By one thirty in the afternoon, calls started trickling in from as far away as Indianapolis. The local TV stations showed the segment about our mystery man on the news at noon, and I assumed other news stations followed suit, depending on their own time zone. I was pretty certain SSA Spelling had a hand in spreading the word.
For the most part tip line calls weren’t credible, but we still had to document every call that came in and take down the information. Truck stops in the Midwest had already been alerted, but unless someone rather tall walked in and raised suspicion, most of those diners and fuel stops were too busy to notice. We depended on deputies to make frequent parking lot rounds and watch for anything that seemed out of the norm.
J.T. answered a call while I was on another line. We stationed ourselves in the bull pen along with several detectives that helped answer tip line calls. Lieutenant Taft kept in touch with the Osage Beach PD and updated them regularly. Everyone pitched in, but at this point our hands were tied until a viable lead surfaced.
“This could be related,” J.T. said as soon as he set the receiver down on the base.
My ears perked up. “What have you got?”
“That was the sheriff’s department in Effingham, Illinois.”
I was already typing that name into my cell phone as he spoke. “And?”
“And a guy driving north on Highway 45 in a pickup truck saw a blanket lying in a ditch a few miles outside the city limits. He was curious enough to pull over and check it out. Let’s just say, he probably regretted doing that once he saw a dead man under it. He called the sheriff, and they investigated and found a dead woman farther back in the brush.”
“Holy shit. Two bodies?”
“Yep, afraid so.”
“Manner of death?”
“They said it looked like knife wounds. Apparently, there’s a Pilot Fuel Stop right up the road from there. They have detectives asking around at that location.”
I checked the distance between Osage Beach and Effingham, Illinois, while J.T. rattled off more details. From city to city, it was a four-hour drive. The killer could have caught a ride with a trucker along Highway 54 after Doc Wilson dropped him off.
I stared at the map on my phone. “Highway 54 intersects with Interstate 70, which goes through St. Louis. Effingham is an hour and a half northeast of there. He veered off the interstate and decided on a smaller highway.”
“Yeah, so he could ditch the bodies. There’s too much traffic on the interstate.”
“It looks like he’s on either 45 or 57. They run parallel to each other and he’s headed north for some reason.”
J.T. huffed. “Or for no reason at all. He could have turned back and continued east on the interstate.”
“We need to know how long that man and woman have been dead and if there’s any connection between them. Maybe he hijacked a husband and wife’s car somewhere along the way. Damn it. He could be in a semi or any other kind of vehicle, and we have no idea where he’s going next.”
“The man found them a half hour ago, and the coroner just arrived. The tip line is doing its job, Jade. They knew to contact us. They’re going to call us back as soon as the ME finishes his initial field exam. I think we ought to wrap things up here with Lieutenant Taft and the Osage Beach PD, check out of the hotel, and hit the road.”
“I’ll call Spelling and run this by him.”
The phone rang on SSA Spelling’s end as I watched J.T. knock on the lieutenant’s door and enter his office.
Spelling picked up on the third ring. “Jade, got something new?”
“Yes, boss. Apparently two bodies, a man and a woman, were found along Highway 45, just north of Effingham, Illinois. They were discovered about a half hour ago, the ME is at the scene, and they’re going to get back to us as soon as he comes up with an estimated TOD. Upon initial exam, we were told both bodies looked to have stab wounds.”
“Husband and wife?”
“We don’t have information on that yet. Highway 45 is just off Interstate 70, a well-traveled route for cross-country big rigs. We were told there’s a truck stop right up the road from where the bodies were found. Local deputies are there now. Should we move on this?”
I heard Spelling groan, and I knew what he was thinking. We were dealing with the worst kind of criminal—a ghost. We had no idea where he went or what kind of vehicle he drove because we didn’t know who he was. The only way we knew where he had been was by the bodies he had left in his wake.
“Pack it up and head to Effingham. We’ll transfer the tip lines to the field office and keep you posted with every update. I’ll touch base with the sheriff’s department in Effingham and let them know you and J.T. are on your way.”
“You got it. We’ll be heading out within a half hour.” I hung up and crossed the bull pen to the lieutenant’s office. He waved me in.
“Sounds like you two are heading to Illinois.”
“Yes, sir, and our boss agreed that the killer has likely moved out of the area. We’ll be checking out of the hotel and leaving for Effingham in just a few minutes.”
The lieutenant pushed back his chair and stood. “I wish we could give the families closure, but until this killer is apprehended, we don’t have anything more than offering our condolences.”
J.T. shook the lieutenant’s hand and gave him his card. “We’ll keep you updated, sir, and it was a pleasure meeting you, even under these terrible circumstances.”
I shook the lieutenant’s hand too, and we left. We headed back to Osage Beach to check out of the hotel and stop by the car rental agency. We needed to swap out the Jeep for a sedan.
Forty-five minutes later, on Highway 54, J.T. sat behind the wheel of a roomy Kia Optima. We’d arrive in Effingham, Illinois, later that evening and make our way to the county sheriff’s department.