The Online Geocacher
Your Free User-Created Ezine for All Things Geocaching

Wed, Aug 6, 2008

He had parked in the shelter of a wooded lot behind the truck stop. Except for a few minor glitches, he had "made the grab" according to plan. The drugs had taken effect on his target and he was now ready to move. She had said her name was Maddy but he had no idea whether that was truthful. She certainly looked like a Maddy, right down to the cute little athletic shoes with the pretty pink markings. She was just his type.

Maddy had put up an unusual struggle. He'd been forced to strike her to settle her down. There was still blood running down the side of her face. The fight had been a little disconcerting at the time, but it had added a degree of excitement to the hunt. She was quiet now.

He reached under his seat for his GPS unit. After turning on the backlight, he snapped a waypoint. Having the exact coordinates made it easy to return to the spot and relive the excitement. He would even be able to pull it up on his mapping software and visualize the whole experience. After saving the waypoint, he threw a blanket over Maddy and started the car. He left the headlights off until the vehicle had cleared the trees and was back on pavement in the parking lot.

Other than the grab itself, this was the most dangerous park of any hunt. He had 105 pounds of evidence under a blanket in the back seat. It was tied to him like a noose and at this point she was not only evidence, she was still a potential witness. One bad taillight and he could end up in Ted Bundy's old room in Starke.

He headed toward the road along the perimeter of the parking lot until he came to the back of the main building. There he saw something that made him come to a complete stop. A familiar vehicle was parked between two large vans. The green Tracker looked just like Serial Finder's. He turned off his headlights and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Soon he was able to make out the unmistakable logo of geocaching.com on a sticker in the front windshield.

This was an opportunity he could not pass up. A plan began taking shape in his head. He pulled into a parking space, turned off the engine and reached into the back seat under the blanket. He pulled the cute little athletic shoes off of Maddy's feet. After glancing around to verify he was unobserved, he removed the blanket from the girl’s face. She was clearly still breathing and there was fresh blood around the cut on her face. He lifted one of her limp hands and rubbed her fingers in the blood. Then he pressed her fingers unto the heel of one of the shoes.

He got out of his vehicle, and approached the tracker from the rear. The back window was unzipped and completely open. As he got closer he was frozen by a strange sound. It was snoring. Serial Finder was reclined in the front seat fast asleep and loudly sawing wood. He had to fight back a chuckle. This was just too funny. Slipping into stealth mode, he stepped to the Trackers rear window and tucked the shoes behind the back seat. Blood evidence. It might prove to be a useful insurance premium.

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Amy lay awake in bed wondering why her sister hadn't called yet. It was several hours past the time she normally quit. Could business have been that good that she kept going? At a truck stop in the middle of the night? She tried to fight back the worry, but the article about the body they found kept coming back into her head. On the way home she'd heard a report about another body being found in Jennings Forest. That wasn't very far from the truck stop.

What could she do? Call the cops and say that her little sister the prostitute was out past her curfew? Even if Mommy were still alive, she certainly couldn't call her. She would just have to wait. She would decide what to do in the morning.

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The brightening eastern sky awakened Mark about half an hour before dawn. He had always been an early riser. He left the Tracker in it's less exposed parking spot and walked around to the front entrance of the truck stop to use the bathroom and get some coffee. He hated the foam cups so he paid the extra $1.99 for the tall reusable plastic cup with a lid. Mark then sat at a booth and took out his PDA and GPS.

He needed to find some help and he knew just who to go to. Joe Merchant was a local cacher of some renown. He had all the gear and his find count was in the thousands. Not only that, but he was pretty sharp. Mark had rarely asked him a question and not received at least a point in the right direction. He had his cell number but it was way too early to call. His plan was to be at his house so that he could call him at a more reasonable time. He didn't know the address, but there was a puzzle cache that would help Mark find the house. With a puzzle cache, the posted location is not accurate. They're dummy coordinates. You have to solve some sort of puzzle in order to find the actual coordinates. On a cache called "Perky's Favorite", the dummy coordinates were the actual coordinates to JoeMerchant's house. It was a local joke.

He had the coordinates in his PDA. While sipping coffee he retrieved them from the PDA and entered them in the GPS. They put him in an area called Oceanway, on the far North side of Jacksonville. He had plenty of time to get there but thought it would be best to stick to side roads just in case the authorities were still looking for him. He would take the long way around through Nassau county to the North.

He decided to get going as soon as he finished his coffee. Before leaving he got a refill and bought some new batteries. He had plenty at home but it would not be wise to go there right now. He also bought some water and some Slim Fast Bars for breakfast. After walking back around to the Tracker, he placed the items in his cooler and drove away to find Joe Merchant.

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Deputy Littlepage pulled is car into Detective Byrd's driveway and taped the horn. Byrd, waiting inside, was out the door in moments.

"Get a good night's sleep boss?" Littlepage chuckled.

"All four hours of it," Byrd answered gruffly.

"Tell me about it."

As the deputy backed the car out of the driveway, Byrd asked, "Do you know where we're going?"

"Got it all right here, son," he said as he held up the little yellow GPS unit. "I figure we'll go to the dump sight and then drive from there to our guy's cache. The one called 'Forest Thicket'. Doesn't look like they're more than a mile apart."

"It's almost seven now. I'm hoping we can be on our way back to the office by nine thirty," Byrd said. "We've got a lot to do today."

"That shouldn't be a problem. If we don't find anything, that is."

"It's a big woods out there. Maybe we'll get lucky."

Littlepage drove on in silence and soon his passenger began to nod off. They made great time through Orange Park because they were heading in the opposite direction of the rush hour traffic. Within half an hour they were leaving the pavement and entering Jennings Forest. The jostling of the rough dirt road woke Byrd from his nap. "There already?" he asked.

"Time flies when you're sleeping."

The left side of the road was private land that contained an interesting mix of dwellings. Everything from large, beautiful ranch homes down to trailer homes complete with pickups set on blocks. On the right side, they passed the trailhead for a horse trail and later one for a hiking trail. After about three miles they came to Forest Road 10. Littlepage turned down the narrow road, picked up the GPS and said, "There's a cache right up here that we'll stop and find."

"One of his?"

"No, but we're going right by it. It's 'Crossroads'. That's the one he said he did before finding the body yesterday."

"I see. By the way, did you bring a map?"

"Map? We don't need no stinking' map. We've got a GPS."

"I hope you're right."

About a half mile down the forest road Littlepage stopped. "This is it. It's about a hundred feet that way," he said while pointing southward.

Both men climbed out of the car and Byrd asked, "What are we looking for?"

"It's an ammo box. The hint is 'You'll know'".

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

Littlepage shook his head and said, "No idea. Let's take a look?"

The men walked to the area where Littlepage had pointed and Byrd said, "What about that big stump ball?"

"Oh man! I think you're a natural, Luke!"

"Wait till we actually find the thing."

Beneath the stump ball was a large crater where the ball had been before the tree had fallen. The hole was about 5 feet across and about three feet deep. It seemed the obvious spot. Littlepage got down on his knees at the edge and reached in to sift through the leaves at the bottom. A few feet away Byrd found a branch. After quickly breaking off the extraneous limbs he had a fairly straight stick over four feet long and about three inches in diameter at the widest end. He stepped to the edge of the crater and began to poke the stick into the leaves.

Littlepage sat back and chuckled, "Have you done this before?"

"Hey, we haven't found it yet. Keep looking."

Byrd noticed a void at the very bottom of the stump ball. He poked the stick into the void and it elicited a resounding 'thud'. "That's sounds like a box to me," he said, smiling.

Littlepage climbed to the bottom of the hole and reached in to pull a container out by the handle. After a few moments, he popped open the lid. The box had a little better selection in it than the Tupperware container they had found last night. There were batteries, a little radio, a couple of coffee mugs and even a DVD still in the shrink-wrap. He pulled out the log but before he signed it he held it up to show it to Byrd.

"Serial Finder," Byrd said.

"Yep. At least he didn't lie about that part. Do you think we should take it as evidence?"

"Na. He's already said he was here. And we got his prints from his coffee cup yesterday."

"Well, lets sign it then."

"Don't forget me," Byrd said.

"Right you are, Luke Duke."

After signing the log at 'Crossroads' they went to the spot were the body was found the day before. They had been over it pretty thoroughly, along with the crime scene unit. Their fresh morning eyes didn't see anything they had missed. It seemed the only thing the killer had left in the way of evidence was the body itself. After walking the area for half an hour, Byrd said, "Let's go to that 'Forest Thicket' cache and see what we can turn up there."

According to the GPS unit, they were only about a mile away. Unfortunately, the forest roads did not provide a direct route. However, after several turns they were on Forest Road 14 heading right for the cache. Littlepage stopped when they came to a sign that said "Road Closed to Motor Vehicles". "What do you think?" he asked.

Byrd pulled his badge out of his pocket and said, "That surely doesn't apply to us."

"What the heck, you know people in the towing business anyway," Littlepage laughed as he accelerated forward.

The road was much narrower. In spots the brush scraped the sides of the vehicle. The tree canopy was much thicker as well. Littlepage picked up the GPS and checked the distance. When he looked up, his eyes widened. He jammed the brakes as hard as he was able and brought the car to an abrupt stop.

"Holy BUCKETS! That was close!" Littlepage yelled.

Byrd was startled to attention by the sudden stop. He looked ahead with his jaw hanging open. "No crap,' he said.

The men climbed out of the car and looked into the chasm before them. It was a river about twenty yards across. The banks were about a twenty-five foot drop. "That would've hurt," Littlepage said.

"You reckon the General Lee can make it, Bo?" Byrd laughed.

"Maybe with Evil Knivel at the wheel. I guess we could use that map after all."

"You think?"

"Use the map, Luke, use the map," Littlepage chuckled.

It was a twenty-minute drive back to the hiking trailhead. There they found a small kiosk with a brochure rack. One of the brochures was a nice little map of the forest. Byrd spread it out on the hood of the car and studied it while Littlepage looked over his shoulder. Soon, Byrd taped his finger on a spot on the map and declared, "This is where we hit the river."

"'Forest Thicket' is about a third of a mile northwest of there."

"That would be right here", he taped at another spot. "Right along Forest Road 1."

"We're going to have to drive around through Middleburg, aren't we?"

"Uh huh," Byrd agreed. "That river is the North Fork of Black Creek. Looks like it bisects the whole forest. There isn't a single crossing.

"Wonderful. That's gotta be twenty miles."

"Let's get going so we don't loose too much time. We've got lots to do today."

By the time they drove around and were actually heading toward the cache again, they were on the opposite side of it about 4 miles from it. It was a long way around considering that they had been within a third of a mile of it. They left the paved road and made their way back into the forest on several gravel roads. The gravel road soon gave way to a dirt road. As they came to within a mile of the cache they encountered another obstacle. The road went right into a stream about forty feet across.

"Another freaking river!" Byrd moaned.

"Wait a minute, there's something about this in the description," Littlepage explained as he pulled some sheets of paper out of his pocket. "Here it is. It says, 'Don't worry about the stream you need to cross. It has a rock bottom and is shallow.'"

"Go for it then. Slowly."

"Sure thing, Luke," said Littlepage as he revved the engine. He put the car into gear and edged into the water. Within moments they were on the other side and he gave a satisfied, "Cool!"

Byrd laughed and shook his head. "How Far?" he asked.

"About three quarters of a mile. We've gotta turn north when we come to Forest Road 1."

They came to the road in moments and turned north. Once again the road narrowed and brush scraped the sides of the car. There were many spots that were soft sand. Littlepage made sure to keep his speed up so that momentum carried the vehicle through. At the firmer spots in the road he checked the distance on the GPS. A few minutes later he pulled to a stop. Littlepage pointed right into the heart of a stand of thick brush, "A hundred feet that way".

The men walked to edge of the brush and tried to push their way in. "Ouch," cried Byrd.

"Careful."

"Damn Brambles."

"No kidding, they’re all over. There's got to be another way through this".

"Let’s try going around."

As they walked to the right of the brush, they came upon a narrow, beaten-down path and followed it. The path led to the opposite side of the stand of brush and then right into it. Soon they were inside, in a small open area, surrounded by brush. Littlepage said, "Obviously this is why it's called 'Forest Thicket'."

"What are we looking for?" Byrd asked.

"A body."

"I mean the cache. What kind of container?"

"It's a micro. A 35 millimeter film canister."

"In this woods?"

"Yep."

The men looked around for a few moments. Byrd dropped to his knees and began to push some fallen leaves out of the way. "Look here," he said. "The ground has been disturbed."

"Digging."

"Could be."

"This would be the perfect place. Even if we'd had a search team up here, I doubt they would have made it inside this brush."

"Help me push these vines back," Byrd asked his partner.

The mean each grabbed a handful of vines and lifted them up. The vines pulled back like a blanket revealing bare earth beneath them. Both men looked down upon the bare ground and recognized the pattern they saw for what it was. They were looking at a shallow grave.