Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,65
He dug Ivy’s business card from his wallet. Her cell phone number was most prominent, but there was a Bitterwood Police Department direct-line number in smaller print under the address. He gave it a call and asked for Antoine Parsons.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t Antoine who answered. “Mr. Calhoun.” It took only a second for Sutton to place the voice. Glen Rayburn. He had a particularly smarmy way of saying the name “Calhoun.”
“Captain Rayburn, I’m looking for Ivy Hawkins. I have reason to believe she may be in danger.”
“Oh, she’s in danger, son. Of losing her job if she keeps fraternizing with unsavory characters. I’ll be sure to mention your call to her.” Rayburn hung up on him.
Son of a bitch! Sutton pulled up the number he’d saved for Davenport Trucking and dialed the main number. “Rachel Davenport, please,” he said when the receptionist answered.
“Ms. Davenport is out this morning,” the receptionist replied.
“Then Mr. Davenport.”
“He’s with Ms. Davenport.”
Damn it. “Listen, I have reason to believe one of your trucks is being used to commit crimes. I assume you have a GPS tracker on all your trucks?”
“Yes, sir,” the woman said, “but we don’t track them as a policy. We only check the GPS information if there’s a billing discrepancy or some sort of legal issue.”
“Murder is a legal issue!” Sutton snapped.
“Murder?” The woman stuttered the word.
“Three of your previous employees are dead, and this truck may be involved in the killings.”
The woman’s voice took on a distinctly wary tone. “Sir, if this is some sort of prank call, please stop. We will report you to the authorities.” She hung up on him.
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. The blow stung all the way up his arm, but he held on to the sensation, used the pain to center himself. There was one option left. Not a great one, but he had to take a chance. He dialed another number.
On the third ring, Seth Hammond answered. “Sutton? Is something wrong with Cleve?”
“No, he’s doing fine. Flirting with nurses when I left him.”
Seth chuckled. “That’s about right.”
“Listen, I hate asking you this, but time may be running out.” As economically as he could, he told Seth what he suspected. “Bramlett was on a list of companies renting trucks from Davenport at the time of the murders.”
“And you think someone there might be the killer?” Seth sounded skeptical. “Just because of the connection to Davenport?”
“It’s not that simple, but I can’t explain it.”
“’Cause God knows, I ain’t trustworthy, right, Sutton?”
“I’ve already trusted you with more than I probably ought to,” Sutton shot back. “I need your help, Seth. Is there any way to access real-time tracking of the GPS units in those trucks?”
“Yeah, we’ve done it before to help the police find one of our stolen units,” Seth said. “But management will require a warrant, I’m pretty sure.”
“I don’t have time for that. I think the man who killed those four women may have Ivy Hawkins.”
“Just because she lost her phone?”
It wasn’t that simple, but Sutton didn’t know how to explain his certainty without sounding like a fool. Something was wrong. Ivy was in trouble. He knew it bone deep. “If we were ever friends, Seth, help me.”
Seth was silent a moment. “There’s a way to access the GPS, but I may have to tell a few lies to get it done.”
Sutton bit back a desperate laugh. “You ought to be able to handle that. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I reckon I can. Do you know the unit number?”
“No. But it’s the truck that Bramlett Nurseries rents.”
“Okay. Let me see what I can do. I’ll call you back.”
“Soon, Seth. It’s gotta be soon.”
“The mighty Sutton Calhoun. Knocked to his knees by a little bitty girl.” Seth’s taunting murmur lacked bite. “I’ll hurry.” He hung up.
Sutton pressed his head against the steering wheel, hoping time hadn’t already run out.
Five minutes later, his cell phone rang. “Old Lumber Mill Road, about a mile south of the turnoff to Townsend Road.” Seth Hammond’s voice greeted him without preamble. “It’s been stationary for five minutes.”
A jolt of pure adrenaline zapped Sutton’s nervous system. “Thanks.”
“You want me to call the cops?” Seth asked.
“Call Antoine Parsons—remember him from high school? Tell him Ivy may be in danger and where we think she is.”
“He’s not going to believe me.”
“Make him.” Sutton hung up and put the truck in gear.
* * *
THE DIZZINESS HAD GONE, along with most of the ache in Ivy’s head. She’d ended up bleeding quite a bit from