Buried Emotions
DISCLAIM - NO. SPRAINED FINGERS ON RIGHT HAND, ALL YOU GET.
Chapter Nineteen
Daria rolled her shoulders as she stood back from the dumpsters.
"Smell bugging you?" Billy asked casually.
"It was," Daria sighed. "Which is weird – they usually don't. But here, use this."
Billy took the small cylinder that the FBI Agent had handed him before chuckling. "A stick of Avon perfume? Why?"
"Apply it under your nose," Daria murmured. "Old trick."
"Billy!" Jean yelled. "I need you over here."
Billy and Daria approached just as two of the deputies carefully lifted Vernon from the dumpster.
"Look at this," Jean pointed to the dead man's scraped hand. "It didn't bleed much. Probably occurred as he fell. Morton? Angle that light this way, will you?"
Picking up the copse's hand in her own gloved left hand, Jeannie probed at the injury with a pair of tweezers. "Agent Delgado?"
"Yes, Sheriff," Daria said formally.
"Is that granite?"
"Granite?" Daria murmured. "Not a lot of granite around here, is there?"
"Not unless you go to one of the higher end home improvement stores," Jean said. "Granite usually develops in mountain areas. Not a lot of mountains in Kansas."
"Maybe a churchyard or graveyard?" Daria asked as she examined the sediment more closely.
"No," Jean sighed. "Probably a granite counter top or something…Most folks around here use marble for tombstones. Maybe a few small gravemarkers would be granite, but it costs too much for a larger memorial. And the angle of the injury indicates he was falling. The amount of post mortem bruising would lend credence to the injury occurring at about the same time as death, when there was still blood flowing in the area of the left hand. So we are talking about something at least three feet high, which is still higher than most tombstones."
"Well, then I guess it would be countertops. Maybe we can get the shops that sell granite countertops to run a list of any buyers in Bailey. And the businesses in the area of the hotel. Remember, not too far from the Fairview and granite at least three feet in height…"
"Oh God," Jean muttered, going so pale her husband thought she would faint.
"Sheriff?" Daria asked in concern.
"Mama!" Jean yelled, running towards the back door of the diner.
"My goodness, Bertha Jean," Millie said firmly, wiping her hands on a towel from where she had been preparing food for the law enforcement. "What is it now?"
"Which cemetery was Lucy Tracy buried in?"
"You have more than one cemetery?" Daria asked in mild amusement.
"We have three," Millie said. "The one you can't miss, just off the town square. Not a lot of folks buried there. It was part of the Bailey family property. And the family closed it during the Second World War. The bigger cemetery is located just on the Western portion of Bailey, near the schools and just after the church. There is a smaller one, east of Bailey. It was mainly always used by the farmers who lived east of town. Folks used to say Bailey Proper, for the township versus the farmers, but we stopped doing that a long time ago. But I do say, the farm community is still mainly burying its dead in the smaller cemetery."
"So Lucy Tracy is buried in the larger one near the church?" Jean asked.
"Oh no," Millie shook her head. "Jeff and Lucy may not have been farmers but Jeff came from one hundred and fifty years of Kansas farmers. Lucy is buried in the smaller cemetery."
"What does where Lucy Tracy was buried have to do with anything?" Billy asked.
Jean pulled off her gloves and put them in the trash. "I remember the day we buried Miss Lucy. But I remember a lot more a few months later. Mr. Tracy, well, he was frequently not there, and a lot was falling on Scott's shoulders. One day, he kinda lost it at school. I found him by his mother's grave. But the family hardly ever goes to visit her, saying that's not where they feel her."
"What does Lucy Tracy's grave have to do with this?" Daria repeated Billy's earlier question, frustrated at the sheriff's rambling.
"Jeff Tracy ordered a special memorial for his wife," Jean explained, grabbing her hat and side arm as she headed towards her SUV. "A granite angel, standing about four feet at the peak."
"That doesn't mean the kidnappers are anywhere near that graveyard," Daria protested as she ran after Jean.
"That graveyard is ten minutes from the hotel," Jean said firmly as she pulled out her keys. "And the groundskeeper for the graveyards in Bailey used to live in a house next to that graveyard. He died and a professional maintenance company took over. However, the town voted to let his widow reside there for as long as she wished or she passes, since a new groundskeeper wouldn't need it and she had lived there for more than three decades."
"You think she may have seen something?" Daria asked as she jumped into the sheriff's SUV.
"She's in Texas for another month," Jean sighed as she started the car. "Her house is standing empty and it would be easier for a squatter to take over."
"What kind of evidence do you have?" Daria questioned as the SUV took off in a lurch.
"The soil mix on Jason's clothes would match being held by someone who had been in an area like a graveyard," Jean said.
"That's weak, Sheriff," Daria murmured. "And a borderline hunch."
"Maybe," Jean grimaced. "But it's all we've got at the moment."
Gordon had exited the hotel suite, leaving his family behind. Virgil had been glued to his cell, speaking with Sarah Jane. John was busy examining the computer records from the area – satellite data and whatever he could think of – trying to find some clue where Alan could have been taken. And thanks to the mild sedative Virgil had slipped into Jeff's coffee, their father was finally dozing in a lounge chair, something Gordon feared would not last long.
"Gordon?" Julie asked as they drove along. "Should we be heading out this early?"
"Even if they ask for us to meet them elsewhere," Gordon reasonably explained, "We'd have to move the plane. So this makes sense. But I am hoping to get a lay-out and maybe figure out a way to get a jump on them."
"But will that not endanger Alan?"
Gordon chewed his lip. "Kate and Daria were rattling off statistics at an alarming rate. A lot of kidnappings do not end well. We need to get an advantage over these two. John hacked the prison records of those two. Kyle was always a bit off balance, his time behind bars seems to have made it worse. But Jackson Mitchell is fanatically devoted to his little brother. If I can play his love for his Kyle, maybe I can get him to give up where Alan is. Jeannie and Agent Delgado are working the evidence, maybe they'll find something…Aww, hell. I don't know. But I just can't sit back and wait for Alan to – HELL'S BELLS!"
Julie breathed deep, trying to regain her breath after Gordon had slammed on the brakes in the middle of the deserted country road. Looking at Gordon, the young woman frowned, seeing the red head staring at a spot in the road…where there was nothing. For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of light but decided it was an optical illusion.
"Gordon?" Julie questioned. "Cher? Are you alright?"
"We're going the wrong way," Gordon said firmly, backing up slightly before doing a u-turn.
"What do you mean?" Julie asked. "This is the only way to get to the airport."
"We're not going to the airport."
"We're not?" Julie murmured, wondering if Gordon had completely lost it. "So…we are going back to the hotel…Or not."
Gordon ignored Julie, heading right instead of left at the crossroads – the opposite way from the hotel.
"I love my little brother, Julie," Gordon finally said. "All of us do. And any of his five older brothers would have died to keep the kid safe."
"Five?" Julie asked with a raised brow. "Gordon, you aren't thinking straight…"
"Julie, damn it!" Gordon snapped. "You have to trust me. I'm not about to do anything like you did and endanger Alan."
Julie leaned back, stung.
"I, um, I didn't mean that," Gordon muttered. "But seriously Julie, I just know – I have to go this way."
Gordon focused on the imagine of Tomo Wattamee flickering in and out of his line of vision, like a twisted version of a movie sing-a-long, making a path to follow. He'd make up to Julie later. But seriously, what had she been thinking letting Alan give himself up to the kidnappers? They had to talk about that one, that was for sure.
Kyle sat in the twenty four hour drive through at McDonald's. The dining room closed at midnight and frankly, but he really hadn't wanted to go inside anyhow. The dirt might be explainable…
The blood would be a little more so.
Pulling up to the first window, Kyle nodded at the older redhead in the drive-thru.
"A quarter pounder meal, extra pickle with a strawberry shake and a ranch blt crispy chicken meal with diet Coke?" When Kyle nodded, she smiled and gave the total. "Any apple pies, sir? We just took them from the oven."
"No," Kyle snapped before he froze, remembering Jack's repeated admonishments to not be too friendly and not be too rude – those made you memorable. "Sorry," said, looking away. "Long day."
"I know that one," the cashier smiled kindly. "Here's your change, please drive up to the pick up window."
Kyle pulled forward, as the woman looked at him oddly. Pulling out her cell phone from her pocket, she quickly texted her brother, a deputy on the Bailey police department. He had asked her to keep an eye out for anyone strange. Leaning out the window, she made sure to include the license plate number as well.
Young man, with dirt and possible other stains on his clothes? Smells funny? Kansas ECC516. Black p/u. Heading to hwy.
Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she focused on the next person who had pulled up to the window.
"Dad still dozing?" Virgil asked quietly as he came up behind John.
John glanced up from his computer work, nodding. "Yeah. How is the Island?"
Virgil sat beside his older brother. "Sarah Jane cut things short because Kate and Scott had just landed. She wants to check over Jason herself. Actually, so did Emily, but my wife convinced your wife to sit back and watch."
John smiled slightly. "You did tell her Billy Landman checked him out, right?"
Smiling back, Virgil shrugged. "You know the wives – they are as bad as we are when it comes to looking out for our own."
"And the kids," John asked as he focused on the computer screen.
"Keith and Tommy were asleep, Michael has decided to become a nudist and Sarah Jane says she'll let me know how the rest of the kids are once she looks them over in the infirmary."
"OK…" John stopped and looked at his brother. "A nudist?"
Virgil sighed. "Apparently my firstborn has decided since his clothes get dirty, why wear them? Or at least Sarah Jane thinks that is what he is saying. Apparently, he got the idea from Gordon, when our brother tried to insist a shirt wasn't needed when eating."
"I knew Dad should have corrected him in public instead of his office," John sighed before freezing. "Virg – do you see this?"
Virgil looked at the data lines and sighed. "Johnny, I'm a musician, an artist and a mechanical engineer. This type of data? It's a bit beyond me? Is this even a normal program?"
"I use it on Five," John defended himself.
"So it's not a normal program," Virgil smirked.
"We couldn't hone in on the signal from the cell phones before, it was being bounced all over the globe, remember?"
When Virgil nodded, John continued, becoming excited. "Well, that was when Jackson Mitchell called. But I hoped that when Westcott called Alan, he used the same phone."
"Dare I ask how you traced a call hours after it happened?" Virgil asked. When John began to explain, Virgil raised his hand. "Forget it – I probably wouldn't understand it anyways."
John frowned but continued to enter data, eventually bringing up a satellite map. "By reversing the earlier signal from Mitchell, it looks like his calls came from the same area as Westcott's, probably with the same phone."
"What's in that area?"
"Umm…" John murmured. "One house, some protected land – apparently the nesting grounds of some bobolink, and – Virg, isn't that the cemetery…"
"Where Mom is buried," Virgil sighed. "Sarah Jane and I went there the last time we came to Bailey – to deal with her parents' house. Well, where the house used to be," he shrugged, considering the Woodbury Home had burned to the ground when Sarah was sixteen.
Glancing at their father, Virgil said, "Maybe one of us should go…"
"Both of you go," Jeff softly said, opening his eyes. "I don't want any of you to go anywhere alone. I have to wait here, in case Mitchell calls again and Tin-Tin is apparently more susceptible to sedatives than I am," he said with mild reproach to his middle son. "But be careful – If you spot anything, call Jeannie first. Don't be heroes."
"That's what we do, Dad," John smiled.
"Fires and floods," Jeff sighed. "Not armed lunatics who hate anyone with the name Tracy."
"We'll be careful, Dad," Virgil assured his father, grabbing his emergency kit as they began to leave.
"Boys," Jeff said softly, making his sons turn around. "I – I can't lose any of you."
"We'll be careful," John repeated Virgil's earlier words.
Jeff looked at the closed door, and bent his head, praying desperately for all of his sons…
Alan rolled his head slightly. He felt nauseous, and his head was pounding. A migraine? God knows, this was a stressful enough situation to bring one on…
But it didn't feel right. Alan tried to take a deep breath and realized that was part of the problem. Glancing at the device the Idiot Brothers had placed with him, Alan groaned. Sometimes it stunk to be the son of an engineer. Even he knew that model was not designed for enclosed spaces.
"Great, hypoxia," Alan muttered. "If I end up with brain damage, I'll kill them. And if I die, I'll haunt them. Wanna join me, Tommy?"
Alan looked to where his friend had been. Nope. No Tommy.
Closing his eyes, Alan tried to slow his breathing. Well, that hallucination had faded. Alan drifted off to a feeling of being cuddled…
Never noticing Lucy Tracy holding her youngest son as close as she could.
Jackson Mitchell began to pace back and forth. He hated that Kyle was out of his sight.
Guilt ate at the man, unable to shake the feeling that Kyle was spiraling out of control. If he had only been able to get a hold of his younger brother sooner, Jackson was sure he could have kept the kid out of trouble. If he had been able to get the money when he had the chance, Mitchell would have taken his kid brother and disappeared into Europe or maybe Asia. With new identities, Kyle would have never ended up in prison, he would be on his way to being a somebody. Kyle and Alan Tracy had had similar beginnings, but because Kyle had lacked proper guardianship, his kid brother was an prison-escapee instead of graduating with honors from a prestigious university.
"We're gonna get our second chance, kid," Mitchell murmured. "I promise."
Almost half a mile from the old house, Jean turned off the lights on the SUV. Soon, she pulled to the side of the road and cut the engine.
"I hope you are on the money on this one," Daria softly said, aware of how easily sound could carry on the night air.
"She is," a new voice spoke up.
Both Daria and Jean whipped around, guns at the ready. Both lowered them at the sight of John and Virgil Tracy standing behind them.
"Who called you?" Jean whispered, wondering who she should be annoyed at tomorrow.
"Call?" John smirked.
Jean rolled her eyes. "Thunderbirds are go?" she smirked back before pausing, her eyes briefly flitting to the agent beside her.
Daria groaned. "Seriously? Scott told you and I had to find out after that whole mess in Colorado when Scott was shot?"
"Actually, I found out when they were rescuing people during a tornado that Alan had got caught up in. Not a tornado, but the flood that followed…um, that's a really long story."
"Later, Sheriff," Daria said firmly.
Jean's phone buzzed and she pulled it out, a smile crossing her face as she read the text. "Gage just sent me a text. And the manager from McDonald's tonight – his sister – was covering in the drive-thru when a young man drove through. His picture from their security camera matches Kyle Westcott, driving a black pick-up. The plates match one of the trucks belonging to the Harvest Landscaping Company."
"Wouldn't a company truck be obvious?" Virgil questioned.
Jean shook her head. "Metallic signs are on the company vehicles. That way if they are parked somewhere they can remove the signs so that people aren't aware it is a landscaping vehicles. Reduces the chances of a break in to steal equipment from the trucks. And," Jean smirked, "Since the Widow Jenkins hasn't driven since her stroke a few years ago, she lets the company park one of their vehicles in her garage."
"Possible hostage situation?" John asked gesturing to house as the quietly approached it.
"Only Alan," Jean assured him. "Mrs. Jenkins is in Texas for a few weeks or so. Mama could tell you just how long. But I know the house is supposed to be on the patrol once a night." And Dutton better have been checking it every night, she thought.
At the edge of the garage, Virgil peeked inside. "No truck," he whispered.
"You two stay here," Daria whispered. "No heroics. This isn't a fire or flood or avalanche."
Weapons at the ready once more, the two law officers silently approached the house, Jean from the front and Daria through the back kitchen door. Using their phones, they coordinated through vibrations…Three…Two…
One.
a/n - UPDATES? WHEN MY FINGERS HEAL. cc