Cache 72 (A Jaxon Jennings' Detective Mystery Thriller Series, Book 2) Read online

  He looked over the rail and down into the water. The brown water of the St. John’s River showed little beyond two feet into the murk. The bottom could not be seen and since it was high tide, Jaxon was sure it was probably a good ten to twelve feet to the sandy bottom.

  He began to think that it might be attached to the underside of the pier itself and he got down on his knees and leaned over the edge trying to peer underneath. He dismissed this idea as no one would be able to reach the cache without the help of a boat or without getting in for a swim. He knew there were cache sites that had to utilize such things, but they were usually notated as such, and this one did not indicate the need to get wet or have a boat. He stood and paced along the railing looking for anything that might give itself up.

  He was starting to attract attention.

  One old woman sitting in a beat up folding chair with a cane pole hanging out over the edge eyed him and then went back to staring at the tip of her pole. Jaxon moved away.

  He watched a fisherman move from his spot after reeling the line in and walk back to his equipment a few yards away, baiting the hook again. The man nodded at Jaxon, then bent to his tackle box where he rummaged around inside for something. He brought out a cigarette, lighting it. The smoke trailed away in the breeze and Jaxon watched it disperse.

  He was missing something and though he was fairly new at this GeoCaching thing, he had figured out some of the tricks of the trade, but unfortunately they were not helping him now. He pulled out his phone and clicked on the GeoCaching app bringing up the page for this cache. The rating was three stars out of five so that meant it was moderately difficult to find. One star being the easiest.

  He looked at his watch and saw that forty-five minutes had passed since he had found the finger and Bethany Hope was not going to save herself. He was already feeling the pressure and though he had a little over 71 hours, he planned on finding her much sooner than that. Jaxon was not going to make the girl suffer any longer than she had too.

  He put the phone back in his pocket and took the note from his other one and read over the GPS coordinates again to make sure he had them correct. It was the third or fourth time rechecking them, he knew, but he was at a loss.

  He turned toward the newer bridge, which stood white and tall in the afternoon sun, the few cars crossing its span whizzing by, their tires singing on the metal grating at the top. It was about one hundred yards away and there was no way the cache would be located there.

  He did notice a DMV camera on a pole at the top of the span and wondered if the asshole was watching him through it right now laughing his ass off. He raised his hand to it and gave it the finger. A horn honked from a passing car and Jaxon put his hand down embarrassed.

  Two of the fisherman stared at him and the old lady was glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, squinting in the bright sunlight. He stood out like a sore thumb. He was dressed in camouflage pants and shirt, and he wore a belt with a canteen strapped to it. He looked like a lost hunter and since he was not holding a fishing pole, he was sure these people were wondering what the hell he was doing. He glanced at each one, noted their sour, sunburned faces, their multiple poles in the water and their tackle boxes sitting by their feet, and decided he needed to talk to them.

  He paused in mid-step as he headed for the first fisherman and looked back to the end of the pier as something nagged at the back of his mind. Each person standing in their spot had a little cluster of equipment next to them; tackle box, cooler, bucket. Even the guy who had walked away from his equipment possessed the same thing just not next to him.

  But over to the side, where no one was fishing, a lone tackle box sat on the deck. It looked old and weathered, and the plastic, faded, as if it had been sitting in the sun for a long time. Jaxon glanced at each fisherman and counted their tackle boxes. Three. And then there was the lone fourth one with no owner.

  Jaxon moved over to it and stopped.

  He looked down the pier to see if anybody was walking back down to claim their forgotten tools, but everybody was either sitting in their chairs or standing with a pole dangled over the edge.

  He bent to the box and picked it up. It was light. Like maybe there was nothing in it but paper. A paper GeoCaching log perhaps. He opened the lid and stared at the little plastic toys and coins of the cache and smiled. The log was there too. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  CHAPTER 3

  The woman woke and screamed.

  The darkness that surrounded her was almost impenetrable as only a small sliver of light briefly made its appearance and then winked out. A few seconds later, it returned, then winked out again. She screamed more. Her voice echoed loudly and then trailed off. No one answered. She thought she could hear water nearby, but was unsure.

  She struggled with her hands and realized they were bound to something behind her. She was sitting upright on the ground and though she could move her legs and feet freely, she was not going anywhere. Her hands ached, but she did not care. She needed to get out of here.

  Panicking, she kicked her feet and legs and jerked her arms trying to break free. The darkness made her feel claustrophobic and she breathed rapidly as her chest heaved, trying to catch her breath. Adrenalin coursed through her veins and made her immune to the pain caused by her struggling. What the hell was going on?

  How had she arrived at such a place? Who had brought her here (wherever here was) and tied her to this spot, she did not know. She only remembered going shopping at the mall, standing at her car as the mall was closing and dropping her keys. The next thing she knew she had awakened in this terrible place. No one with her and no one to help her. She screamed for help again and her throat burned from the effort. She was so thirsty.

  A trickle of water found its way to her legs and she only noticed it because her pants felt wet. The trickle grew and after a few minutes, puddles formed around her calves. What was happening? The light winked on and off again and now she could hear water sloshing up against whatever she was inside of. Was it a boat? An old house by the sea?

  The water began rising as her legs were slowly immersed in it. She could feel things skittering by her feet and hands, and she screamed and kicked continuously for what seemed a lifetime.

  Her voice was starting to give out and no one was coming to her rescue. The water rose to her chest and the chill made her shiver. It must be the tide. She must be somewhere by the ocean. The tide was coming in and she was going to drown. Panic rose in her throat and then she vomited. Who had done this? Why was she here?

  She tried screaming again but her voice was nothing more than a whisper. No one would be able to hear her now. The water seemed to slow in its rise and it stayed at about the level of her breasts. She shivered and waited. Waited for the water to rise more or for it to sink back again. She waited for death.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jaxon signed in to the GeoCaching app on his phone and logged the cache at the pier into the program.

  As a cacher, when you found the ‘treasure’ you entered it into a website that tracked the visitors to each cache as they found the location and added it to their ‘found’ items. Some of the caches had prizes for the kids, just like the small toys in the tackle box, or coins, or trackable items, each with their own number on them so that the trackable item could be moved to a new location and tracked as it made its way toward its destination.

  Usually, whoever placed the trackable item made a notation on the original cache site for the item as to where they wanted to see the coin end up. Sometimes it took months to get to its destination and others, days or hours.

  Jaxon did not take the trackable item from the tackle box. He did not have time for this at the moment and he hoped that whatever game this sicko was playing didn’t involve him retrieving and placing coins along his search. He couldn’t imagine how they would play into it anyway.

  After he made the cache entry, he waited.

  Since there was no other message inside the cache itself, he
expected to be given some kind of clue via another means as to his next position. At least he hoped so. If his clues ended here, he had no idea where to proceed next. His phone made a noise and he looked at the app. A message had been sent to his login ID. He touched the message and it was nothing more than a set of lat/longs. The next waypoint. At least the psycho was paying attention.

  He entered the position and zoomed in on the location. It was an address in Mandarin, just across the river. The only problem was it was not a registered GeoCache site. Nothing showed up on the app and he wondered what he was headed for.

  He started the car and accelerated away heading over the Shands bridge east. He flipped the DMV camera the bird again as he passed underneath and then made a left on State Road 13 on the other side of the bridge. His destination was about twenty miles away. He called Vick.

  “Where are you?” she asked

  “On 13 heading toward Mandarin. I just crossed the Shands bridge.”

  “You were in Green Cove?”

  “Uh huh. The GPS position was at the end of the Old Shands Pier.” He told her what had transpired and where he was heading next. “Any luck with Bethany Hope?”

  “There are twelve Bethany Hopes in the area. I’m trying to narrow them down. So far three have answered their phones and are accounted for. I’m working on the rest.”

  “Ok. Anything on the web cam?”

  “Haven’t got to it yet.”

  “Ok. I’ll call back in a bit.”

  He hung up and drove for a few more minutes looking for his destination. It came up quickly on the right and he had to brake hard, causing the car behind him to honk its horn as it passed. He waved. The other driver flipped him off.

  He parked and looked at the GPS.

  The spot was within fifty feet and he stepped from the car and looked around.

  He was in the parking lot of some bar. The proprietor must have a sense of humor because the name on the establishment was Free Beer. From the looks of the parking lot, the gimmick no longer seemed to be working. One lone motorcycle sat leaning on its kickstand. He was sure that the place did not serve free beer.

  He held the GPS in front of him and tracked it around. The destination was somewhere in line with the bar itself. He wandered around the side of the place thinking that the coordinates must be in the back since all GeoCaches were normally located outside. The locator arrow started to swing to the left as he passed the side of the building and was now pointing back to the front as he stood in the overgrown backyard of the place, facing it. The damn GPS position must be inside. This should be good, he thought.

  Jaxon went back to the front and stared. The structure sagged in the center and the once red and white paint had deteriorated to a faded brown and gold color. One section of the eaves hung down close to the door and was held up with what looked like wire. The building was windowless. Maybe it was better inside.

  He entered through a glass door that looked to have been broken years ago. The piece of plywood that took the place of the bottom panel of glass appeared faded and partially rotted. Either it had been there a while or the owner used any old piece of wood he could find to cover up the broken pane. The door made a horrible screeching sound as he pulled it open and he wondered how the patrons felt every time someone entered the establishment. It was like fingernails on a chalkboard. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, he saw that the inside of the bar matched the condition of the door. This place was a dive.

  The old juke box that sat just inside the door to the right was playing a Lynyrd Skynyrd song and the couple of pairs of eyes that were sitting up at the old, worn bar turned to him and glared. One had on a leather jacket that read ‘Death Knell.’ It probably belonged to the bike parked out front.

  When they found nothing of interest, they turned back and nursed their beers.

  Jaxon looked at the GPS and it showed the destination ten feet to the right. He looked in the direction and saw that the sign for the restrooms was in that general direction. He put the GPS away and headed for the bathroom. He felt the eyes of the patrons follow him as he passed. The bartender even looked at him funny.

  The men’s room was more of a men’s closet.

  One toilet stood to the right and a sink was to the left. Piss and shit were apparently the decor for this ‘room’ as no one had bothered to clean it since the glass door had broken in the front. Jaxon looked around hoping it would be obvious. It was not.

  He pulled the GPS out again and it showed him within the twenty-five foot margin of error so he felt like this would be the most logical place. He bent and looked under the sink and then behind the toilet. Nothing.

  The ceiling was solid without any type of panels, so it wouldn’t be up there. Nothing else stood out. The soap was just that. A bar of grimy soap. And the towel dispenser lay busted on the floor. He picked it up and looked inside. Nothing.

  He glanced at the toilet again and shook his head. He hoped that what he was thinking, he wasn’t about to do, but instead, found himself standing in front of the toilet anyway. He lifted the tank’s lid and almost dropped it as a couple of giant roaches skittered across his hands, running from the sudden exposure of their hiding place. He cursed and set the lid on the floor. It made a hollow ringing of porcelain.

  In the tank was a waterproof container submerged under the water. He cursed again, stuck his hand in and grabbed it. Pulling it from its hiding place, he shook off the water and unscrewed the lid. A piece of paper lay inside. He unfolded it and read:

  So far, so good, my companion. If you are willing to stick your hand into this toilet to do what needs to be done, then poor Bethany may just have a chance. Bravo! Why don’t you grab a beer while you’re here and relax for a bit. You have a long journey ahead. Here is the next spot. BTW. Don’t get too confident. These were easy.

  Jackson could hear laughing in his head as he stared at the new coordinates. The urge to smash his fist into the mirror was overwhelming, but he resisted it and stuffed the note in his pocket. Time to play cop.

  Back in the bar he studied the patrons and the bartender, who studied him back. He walked up and decided Mr. Death Knell was as good as any.

  Death Knell was about six foot two, 280 pounds and it was not all muscle. The man’s beer belly made him look the brunt of some weird science experiment gone wrong. He looked about to give birth at any minute.

  The other man sitting next to him was as old as dirt and the beer shook in his hand as he raised it to his lips. The foam on the top vibrated against his nose as he tipped it back. The bartender was probably the proprietor and he looked bored to death as he cleaned a glass with a dirty dishrag. It didn’t seem to improve the appearance of the mug at all.

  “Maybe you boys can help me,” Jaxon said and his voice seemed to wake the dead. It just sounded too loud and he cleared his throat. They appeared not to hear him as neither of the beer drinkers turned to him. “You two look like regulars,” he said, “and I was wondering if you’d noticed anybody unusual come in here the last couple of days. Maybe they grabbed a beer, maybe they didn’t, but they used the bathroom.”

  Death Knell took a sip of his beer and looked at him out of the corner of his eye. He nodded. “Ayup. Fella just came in here dressed in camo and walked right to the head. He’s now standing next to me asking irritating questions. Would that be the guy?”

  The old guy next to him almost choked on his beer. The bartender smiled but did not make eye contact.

  “No,” Jaxon said. “That wouldn’t be him. I’m talking about another guy. Or girl. Anybody like that?”

  Death Knell shook his head and turned to him. “No. Wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

  “Well I appreciate the hospitality,” Jaxon said, dryly. “How about either of you? Anybody out of the ordinary come in here and use the restroom?”

  “I don’t know who you are mister,” the bartender said, “but we don’t take kindly to strangers asking a lot of questions. You’re bothering my cus
tomers.”

  “Just looking for a little info. Sorry to bother you.” He turned to go and Death Knell grabbed his arm.

  “We don’t like strangers.”

  “Yeah, I can tell.” Jaxon tapped the man’s hand with his finger and said, “Do you mind?”

  “I do. Now you can answer a few questions of ours.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why are you looking for this guy? Not that we’ve seen anybody like that.”

  “No. I’m sure you haven’t. Well, I like to play for the other team, and there was this phone number on the wall in there. I’m kind of horny.”

  He smiled big and winked at Death Knell. The man’s face fell and he started to move. Jaxon grabbed the wrist that was holding his arm and he twisted it to the left. The man was off balance as he tried to stand and the pressure from his arm bending in the wrong direction drove him to his knees. Jaxon pulled out his wallet and flashed his old badge. “Don’t move,” he told the other two. “Not unless you want to lose a kneecap. Now, I’ll ask again…”

  “We ain’t seen nothing,” the bartender said.

  “You?” Jaxon indicated the old guy, who shook his head. He looked down at Death Knell, his face a grimace of pain as Jaxon applied more pressure. “You sure you haven’t seen anybody?”

  “Screw you!” Death Knell said, spittle running down his chin.

  “I think I’m already doing that, my friend.” Jaxon let up on him and Death Knell grabbed his arm in his good hand, standing slowly. “I’m leaving now. Any problem with that?” Jaxon said.

  Nobody said a word so he turned to go. He put his wallet back in his pocket and kicked the door open with his foot. The piece of plywood disintegrated as his foot went through it. He turned to the bartender.

  “You better get that fixed.”