they do something about it in such a ham-handed fashion that our guy detects it and avoids it. Now we’ve lost him, maybe for good. Three, they do it right and they catch him. Of those three, which do you think is the most likely?”

“Unfortunately, after the success on Bowling Green,” Samantha said, “I think it would be number two: They do something and blow it.”

“I agree,” Craig added. Harlan and Gloria already knew where they stood on the question.

“Then, let’s say I don’t tell the authorities, don’t do anything about it,” Harlan continued. “And, if I’m right, well, I don’t think I could live with that.”

“Which brings us to the stakeout,” Samantha said.

“But what about Bobbie?” Craig asked.

“At Bobbie’s request,” Gloria said, “she doesn’t want to know about anything she can’t write. She doesn’t even want to know if there is something to know.”

“Which brings us to the stakeout,” Samantha repeated, with added emphasis.

“Let’s go in there so I can show you some aerials,” Harlan suggested. They all moved and left the breakfast dishes for later, a most unusual occurrence in that household. No one even thought of staying back and missing even one part of the conversation.

“Start with the day he’ll use. What little science we have points to Monday, and it’s very little, bolstered by logic, and I think it’ll be Tuesday,” Harlan began. “It is so little science and so much hunch that I would not mention it to the authorities. The odds are, they’d be correct to choose Monday night.”

“So you think someone over there is actually working on it?” Craig asked.

“Maybe,” Harlan said. “I’m sure they are thinking the location will be opposite side of the territory. That much has a lot of science behind it. So, I don’t know, maybe they can set up cameras in the cruisers with date/time stamps and GPS signatures. Just snap everybody, or maybe all minivans. It could be useful at the trial if they snapped our guy’s van in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Sounds like some sort of rights violation,” Samantha said.

“Not at all,” Harlan countered. “Your tag is on public display, available to anyone who wants to photograph it, for example. You have no reasonable expectation that your tag will not be recorded. In fact, that is precisely what it’s there for.”

“That’s really about all they can do, sounds like,” Craig said.

“I think what I am going to do is suggest that they repeat the process on Tuesday night,” Harlan said, “but, I won’t say it until Tuesday morning. That way, nothing I say can interfere with their Monday plans.”

“Where?” Samantha asked. “That’s what I want to know. Where?”

Harlan laid out a series of cloverleaf aerials, all of them marked with the direction of approach and the target segment.

“As long as the four quadrants have equal density,” Harlan said, touching three of the photos, “our guy drives three of the circles, and uses the fourth one. When he does that, his vehicle is poised to re-enter the Interstate heading in the right direction for home. The only times he has varied from that are clearly explained by the relative lack of cover in the normal segment.”

Samantha picked up the aerial of the likely dump site and looked at it. “Okay, so Tuesday night into Wednesday morning, this guy is going to arrive here,” holding up the photo, “drive through three of the cloverleafs and stop at this one.” She touched the aerial where Harlan had drawn a large X.

“That’s what I think,” Harlan said. “Gloria, too.”

“And you’re going to be there?” Samantha asked. Harlan nodded.

“What about you, Mom?” Craig asked. “Where will you be?”

“We’re still discussing that,” Gloria said. “I could be there with Harlan. The downside of that is the long hike in, then back out. We can’t park close enough for fear we’ll spook him. And, if we needed a vehicle in a hurry, it would be too far away.”

“One possibility is to get just out of sight on this cross road. Here to the west, it takes a bend pretty quickly and will be out of sight of the Interstate. If there’s a suitable way to pull off the road and wait, that’s probably what we’ll do.”

“We’re going to head into the area early, check all of this out, have a good meal, fill the thermoses,” Harlan said. “Then, I plan to get into the cloverleaf by at least eleven. I’ll still walk around a little, keep the blood flowing and the sleepies at bay. At one, I’ll set up the Kermit chair against a tree. I think I know where he’ll pull off, so I can avoid the path he will use to get to the center. By the way, he always goes to the center, except in Pennsylvania when he was interrupted.”

“Are you taking the shotgun?” Craig asked.

“No. I’m taking the big flashlight, the video camera, cell phone, and coffee thermos, and my Kermit chair.”

“But, what if something happens?” Samantha’s voice rose noticeably.

“I agree with Gloria on this guy,” Harlan said. “He is not a killer, he is a coward. I can’t picture him aiming and shooting at another human being. That’s not what he does.”

“Are you going to tell anyone you’re doing this?” Craig asked.

“That’s delicate,” Harlan said. “I might call Bobbie once I’m in the cloverleaf, put her on alert. I feel like I have to tell Betty something. Haven’t figured out what or when. Beyond that, no. Just you two. It’s not like my information would prevent a crime or save someone’s life. We’re past that point. I’m confident that the background work that the Bureau has going now will nail this guy, so I am not hindering that process.”

“If you’re so sure of that,” Samantha said, “do you really have to go?”

“Yeah, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Harlan said, looking at Gloria.

>>>>>     <<<<<

Gloria stayed behind to clean up from breakfast. Harlan, Samantha, and Craig gathered the signs and string — no nails would be driven into trees — and began to post the perimeter of the property. It was a large place and would take them the better part of the morning to accomplish. They could divide the job and finish in half the time. They didn’t. Speed was not the prize. Walking together around the wooded property was.

At the top of the drive, they saw the yellow tape Jack had strung and left it in place. They put the first sign directly on the gate. Then they started a path parallel to the highway and just inside the property line, hanging signs at eye level. From there, they witnessed the arrival of three separate cars. The cars were moving at a snail’s pace as the drivers all scanned the side of the road, looking for the entrance. When the entrance was spotted, all three cars pulled in, only to be stopped by the yellow tape. The first car was blocked in by the other two, the last of which was sticking partially into the travel lane of the road. The exposed car honked. The first car honked back. Car doors flew open and reporters, presumably, jumped out and faced off.

“I wish we had the video camera,” Samantha whispered, grinning.

Yeah, this could get interesting,” Harlan said, his voice low.

“Well, I wish you had the shotgun,” Craig whispered.

A van with a telescoping mast on top arrived and pulled to the shoulder and honked. Someone jumped out from the passenger side and strode toward the three cars blocking the road. Further excitement was denied by the sound of a siren, the whoop whoop that is meant to attract attention. The roof rack lights came on, and Jack Lutz stepped out of the car, sliding his baton into the loop on his belt and placing his hat squarely on his head. He approached the gathering crowd beside the three cars.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out, “let me have your attention please.” The group hushed and turned in his direction. “That car and that car,” he said, indicating the first two, “are definitely trespassing on private property. That car,” he indicated the third car, “is creating a hazardous driving condition, as is the van. The State Troopers are en route and will deal with the traffic hazards, if they persist. When I retrieve the appropriate forms from my vehicle, I will take the information on the trespassers, if they are still doing so.”

“You can’t do that,” one of the group called out.

Jack grinned, lifted his eyebrows, and cocked his head to the side. The he turned back toward his car to get his clipboard. Harlan, Samantha, and Craig stood stock still. They did not want to attract attention and inadvertently give the reporters what they were there for — a glimpse, a hollered question, anything that they could report. Right now, all they could report is that they were on the wrong side of the law and caught. They chose to be discreet and began the process of backing out of the driveway. Then, at Jack’s urging, they did not use the shoulders to park on. They drove off.

When the coast was obviously clear, Harlan emerged from the woods, followed by Samantha and Craig.

“Nice work, Deputy,” Harlan called. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to draw close and startle Jack. Jack did carry a weapon.

“Thanks,” he called back. “Give me a second to move the cruiser.” He pulled the car into the entrance, turned off the light bar, and got out.

“You saw all of that?” Jack said, approaching.

“Yeah, we were in the woods when  the cars arrived, hanging signs,” Harlan said. “Saw everything, beginning to end.”

“You’re putting up signs,” Jack said. “Good.”

“Were you just in the area,” Samantha asked, “or are we on a special watch or something?”

“Let’s see,” Jack said. “Yes, and yes. We have increased patrols past here. I’m just coming off duty and decided to do a swing-by.”

“Well, thanks,” Harlan said. “I don’t think it would take too much for them to simply hop the gate. Right now, they’re probably trying to figure out where to walk in from.”

“Better get your signs up before you end up with an impromptu interview in the woods,” Jack said. “I’ll check in with you later, see how it’s going.”

Jack left, and the trio continued through the woods, hanging the signs.

>>>>>     <<<<<

Sunday afternoon, and Jerry was standing at the open door of his refrigerator, drinking from the water bottle. His gaze drifted to the window and beyond to the open field behind his house. He wasn’t focused on anything, just letting his eyes drift as his mind drifted. A thought was forming, the thought that he was somehow gaining strength over the up-till-now strong paranoid voice in his head. It seemed to him that he had somehow found the volume control on that voice and turned it down. It didn’t go away completely. It was still there. But, it was no longer loud or dominating.

When Jerry had decided, Saturday, that he wanted to spend the night in the same bed with Sue Ellen, snuggled up without restraints or the ever-present pistol, the voice had tried to break through. Jerry won. It was a wonderful night for him. It was the first time ever that he experienced a form of connubial bliss. He began to grasp why people would marry and spend a life together. It was really blissful, like nothing he had ever imagined. There had been no sex, just two bodies snuggled comfortably together. Jerry sighed.

He knew he couldn’t turn back the clock and remove the damage the bullet had done. He knew that this one would have to end the same way all of the other ones had. He hated the thought and would not allow himself to picture it. He was definite in his resolve to prolong Sue Ellen’s stay. He could get two more wonderful nights together, then take care of things Tuesday night. His internal voice had finally given up protesting the decision.

Since Jerry did not subscribe to a newspaper and would definitely not leave the house while he had company, his only source for news was the TV. He turned it on and went immediately to the weather channel. Inclement weather could significantly impact his plans. The forecast was for continued cold and dry weather for the eastern half of the country. That suited Jerry just fine.

He flipped to one of the news channels and was shocked to see a photograph of someone who looked a lot like Sue Ellen. As he increased the volume, Sue Ellen’s name appeared beneath the picture. The announcer was describing her as a probable victim of the cloverleaf killer and pointing out that the authorities were not confirming it. Jerry was amazed. He was watching national news. This had never happened before — one of his companions showing up on the news.

Jerry stayed in front of the TV much longer that he intended. The entire story unfolded, complete with the amateur detectives who were consulting with the FBI. When Jerry heard and finally grasped that the detectives had predicted that he would take action in Bowling Green and even specified the date, Jerry experienced a tingle up and down his spine, like someone just walked across his grave. At least, that’s what his mother would have said.

The rest of Sunday and again on Monday, Jerry watched intently. He needed to assess the threat. He decided there was no way anyone could know it was him. He decided that he would have to change something about how he picked up new companions. It floored him that he had followed a pattern that someone could pick up on and use to predict. He had another tingle up his spine.

Particularly, Jerry listened for any indication that anyone was predicting where he would dispose of the body and when. He heard no such information. Besides, if there was a pattern, he was already breaking it by extending Sue Ellen’s visit to Tuesday. When he reached that conclusion, he actually sighed. He would think about changing things later, when he had time and when there weren’t more pleasant ways to occupy his time.

He turned off the TV, stretched, and walked toward the bedroom.