At 7:00 PM, Ray backed the Suburban down the hill to the detached garage. Once the automatic door opened, he eased the overgrown vehicle halfway inside the bay opposite his Corvette. Everything he needed was stashed among the cluttered shelves: two camouflaged tarps, a six-box case of baking soda, four gallons of white vinegar, a four-pack of 3% Hydrogen Peroxide, a box of vinyl gloves, and a 9mm SIG Sauer P226 with titanium suppressor. Ray unlocked an adjoining storage room and slid an over-sized box of Christmas decorations out of the way. He removed a duffel bag stuffed with $110,000 of fake money and marveled at the Internet and the near infinite number of items that could be purchased with the click of an electronic mouse.
Ray exited and relocked the storage room and tossed the duffel into the Suburban. He closed the hatch and walked to the still open driver’s side door. Before sitting, he felt his iPhone vibrate in his jacket pocket. It was Ted King. “I’m here waiting.”
In ten minutes, Ray joined his best friend at their usual back wall table and ordered matching rib-eyes. Ted chose a glass of red wine. Ray opted for water. He needed to keep a clear head for the night’s mission.
After their food arrived, Ted couldn’t wait to ask. “Did she get everything moved?” Like Ray, Ted hated the nosy and manipulative Jane, but neither man, for now, could do without her skills and inner-circle connections.
“Everything is safe and sound, locked in a closet six feet behind my desk.”
“Downtown?” Ray had called Ted early this morning and relayed Jane’s suspicion that Lee and Lillian had burglarized her house last Thursday night while she and Kyla were at the movies in Gadsden.
“Yeah.” It was still shocking that nothing was missing. The only evidence anyone had been inside Jane’s house was a stack of newspapers lying on her desk. “We dodged a bullet, well, at least I did.”
“Rachel’s diaries?” Ted knew Ray had been right in his first statement. If not for Ted, Jane wouldn’t be reviewing Rachel’s basement diaries. A friend who owed the mayor a favor had driven to New Haven, Connecticut, and broken into Lee’s home. But the actual hero was Jane and her former relationship with Rachel. The two shared everything, including their daily diary writing ritual.
“I’ve got bigger problems, at least potentially.” Ray said, devouring a fresh roll.
“What?” Ted braced himself for the news, yet not expecting a surprise.
“It seems Rachel lied once again. This time, about the 38.”
“The murder weapon?”
“Yeah, she didn’t hide it at the Hunt House.” Ray took a big bite of rib-eye and marveled at the taste. Best steak imaginable and available every day at The Shack.
“So, where is it? Where did Rachel hide it?” Ted knew he had nothing to do with Kyle Bennett’s death, other than his half-century silence. However, he feared Rachel’s diaries as much as Ray. Ted’s appetite waned as he thought about how he had helped Rachel to cover up a totally different crime.
“Roanoke. Rosa’s had it all these years. I just don’t know if she knows it.”
By 9:30, Ray had fielded all the questions he could take. He had more pressing things to do. Although it was over two hours before Billy and Buddy arrived, Ray pulled the Suburban inside the barn’s hallway a few minutes before 10:00.
He grabbed a flashlight, stuck the SIG at his back inside his waistband, and explored a long-abandoned cattle stall. This would be a perfect place to hide the supplies, better than overhead in the loft. Ray didn’t trust the rickety ladder hanging from the hallway’s wall.
After removing and concealing the supplies (other than the duffel of fake money), Ray walked outside, disgruntled over the rain. It had drizzled as he pulled into The Shack’s parking lot. Now, it was approaching a downpour. Ray returned to the Suburban and pulled it forward another six feet. He wanted plenty of room for him and the James twins to conduct business in the dry, at least in the first phase.
At 11:30, a set of flashing lights behind him aroused Ray from a semi-slumber. He had sat the last hour on a too-heated front seat and broken his number one rule: to stay alert.
Ray turned off the Suburban and slid out the driver’s side door. By the time he turned, Billy and Buddy had exited their vehicle and raced inside the barn. “Shitty weather.” Billy said, taking in a panorama view of the barn’s hallway.
Buddy’s face was mixed. Ray couldn’t figure if his squinting eyes were from his truck’s headlights glaring off the rear bumper of the Suburban, or from his skepticism about meeting this late and at this god-forsaken spot. “I almost called to reschedule, but I was already here before the bottom fell out.” Ray thought his statement would cause Billy to relax a little.
“What’s the new job?” Buddy asked, easing closer to the unhinged gate Ray had leaned against the opening to the converted cattle stall. Ray wished he’d opted for the loft despite the questionable ladder.
“Abduct Lillian and bring her to me. She and I need to have a little talk.” Ray opened the Suburban’s rear hatch, tired and eager to get on with things.
“That’ll cost extra, given the risk.” Billy and Buddy saw the duffel and edged forward, revealing their curiosity.
“That’s a hundred and ten thousand. Half.” Ray chose not to delineate the specifics.
Billy took another step forward and leaned into the Suburban, pulling the duffel towards him. “You promised two hundred.”
“I did, half up front, the other half upon job completion.” By now, Buddy and Billy were both reaching in and removing bundles of cash.
Buddy fanned through one bundle, then another, laying each on the carpet beside the duffel. “Add an extra hundred up front and an extra fifty on the back end.”
Billy was about to say something when the first bullet entered his left ear. He started falling to his right, into Buddy. Ray’s second shot hit Buddy in the heart a micro-second after turning toward his falling twin. Two seconds later, both men sprawled in the hallway’s dirt, Billy’s head lying across Buddy’s stomach. Ray shot each man once again, this time between the eyes. Just to make sure.
He had to hurry. The decision not to use the suppressor might be Ray’s undoing. After arrival and storage of the supplies, he’d decided the extra length on the P226 could cause handling problems if stuck inside his pants. Now he needed to hurry. The deafening noise could carry at least as far as the nearest house.
Ray tossed the SIG inside the duffel along with ten bundles of fake cash. He moved the gate, walked to the far back corner, and grabbed the two tarps. He lowered the third-row bench seat and made a camouflaged bed for Billy and Buddy. After removing his coat and donning a pair of coveralls stuffed behind the driver’s seat, Ray removed a pair of vinyl gloves and stretched them over his hands. He then returned to the dead and rolled Billy over. Though the twins were not half Ray’s size, their lifeless bodies were heavy. It took three times to position himself. First, he sat Billy upright on his butt and leaned behind him, inserting his arms underneath the dead man’s armpits. Clutching his own hands around Billy’s chest, he stood him straight up and leaned him inside the Suburban. After two tries, Ray shifted Billy’s center of gravity forward enough to twist the legs and push him forward to the rear of the second row’s bucket seats. Ray repeated the exercise with Buddy.
Ray returned to the cattle stall and removed the baking soda, the four gallons of white vinegar, and the four-pack of Hydrogen Peroxide. He quickly poured each over the bloody mess that saturated the soil where the two men had fallen. After tossing the empty containers inside with Buddy and Billy, Ray lowered the hatch and walked to the still-running pickup.
It took ten minutes longer than he’d estimated, given the rain. He repositioned Buddy’s vehicle and nearly got stuck connecting the Suburban to the flatbed trailer hidden behind the barn. One loading ramp gave Ray a fit, but he finally managed to lower it, and drive the truck onto the trailer. Thoughts of how close he had come to forgetting two chains and come-a-longs made Ray realize how easily things can go astray when you’re committing crimes.
It was twelve-thirty-five when Ray turned right onto Cox Gap Road. Phase one was complete. Phase two was just beginning. Even though it would take between three and four hours to deliver Buddy’s truck and the dead bodies, Ray was thankful for the rain. Even though wet and sloppy, it made for an excellent cover.
After two days of careful research, Ray had decided on Horse Pens 40 as the drop-off point for Buddy’s pickup. His thinking was that it would add a layer of mystery, including an alternate direction for law enforcement officers to begin their search once they found the truck. Horse Pens 40 is an outdoor nature park and campground nestled atop Chandler Mountain, thirty-two miles southwest of Ronald Archer’s Dogwood Trail farm.
Ray soaked but satisfied, did not see a sole after unloading Buddy’s truck beside the campground’s bathhouse. Again, thankful for the rain, but also for Jane’s hacking skills in accomplishing what most believed impossible. She had removed his ankle bracelet without triggering an alarm. A literal roll in the hay with the least desirable woman was a small price to pay for his eventual freedom.
***
The trip to the chosen dead body disposal site took seventy-five minutes. The location wouldn’t have occurred to Ray if it hadn’t been for pastor T. J. Miller. He often spoke of the Holy Spirit’s powerful movement during two revivals he’d preached in 2012 and 2013 at Valley Head Baptist Church.
Just as Google Maps had revealed, Church Street turned into Hammond Street. Ray made the ninety-degree turn to the left. In five seconds, he saw the Southern Properties Realty sign on the right in front of an unoccupied house that held the key to Ray’s success in disposing of Billy and Buddy’s bodies.
The driveway was narrow. Once again, Ray was thankful. This time for having temporarily parked his twenty-foot flatbed trailer behind the body shop of McLarity Ford in Fort Payne. Otherwise, he’d be stuck and unable to turn his rig around.
The owners nestled the house along the edge of a multi-thousand-acre span of forest that ran north and south along the west side of Highway 117. That thick forest engulfed the home of Alister and Gaynell Fortson. The Southern Properties listing had mentioned hiking as a valuable benefit that accompanied the Fortson’s home. This had led Ray to discover, via Google Maps, a beaten path up the mountain from the home’s detached garage. Ray hoped it was wide enough for his Suburban.
Fortunately, it was. In fact, it was wide enough to turn the vehicle around after reaching the crest of the mountain. At two minutes before 2:00 am, Ray removed the bodies and drug each southward fifty feet over the ridgeline toward Hwy. 117, hoping scavengers would do their thing before the twins were discovered. Of course, even if law enforcement found Billy and Buddy tomorrow, they wouldn’t find a clue that would implicate Ray Archer.
A hot shower couldn’t come too soon. At 3:35 AM Ray pulled his Suburban into the Lodge’s garage. He sat and reviewed his mental checklist to verify he hadn’t forgotten a thing. Buddy’s truck hidden. Check. Billy and Buddy’s bodies secreted miles from the truck. Check. The two camouflaged tarps dropped at five-mile intervals along I-59 north of Fort Payne. Check. The bag of fake money (and a host of empty cleaning containers) tossed in a garbage bin at a Jack’s Restaurant at the Collinsville exit. Check. The SIG Sauer lay at the bottom of Lillian’s pond. Check. The flatbed trailer parked inside the barn behind Lillian’s cabin (with the roll-up door closed). Check.
Phase Two was complete. Ray stayed in the shower for almost an hour.
The Pencil-Driven Life 