“It’s just that…people with disregard for the law…it gets me angry, that’s all.”
“Believe me, bud. I understand completely. Why do you think so many police brutality cases come up? It’s not that cops have problems with rage or anger issues, necessarily. The way that people disrespect us and the law can get anyone pissed off.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I appreciate you handling the situation back there so I could settle down.” The younger officer looked up from the now empty plate with an appreciative expression.
“Like I said, it’s done. Let it go. I did.”
Will looked up from the table with questioning eyes. “So, do you believe the lady?”
Trent looked out the window at an old pickup truck driving by, his thoughts somewhere else. “I don’t know,” he answered, turning his attention back to his partner. “I think so. If I was McElroy and I was helping a fugitive from the law, I wouldn’t want my wife to know either.”
He let out a few short laughs at which Will smiled. Then Morris continued, “Yeah, I suppose I do believe her. My guess is that she really was at her mother’s last night and by the time she got home this morning, her husband and Wyatt were long gone.”
A look of bewildered determination came onto Morris’s face. He’d been a police officer for a long time. Sometimes it seemed like too long. One of the biggest things he hated about detective work was that sometimes solutions were hard to come by.
“What we gotta worry about now is where to go next.” He dropped the fork he was holding onto the glass platter and wadded up the napkin next to it. “Looks like the trail has gone cold.”
“Maybe we’re missing something.” Will stirred his coffee, his eyes staring into the brown liquid while he considered the problem.
“Every crime scene has been searched, thoroughly. Every possible witness has been questioned. We went to Wyatt’s house, Schultz’s house. And we got nothing. I just can’t think of where else we could turn.”
Five minutes passed as the detectives sat in quiet frustration, drinking their coffee and turning over every rock in their minds.
The only thing in the diner that wasn’t circa 1950s was the flat screen television that hung over the kitchen area. Two older gentleman who looked like stereotypical truck drivers with trucker hats and jacket vests sat at the bar watching a news report on CNN.
Trent looked up at the screen to see what they were watching. An aerial shot from a helicopter displayed a deep ravine in a mountain range somewhere. The headline on the bottom of the television read, “Tragic accident in Blue Ridge Mountains.”
Rescue crews could be seen at the top of the drop-off working vigorously to get to what looked like the remains of a car resting upside down at the bottom of the mountain. Trent stared at the scene. He could make out that the wreckage was a late model Mercedes-Benz. The news anchor was busily describing the process of the rescue team’s efforts, but continued emphasizing that it was believed there were no survivors. No identification had been made on the vehicle or its passengers, and the authorities were expecting the worst.
Will had stopped gazing out the window at the passersby and joined his partner in watching the news story. Curious, he grabbed the waitress’s attention as she was walking by and politely said, “Excuse me. Do you know where that is?” He pointed at the screen.
Her head twisted around and she noticed what everyone in the diner seemed to be gazing at. “Oh, yeah. That’s up near Brasstown, ‘bout forty minutes from here. Looks like somebody went through the guardrail up there. They been sayin’ fer years they was gonna put a stronger railin’ on that road. I imagine they’ll do it now. Unfortunate that someone’s gotta die before things get changed in this country. I suppose that’s how the government works, though.” Her deep Southern accent was typical for the region. She looked thoughtfully at the television. “Such a shame.”
“You say that place is forty minutes from here?” Will seemed curiously interested in the accident.
“Yeah,” she answered, turning her attention back to the table. “If you get on the highway out there past the light, it will take you straight there. Don’t believe I’d want to go up there right about now though. You can see from the pictures that they’s turnin people around.”
“Is there anything of interest up in that area? Historical sites, campgrounds…?” His voice trailed off. Trent wasn’t sure what his partner was up to.
“No…well, I mean, yeah.” Her face displayed consternation. “There’s a ton of campin’ up there, but nothing super interestin’. It’s pretty and all. I like driving through there this time of year just to look at the leaves changin’ colors.”
A gruff voice interrupted from behind the bar with the clearing of a throat. The cook had, apparently, been listening to the conversation. “There is one interesting place up near that area.”
Will and Trent both tilted their heads towards the man who’d spoken. “And what would that be?” The younger cop urged.
The older man, probably in his upper fifties was busily scraping the grill clean. His brow produced a little sweat underneath his paper hat. The belly that stretched out his white t-shirt seemed to suggest he’d not only been working, but also eating, in the diner for a long time. “Up about twenty minutes past that area right there is a spot called Track Rock. It’s down below Brasstown Bald.” Even though the cook had started talking, he didn’t let that get in the way of his work as he tossed a couple of sausages and hash browns onto the hot surface. His hands busily scattered and mashed the potato strips and flipped the patties.
“Track Rock?” Trent was interested.
“Yeah,” the cook continued, glad to have someone new to talk to. “It’s fairly well known around these parts. There are four large boulders there at the trailhead leading to the top of the mountain. The big rocks have some kind of ancient writing on them that nobody’s ever been able to figure out.”
“You mean, no one has been able to translate it?”
“Exactly. I reckon about a half dozen or so history experts and scientists come up here throughout the year to try their luck at interpreting the drawings, but no one’s ever been able to do it.”
“What kinds of drawings are on these boulders?” Will questioned.
The cook stopped shuffling the sizzling food for a minute and angled his head as if trying to visualize something he’d seen a long time ago. “It’s been a while since I been there. But I can tell you this, ain’t nothing like it anywhere I ever been. All kinds of weird lines and symbols and animal tracks painted all over four big soapstone rocks.”
Trent and Will gave each other an understanding glance. Will spoke, “It’s worth a shot. We got nothing else.”
Considering the option for a minute, Trent finally nodded in agreement. “What have we got to lose? If this guy is looking for something, where else around here would he have gone? It’s at least worth us checking out the wreckage. Maybe he got in a hurry and went off the cliff.”
Will snorted and said, “I doubt we’d be that lucky.”
They both dropped a few dollar bills on the table next to their empty plates and stood to leave. “We appreciate the information,” Trent offered to both of the diner workers who simply nodded their acknowledgment as the two detectives quickly exited the building.
Chapter 38
Allyson stood quietly nearby with hands in her jacket pockets, watching the two men. Sean and Joe had been working on changing the flat tire out for the spare that was attached to the undercarriage of the truck. The work was slow, though, due to the flimsy jack that they were using to lift the heavy vehicle off the ground. Unfortunately, it was all they had.