Chapter 19
Zoid Hudson was cruising down the Combahee with four tourists on his airboat. It was a beautiful day, as he stopped to let the passengers take pictures of two alligators sunning on the side of the water. As he slowly gave the gas to the rig, the boat moved around a natural hairpin curve, and Zoid eased the lever back to quicken the glide over the water. Then one of the passengers pointed to a prone body face down on the soft sandy stretch of beach. From the boat, the body looked lifeless, which wasn’t too far from the truth. When Zoid saw the girl pointing, he looked over, saw it also, and turned the airboat toward the beach. As he got closer, he realized they were indeed looking at a man’s body. From Zoid’s vantage point atop the raised seat, he could see blood in the sand, and the man’s bloody arm extended away from the body in an unnatural position indicating a severe wound.
Zoid cut the engine and the boat slide up on the sand. Luckily, one of the passengers was a nurse named Susan who worked in the hospital at Warrenton. She and Jake got out and kneeled beside the body. Susan knew right away that the man had experienced severe trauma. She felt his neck to take his pulse. Looking up at Zoid, she said, “I can barely feel a pulse. He won’t last long.”
Zoid called 911 on his cell phone and reported the situation, and said that an experienced nurse was on the scene, but the victim needed medical attention immediately.
When the 911 operator reported the incident to sheriff’s duty officer, there was little doubt as to who the person was. The helicopter standing by at the airport was dispatched to the river. It was on scene within 30 minutes and hoisted Bubba’s weak, but still breathing body aboard.
Caley was told that Bubba was in the hospital and his condition was critical and he may not regain consciousness anytime soon. The news of finding Bubba was welcomed, but the entire investigative team was devastated by what had happened to him. Still, they were relieved that at least he was alive. Caley and J.D. were angry at the turn of events and decided to bring in every member of the Cobb Club for questioning.
The first one to be brought in was Patrick even though he wasn’t a member of the club. Caley began the interview with a friendly interaction with him.
“Patrick you are not from this area. Tell me what you are doing in South Carolina.”
Patrick talked about his venture across the country with Staci on the back of his motorcycle, how they had spent some time in different cities on the trip and just happened to exit the interstate near Flood’s Place where they met Oats, who offered them work.
“What have you heard about Bubba Vandi’s disappearance,” said Caley?
“Just that he is missing. There has been a lot of speculation around the bar about what might have happened to him.”
“What kind of speculation?”
“Everybody says that if he were dumped in the swamp, the alligators would have eaten him right away. Of course, I try not to listen to bar talk much because I have learned such talk is either just idle conversation or alcohol influenced blabbering.”
“Smart thinking,” said Caley, trying to maintain a rapport with Patrick.
“Patrick, you know we have a report on your involvement with the Phoenix DEA. Tell me about that.”
“Well, there isn’t much to tell. I had a job on a farm near Phoenix that was owned by a drug-dealing sheriff. I cooperated with the DEA as an informant. One thing led to another, and I almost lost my life, when the crooked sheriff found out what I was doing.”
Patrick continued to give Caley the details of his activities in support of the DEA Phoenix.
“Patrick, we would like for you to help us the same way that you did in Phoenix. We want you to keep an eye on things out at Flood’s Place. Our relationship would be kept secret. What you think?”
“Well, the last time I did something like that it almost got me killed. I’m not sure I need to get involved again.”
“We wouldn’t expect you to do anything different than you are currently doing. Just talk with us from time to time about what you see going on around the area, and especially at Flood’s Place.”
“OK, I don’t see anything wrong with that, and if I see something I think will cause me trouble, I don’t have to report it. Is that right?”
“Of course, we certainly don’t want you to do or say anything that might put you in any personal danger.”
With the tentative agreement in place, Caley released Patrick and continued to question the other club members. Skeeter Crosby was next.
As they entered the room, the handcuffed man was moving along in front of a six-foot black female deputy weighing at least 275 pounds. Shirley, the deputy, was pure muscle. She was an exercise freak who spent many hours at the gym. She had muscles in her arms, muscles in her hands… muscles everywhere. A cellmate had jokingly told Skeeter, she even had “muscles in her shit.” Her breasts were not big but muscular with rock hard nipples showing through her shirt. Her shirt buttons strained as her breasts fought for freedom from the confinement of her form fitting uniform. To say the least, the 40-ish woman had a strange, but the appealing air of femininity.
In spite of being physically intimidating, Shirley was a good-natured woman. She had worked at the department for years and was kind to the prisoners who were respectful to her. Otherwise, she had a very mean streak, which she didn’t hesitate to exhibit. Immediately upon Skeeter’s admittance, his quick temper and big mouth got him into trouble with Shirley. As they came through the door, Shirley still upset at Skeeter, pushed him ahead of her maintaining a tight grip on the back of his collar. She almost lifted the small man off the floor. His diminutive size, compared to Shirley’s stature, resembled an outraged parent disciplining an eight-year-old. She held on to him until they got to the chair at the table. Before he sat down, she unlocked the handcuffs. Then she put her hand on his shoulder and shoved him down into the chair with a slam. As Skeeter’s butt hit the chair seat, he let out an uncontrollable fart. Everyone did their best to maintain a straight face. Caley couldn’t resist a simple smile, at the first humor she had experienced in many days. Skeeter looked up at the gigantic officer with a hateful stare. After observing the maneuver, Caley concluded that Skeeter wasn’t about to give out any information. Still, she had to go through the interview exercise.
“Mr. Crosby, I understand you are a member of the Cobb Club, is that right,” said Caley?
Lisping he said, “Tho, what abouth it?”
Caley had never spoken to Skeeter and was surprised at the severity of his vocal impediment. Actually, after only a few minutes of conversation, she felt sorry for him.
“You know that Agent Vandi has been missing and we are trying to determine what happened to him, don’t you?”
“It’th none of my bus’neth. Why you ath’ing me about thum ath’hole like that.”
“Tell me Mr. Crosby, do you know Al Ramseth?”
“Yeth.”
“How about Oats Schoenfeld?”
“Yeth, I know ‘em them all. They are memb’th of the Thob Tlub.”
“Have you ever seen Mr. Vandi in the area before?”
“I sa’thd I never, and it’th none of my buth’neth. I never ‘theen him before.”
Caley continued to question Skeeter for another hour but didn’t learn anything new. Then Shirley came back and said, “OK Crosby, let’s go.”
Without hesitation, he got up and turned around placing his hands behind his back and waited for the handcuffs to tighten around his wrists. This time Shirley let him walk out on his own, but was ready to manhandle him if necessary.
Through the day and night, Caley and J.D. questioned ten members of the Cobb Club. At the end of the exercise, they compared notes but still didn’t have any information that would shed any light on Bubba. They agreed that they would soon have to release the people they had brought in. Their next move would be to go back to the area and start the interview process all over. Th
ey visited every residence in the area, even to the ones they had already questioned.
Caley and J.D. were back at her office when a call came in from the duty deputy.
“Hello Caley, this is Bill Timmons, the duty deputy. We have just pulled a black Ford Vic out of Black Creek Run. A boy fishing in the stream beside the road reported it. It hasn’t been positively identified yet, but we think it could be Bubba’s car. We are running the VIN now and should have a report back shortly on the owner.”
“Where is it now?”
“It will be at the County impoundment lot shortly.”
“Be certain that it is not tampered with until I get there. I’m on my way.”
“Sounds good,” said Timmons and hung up the phone.
Caley and J.D. were waiting when the tow truck came in with the car. It was covered with mud, and the top was smashed down where it had been laying upside down in the water. The windows were broken from the impact of the car hitting the surface of the creek. Green pond lilies and other debris were hanging off the bumpers, door handles, and wipers.
“That’s a SLED vehicle alright, and I have no doubt it is Bubba’s,” said J.D. as the car offloaded.
“Yes, and from where it was located, and what little we could get from Bubba, I feel sure that there is a connection some way or another with the people we have been questioning.”
“The Cobb Club, Flood’s Place, or both I’d say.”
J.D. said, “I’ll get a full forensic team in here to go over the car, but I doubt if it will tell us much as long as it looks like it has been underwater.”
“I think we should talk with people around Black Creek Run to see if we can come up with anything. In the meantime, hopefully, Bubba will regain consciousness so he can tell us something.”