Murder! Too Close To Home

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

February 15, 1997

"All hell is breaking loose," thought Tucker as he observed the seemingly hundreds of strobing lights surrounding the site. First on the scene, Deputy Tucker Vance had been unprepared for what he had found.

Walking up to the car, he had initially knocked on the window and waited for the window to be lowered, the beating rain drowning out any noise. Getting no reaction, he shifted his flashlight into the car, at first not understanding what he was looking at.

When the realization came, it had hit like a sledge hammer to his gut. Suddenly he found himself on his knees, expelling seemingly everything he had eaten for the last three days. When he finally felt some control return, he ran to the other side of the car and checked on the passenger.

"27 to base," he spat out quickly into the mic of his radio.

"Base," the dispatcher replied dully.

"10-54, three miles west of town on US 50, I repeat, 10-54, I need all units immediately."

Silence followed for a few seconds before the dispatcher returned, the voice now clipped with excitement.

"27, go to channel 2."

Switching his radio, he heard "Tucker? What's up?"

Taking a deep breath, Tucker then described what he had found and reiterated that he needed help...now!

"Roger, Tucker, help is en-route."

He had started hearing the mournful wails within moments, and it seemed not to have stopped since. This was not something that happened in this county, and everybody was going to want to be involved.

Sheriff McHenry was already here, and he never came out at night. Barking orders like he was still the army sergeant he used to be, the sheriff took control of the scene as soon as he arrived. Tucker was glad to be relieved of that duty; this was way above his pay grade.

The sheriff called Tucker over when he had the scene secured to his satisfaction. "Tucker, did you see anybody around when you pulled up, see another car leaving or anything of that nature?"

"No sheriff, just the taillights of the car; I thought they were in need of assistance. When I saw what was inside, I'm sorry, but I lost it for a minute. I've never seen anything like it."

"Don't worry about that son, you did great considering. You did everything you were supposed to do. No one can know how they will handle their first murder scene."

Sheriff Austin "Lean" McHenry had been around it plenty.

Long ago losing the thinness leading to his nickname, he had first put in his twenty with the US Army, doing three tours of duty in Vietnam.

Afterwards he had moved home and joined the state police, staying there for fourteen years until his election to sheriff last year. Being sheriff of the quiet county had, up to that point in time anyway, been a lot like retirement. But he had quickly reverted back on his extensive training when the call had come in this night.

This was what he had trained for, and his heart was pumping strong in his chest. He hadn't felt that excitement for awhile; it felt good.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the ever-present pack of cigarettes. Remembering his promise to his wife to quit, he nevertheless took out a fag and stuck it in his mouth, leaving his old Zippo lighter in his pocket.

Glancing back at the sound of additional sirens approaching, he grabbed the nearest deputy's arm and yelled, "Keep those God-damned fire trucks back; there's no reason for them to be here."

"It's like a damned circus," he thought to himself.

"How long on the crime scene guys?" he growled at another deputy, who said he would check.

"Tucker," the sheriff yelled, "see if you can get the K9 unit from Allenville PD here, ASAP."

"Yes sir," Tucker answered, heading toward his cruiser to get in touch with dispatch.

A single red bubble-light on the dash of an approaching car caught his eye. He groaned inwardly at the sight, murmuring under his breath

"What the hell is he doing here?"

Allen Vanguard was going to grace them with his presence, and the sheriff had little patience with the young prosecutor. Although acknowledging that he was good at what he did, the sheriff bristled at his attempts to be involved in things he had no business being involved in.

Walking up and standing beside the sheriff, Allen waited for an opening before he spoke.

"Sheriff," he mumbled in greeting.

"Allen," Sheriff McHenry acknowledged stiffly, "Mighty early for the prosecutor ain't it?"

Allen Vanguard took in the grisly scene for a long moment before speaking.

"Well Lean, just trying to get a feel for probably the most brutal crime this county has seen since the horse and buggy days. The people in that car deserve justice, and it's never too early to start on that."

"Do we know the identity of the murdered couple?" he continued.

The sheriff grunted, putting his cigarette behind his ear as he reached into his shirt pocket, grabbing his notebook and flipping it open in a huff.

"Abby and Tyler Lettermen, drivers' licenses say they are from Cairo, Illinois. They were shot execution style, back of the head for both. We are doing a background check to make sure they have no criminal involvement in anything that might lead to this kind of a retaliation, but it would seem to be just a crime of opportunity; wrong place at the wrong time."

"We don't know if they had a passenger before they stopped... maybe the guy in the back seat just went berserk. Maybe they just stopped to help someone with a broken down vehicle, getting shot for their trouble. Either way, we got a real crazy on our hands. I don't have to tell you how scary that would be for the folks of our little county."

"The K9 unit is on its way," the sheriff continued with a grumble as he put away his notebook. "They may be able to tell us which way the perp went from here, if the rain doesn't wash away the scent before then."

"If the second scenario proves to be the case, this was planned out," the sheriff continued with a look of concern on his face. "Whoever did this would have gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to stage a trap for someone."

Sheriff McHenry again reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a small evidence bag with a business card inside.

"Found this on the floor in the back. We assume the doer left it, but we haven't tested it yet. Forensics is on the way. We should know more soon."

Taking the bag, the prosecutor eyed the simple white business card. There appeared to be no identifying marks, save for the one word spelled out in plain block letters: "Ghost".