Cold Case Takedown
Author
Jessica R. Patch
Reads
18.6K
Chapters
17
ONE
Agent Colt McCoy had half a mind to turn his old Ford truck around right now, but he’d already come this far on Highway 8. No turning back. He rolled the windows down and let the crisp October gusts sweep in to cool his nerves.
He should have known before tonight that the host of the popular Dead Talk podcast was none other than Georgia Maxwell. Should’ve picked up on her inflections, insight and humor. Every Thursday night for months, he’d been tuning in to the armchair detective Christi Cold as she laid out cold cases. She had a love for mysteries, like Colt. Going into law enforcement would have seemed like the logical first choice for his career, not football, but it was his best friend Jared Toledo’s death that had changed Colt’s course.
His old man had hammered into Colt on a daily basis—and repeatedly if he’d been drinking—that he was going to amount to absolutely nothing.
Some days those words rang like truth, until he reminded himself that he was the unit chief for the Mississippi Bureau of Investigation cold case unit. And in six weeks he was moving to Atlanta to accept a prestigious position overseeing the largest cold case squad in the South—minus the Texas Rangers unit. That would show his old man.
But even with the accolades and achievements, the haunted whispers of his insignificance and worthlessness sacked him at the fifty-yard line. He shoved away the rancid thoughts and turned up the podcast that had him driving almost an hour on his own time. It had gone live last night, and Colt had been awaiting the sharp thoughts of Christi Cold, aka Georgia.
He hadn’t seen Georgia or been home in forever. It was the kind of place pictured in movies that women went gaga over during Christmas time—the ones that always ended with a happily-ever-after and the hometown boy winning the girl’s heart.
Colt had almost had that story. Until Georgia had rejected him after graduation. Dad always said she was too good for a boy like Colt, that one day she’d wise up and run out on him like Mom had.
Dad had been right.
He shook out of the memories and listened to the host of the show in a new light and with a new voice—Georgia’s.
Colt’s cop radar had gone to wailing last night during the podcast. The case had been eerily similar to Jared’s murder case. His gut had nagged him all day until he had made the quick decision to have his analyst get him the address for the host, whom he now knew to be Georgia. Which meant the case was definitely about Jared, though she’d used fictitious names, as she did with most of her cold cases. According to the podcast, Georgia had gained some insight from information she’d garnered that could possibly allow him to reopen the case.
He turned up the volume and listened.
“My interviews with former classmates and closest friends of Johnny Toliver...”
She was fudging or using old resources. Colt was Jared’s best bud and he hadn’t received a recent call from her.
“...all said he carried large amounts of cash and had expensive concert tickets in his possession. Front row. Pricey, friends. Pricey. Not that Johnny didn’t come from a wealthy family—he did. But he rarely had that kind of money on his person. What I want to know is how he got it. I’ll tell you how—in my opinion. I’ve discovered valid information that points to illegal athletic recruiting going on in one of Mississippi’s finest high schools. I admit I haven’t been able to put it all together as of yet, but I intend to, and if it pans out, I’ll follow up with a sequel podcast. It’s possible Johnny was approached and offered a nice, fat cash settlement and maybe even those concert tickets if he signed with the prestigious Ole Magnolia University.”
This recruiting angle had never been investigated. The case had gone cold fast. Most everyone on their old Cougars football team suspected the QB from rival Southern High—Chance Leeway—as the murderer, which Georgia had noted with an alias name. Chance had made threats after a game. But he’d alibied out.
How did Georgia discover this new information? As far as Colt was aware, Georgia was not on any police force, but she had always dreamed of being a big-shot investigative journalist. Maybe she was. Colt had never kept tabs on her. It hurt too much.
“I suspect Johnny got cold feet, though. An upstanding young man known for his integrity and strong faith, he may have succumbed to temptation, but the conviction weighed heavy on his heart. If he tried to give back the money, not attend Ole Magnolia on a full athletic scholarship and report the illegal recruiting, then more than one person had motive to kill him. I believe it could have been the high school coach. Though the town thinks he’s above reproach, I know for a fact he’s not. It could have been the coach from Ole Magnolia, or even a booster at the high school or college level, and there are several prominent ones who had pull. Or maybe they were in on it together.
“I say let the dog hunt and see what tree he goes barking up. My mama used to tell me that time will lift the truth to the surface and it’ll bob in the water of lies for all to see. It’s only a matter of a time.”
That statement should have rung his bells last night. Georgia had always quoted her mama’s line about truth. It was one of the few things Georgia said she remembered her mama saying. He’d been so focused on his own thoughts she’d sparked from her armchair detective work that he’d missed that line.
Until now.
If Georgia was onto something, then she could be in danger and not even realize it.
“Would you rather die a violent death and have your killer brought to justice or die quickly and the murderer never be found?”
Georgia Maxwell snapped to attention and caught her colleague Susan Towers’s mischievous gleam as a gust of wind caught the Magnolia Gazette’s wooden sign, the wrought iron squeaking. “You are morbid,” Georgia said. “Why aren’t you writing for the crime news?” Georgia had been working for the Magnolia Gazette for the past ten years, covering the classifieds as well as the investigative reporting. Though there wasn’t much crime to report, and she wasn’t complaining.
Susan feigned innocence. “What? It’s a valid question. We both know you dabble in true crime.” She was referencing Georgia’s popular podcast, Dead Talk. Georgia had brought it to life a year ago thanks to her love of mystery, thirst for justice and interest in true crime. In the first six months, it had become the number one cold case podcast series, coming to fans live every Thursday evening at seven.
“Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to know.” Georgia frowned. “You’re nosy.” Susan had discovered a couple of her podcast notes in her desk drawer one afternoon. Georgia had never intended on telling anyone she was Christi Cold—her voice-modified alias. That would be sharing intimate information, and she preferred keeping people at a nice, safe distance.
“I’m nosy? You’re the one with information that links an illegal athletic recruiting ring to Jared’s murder fifteen years ago. Bold statement, Christi. Where’d you snoop to find that nugget?”
She didn’t snoop, per se. She found it when she cleaned out Dandy Martin’s desk after her tragic death four months ago. Georgia had tried to tell her not to go running off to Memphis to shop alone at the Wolfchase Mall. A string of carjackings had been reported on the news. Dandy had laughed and told her, You gotta live, Georgia. See you on Monday. I’ll be fine.
But she hadn’t been fine. She’d been the first of the carjacking victims to be murdered.
Georgia might not be living her best life, but she was alive. Too many people she’d cared about had been ripped from her thanks to an unsafe world.
Susan followed her gaze to Dandy’s desk and clearly put the pieces together. “Dandy had investigative news?”
Georgia nodded.
“How did she get onto a story like that? Did it lead to Jared?”
Fifteen years ago, the case had been all over the news, the town. The state. Blunt-force trauma to the back of Jared’s head. Killed in one location—which they never determined—and relocated to the athletic training room at Courage High. Go Cougars.
Georgia peeked at her two Shetland sheepdogs napping at her feet. Wyatt and Doc were her little companions. She called them therapy dogs, which was her way of justifying her attachment to the fur balls. A year ago, when Grandma had passed away, Georgia spiraled into a colossal meltdown. Didn’t even leave her house for an entire month out of paralyzing fear. Dandy had recommended she see a Christian counselor.
She’d been seeing Celeste ever since, and she’d agreed the dogs were good for Georgia.
Finally, Georgia felt like she had answers to problems that had made her feel as if something was wrong with her all her life. No longer was she simply “Georgia the worrywart.” The diagnosis of anxiety with panic disorder hadn’t labeled her so much as helped her pinpoint the reason for her extreme fear and worry. She now had a ball to tackle and a field to run it down for the touchdown—mental health and freedom. Every day she picked it up and used her coping skills and prayer to make it another yard.
Some days were better than others.
She hadn’t forfeited her prayer for complete healing. That was an everyday prayer. And each day the same Scripture whispered to her heart: “And He said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for My strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
Not the answer she wanted to hear, if truth be told, but she was learning to lean into grace in ways she never had before.
Susan snapped her fingers. “I asked how she got ahold of the story.”
“Sorry. She got a letter from an anonymous parent after covering a school board meeting. Apparently, they were voting on students who moved school districts but had requested to stay at Courage High for the remainder of their school careers. One of the freshman students who played in the band was denied, but another freshman who played football for Coach Flanigan was granted permission to remain. The letter stated that they knew of a football student using a false address at 4214 Pine Road here in Magnolia and no one was saying a word about it, but to go check it out.”
“Did she?”
Georgia nodded. “Dandy’s notes confirm that 4214 Pine Road is nothing but a mailbox with the address numbers sitting on fourteen acres of woods.” What were the kids doing? Pitching tents and bathing in a creek? No. It was a lie.
“Wow.” Susan frowned. “Athletes always have been able to break rules. At least around here.”
“For real. All I have are Dandy’s beginning stages of notes. Two players are currently using the same address but live in other school districts.” If Dandy had come to her, she could have already looked into it. She was the investigative reporter.
Susan unwrapped a green apple Jolly Rancher and winced as if she hadn’t been expecting the tart flavor. “How did you come up with the illegal recruiting ring?”
“Dandy did. She had a list of students from years past who had also used the Pine Road address but lived in other districts. Those students then went on to receive full athletic scholarships to Ole Magnolia University. In another column, she had a list of students who literally moved from the Southern High school district to Courage High’s district to play football, and those kids also went on to receive full rides at Ole Magnolia.”
“Okay, so? Coach produces. He’s only lost two state championships in the twenty-five years that he’s coached. If I knew my kid had a better shot at a full ride to college, I’d move, too.”
“I agree. But falsifying addresses sends up a red flag. It proves something deceptive is happening. Some of her scribbled questions and notes made sense. I decided to look into it myself. Guess what I found out?”
“What?”
“Five years ago, Coach moved from a modest home, what he could afford on a teacher’s salary, to a big fat-daddy place on Knob Hill. Miss Earlene has been a housewife her whole life.”
“They might be good stewards.”
“My gut says there’s something going on. And so did Dandy’s. Did you know that last year Curt Walker went to Ole Magnolia on a full athletic ride? Did you know he went to Southern High for his freshman and sophomore years, and when he transferred to Courage High his junior year, he rolled up in a brand-new Silverado?”
“And?”
“His dad works for a manufacturing plant and his mother works part-time at the dry cleaner. Neither of their vehicles are anything to write home about.” It was there in Dandy’s notes with the distinct question: Are incentives being given in order to come play at Courage High and even Ole Magnolia? “Jared was seen with a lot of cash and front-row tickets to Aerosmith. Those were super-hard to score.”
“But Jared already lived in the Courage High school district. Why offer him a monetary gift? He wasn’t playing in any other district or planning to move.”
“But he was planning on attending and playing football for Mississippi State until about two weeks before he died. I remember. And that’s the same time frame he had a wad of green and those tickets. Plus, he was secretive about them. Even his sister, Amber, wasn’t sure where they came from.” Coincidence? Doubtful. “Someone gave him serious incentive to play for Ole Magnolia.” Granted, Georgia couldn’t prove it—yet. But it was enough to speculate over on her podcast and toss out her theory.
“It’s not a bad theory. I assume you’ll be moving forward?” Susan asked and collected her purse.
“I have to.” For Dandy and Jared. If she was right and one of those men killed Jared, they deserved to answer for their crime.
Susan glanced outside. “I’d ask you to go get dinner next door, but I know you won’t.”
Dinner led to personal discussion, which led to emotional connection, which led to caring, which led to anxiety.
Nope, not pulling any triggers today.
“I gotta walk the dogs before the rain hits.” The sky’s last shades of pink and blue were sinking into darkness, and the forecast called for a soggy night.
“Fair enough.” Susan pushed open the door. “Hey, you never answered my Would You Rather question.”
Georgia grinned. “I’d rather die a violent death. I wouldn’t want to be selfish. A killer not caught means the possibility of more needless victims and no justice.”
Susan arched an eyebrow. “That’s a commendable answer. On a serious note—you might be opening a can of worms when you don’t have solid proof yet—I know. I know. You said it was all speculation, but if you nailed the truth, someone’s gonna be furious. Having said that, when you do get hard facts, it’ll be worth taking to Buck.”
Georgia had every intention of informing the sheriff, who happened to also be Susan’s big brother. “I will.”
“You said it yourself. A killer not found is a killer roaming free, and on the off chance one of those names gets wind and recognizes it’s them—or it hits too close to home about an illegal recruiting ring—you might be in trouble.”
Georgia’s chest tightened and her throat swelled, but she had a duty as an investigative reporter.
Susan winced at the wind picking up. “Just be careful. Maybe I’ll grab dinner to go instead.”
“Smart. I’m over the rain.” Rain had been the wet theme to ominous news in her life—the day Jared was found dead, the evening she’d been informed that her parents had died in a car accident when she was only twelve, and the day she’d buried Grandma in the dreary, cold rain. Storms still sent a wave of panic into her chest, but she was learning to cope better.
“See you tomorrow.”
Georgia collected her things and locked up. The dogs heeled to her Ford Fusion. They jumped in the back seat, and she drove the ten miles to the twenty-acre piece of property Grandma had willed her.
Up the gravel road on the hill sat her sanctuary. A house built to look like a cabin. A place she had trouble leaving at times for fear of all the danger everywhere else.
She unlocked the door and instead of the warm, enveloping freedom of safety, a chill slithered down her spine. Susan’s words had dug under her skin and rattled her. Georgia’s identity would come out, and everything she said would be out there. What was the worst that could happen?
She might get sued for slander. Defamation of character. She might have to go on record and retract something she said, and a lot of the town might ostracize her. Can I live with that? If it brought about justice for Jared, yes.
She relaxed as she quizzed herself with the coping questions Celeste had incorporated into her life. The fear of something bad happening was her biggest battle. The what-if question. It could potentially snowball until she was incapacitated in sobs on the bathroom floor over her child who died in a drowning accident. She didn’t even have a child! Her imagination could quickly elevate to terrifying places.
So she had to ask: What evidence do you have to support this thought? What is the worst that could happen? After she figured out the worst, the next question was: Can I live with that?
Once the negative thoughts were dealt with, they had to be replaced with something positive.
Philippians 4:8 had become another life verse. Instead of frightening or anxious thoughts, she focused on things that were good, lovely and worthy of praise. If it was noble or pure, she let it in to take root.
Anything else had to go.
Some days were bloody wars.
The good in investigating would be justice served. Lies hidden in darkness revealed. Closure for families. She could live with that.
But the nagging feeling something was wrong needled her.
“Okay, boys, let’s go out before it’s too dark for me to see.” She opened the door, and they bounded out, barking at squirrels and at nothing. Typical.
Another set of chill bumps raised on her arms. She scanned her dimly lit living room and sniffed. What was that smell? Was she making it up, or was there a foreign scent in her home?
Her imagination was running wild, and she tried to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right as she walked outside. She watched the dogs play for about ten minutes, then hollered for them to come inside. The full moon hung in the dark sky like something out of a werewolf movie. An owl hooted.
She rubbed her arms. “Come on, boys.” Usually her blue merle, Doc, had perfect recall. Her tricolor was different story. “Let’s go!”
The awareness that she was not alone didn’t give her time to brace herself. A hulking man in black rushed her and knocked her to the cold hard ground. The dogs barked wildly as they rushed to her side, but they weren’t guard dogs! They could get hurt!
The man’s meaty hands wrapped around her throat and squeezed. “You had to go and stick your nose in where it didn’t belong with that stupid podcast,” he growled.
She couldn’t catch a single breath. Couldn’t think straight.
God, help me!
“Where. Is. It?”
“Where is...what?” she squeaked.
“Don’t play dumb now. I want the information you have.”
Dandy’s notes! Giving them up wouldn’t save her.
“I don’t have it.” She couldn’t even manage a garbled cry.
“Liar. I’m gonna shut your mouth for good and I’ll find it myself. Put an end to this and you.”
She clawed at his hands, but he wore gloves. She thrashed like a fish out of water, but to no avail as spots dotted her vision.
The world grew dim as her oxygen dropped, weakening her fight.
Georgia was going to die.
Not without a fight.
Georgia kneed him in the groin. His groan roared and his grip loosened. Sucking in precious air and taking her shot, she scrambled out from under him and bolted. Screaming bloody murder, she hightailed it away from him, but out here...who would hear her? Help her?
God, make a way to help me!
Georgia headed for the house, but he cut her off. She zigzagged and turned toward her half-mile drive that led to the main road. Her lungs burned like red-hot lava, but adrenaline kept her legs pumping.
Behind her, gravel crunched as he gained on her.
Colt turned on the long gravel road that led to Georgia’s house. Lights glowed. She appeared to be home.
His stomach knotted as he approached. After all these years, would it be awkward?
His headlights shone on a figure. Running. Wait. A woman. He hurriedly turned down the podcast. Screaming.
“Help me! Help!”
Georgia! Colt sprinted into action and bolted from his truck, racing toward her. Not far behind was another figure. Taller. Bulkier.
She plowed into Colt, nearly knocking him down. “Help me, please!”
Behind her, the man veered right, heading for the woods. “Go get in my truck and lock the doors!” He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He chased the figure toward the tree line.
“Freeze! Police!” Colt bellowed and entered the woods, but it was pitch-black and he had no light. He kicked a fallen branch, irritated the man had gotten away. He should have brought a light, a cell phone, something.
He turned around and jogged back to his vehicle. Georgia had listened to him and was inside the truck with a couple of furry dogs.
“You’re safe now,” he said as he approached, hoping to put her at ease.
She stepped out into the darkness. Time had filled her out and shortened her blond hair to her collarbone. “I’ve been thanking God. I’m sure He must have sent you.”
He finally approached, and the interior light of the truck gave him access to better see her features. Dainty nose. Full lips.
“Well, you know what the Bible says about all things being possible.”
She blinked as if trying to focus, then recognition hit, and she collapsed against him, wrapping her long arms around his back. “Colt? Oh, Colt. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Yep, it was awkward. For him. But he returned the embrace, feeling the softness of her body and the fearful shaking.
“Why are you here?” She drew back and frowned. “I mean, yay and all but...” Her knees buckled, and he caught her, moved a hair from her eyes.
“Didn’t you already answer that?” He smirked. Humor was way easier than any other emotion that accompanied seeing, touching or hearing her.
“I did?” She seemed confused. “Oh.” She laughed at her earlier remark, but it was fear-laced and wobbly. “Right. Well, I definitely prayed for help.”
God had a sense of humor sending Colt, but right now Georgia was safe and alive, so he was okay being used in any way God saw fit. “Get in. Let’s get on up to the house.”
Once he parked next to her car and opened the door, the dogs bounded up the porch. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked as he helped her into the spacious living area that opened into the kitchen. A stone fireplace nestled between two windows, and open wood beams lined the ceiling. Hardwood floors were dotted with colorful rugs. Yes, this was most definitely Georgia. Colorful, cozy and down-home. All the things he’d loved about her in the past when he’d felt gray, cold and out of place.
He guided her to the brown leather sofa and draped a multicolored quilt on her lap. Her hands shook, and she placed her head over her knees and breathed.
“Georgia?”
“Need...a minute.” She continued even breathing, then deliberately raised her head. “I almost died, Colt.”
What if he had turned around? Georgia would be dead. Now he was the one who needed some deep breathing. “Tell me what happened. Take your time.”
She explained how she’d been attacked because she’d stuck her nose where it didn’t belong.
Same reason he was here. But how did the attacker know Georgia was the podcaster? “Who all knows you’re Christi Cold?”
“Just Susan Towers at the moment. Remember her?”
“Volleyball captain. She missed a serve and nailed me in the head during a game. Pretty sure on purpose. You and I were fighting and she did a good job holding grudges for you.” He chuckled and rubbed his head as if it still hurt.
“It was on purpose, but I’m sure she’s over it now.”
“Let’s hope so. Anyone else? Could she have told someone?”
“Nah. How did you know it was me?”
“I didn’t.” He explained who he worked for and what his analyst did to link Georgia’s IP address to her physical address. It would take some computer hacking skills to do it. Would anyone who may have killed Jared fifteen years ago have those skills or know someone who did?
“Oh. Well, guess you’ve unmasked me.”
“Yes, and it appears you’ve been a meddling menace.” He smirked as the Scooby-Doo reference came naturally.
“Thanks, Fred.”
He’d forgotten to miss this banter. “No problem.”
“How long have you worked for the Mississippi Bureau of Investigation over in Batesville?”
“About four years. Was in Jackson before that.” An awkward silence ballooned in the air. He turned direction. “Are you sure you couldn’t identify your attacker? Even his voice?”
Georgia closed her eyes and after a few moments responded. “No. It happened so fast and it was pitch-black out. He wore black. He was as big as you. As for the voice, it was low and growly. Things happened so fast, if I heard it again I don’t know if I’d recognize it.”
Six foot one wasn’t exactly unusually tall. That could be the build of a lot of men.
“Sorry I can’t be of more help.” She rubbed her neck, her fingers massaging over the small red splotches the attacker’s fingers had left behind. Colt’s blood burned hot.
“You raised valid points and insightful conjecture in your podcast, which we can discuss further, but right now we need to call the sheriff and reopen Jared’s case now that we have a path to track down.” Colt might not be able to finish up the investigation if it stretched past six weeks, but the investigators in his unit and whoever they hired for unit chief to replace him would be more than capable of seeing it through.
Georgia slicked her hair back, but it immediately fell into her eyes. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you want a cup?”
“No, thanks, but I can make it for you.” She ran her hands up and down her thighs, and her breathing was uneven. She might be talking a levelheaded game, but she was rattled. “I can talk to the sheriff and make tea at the same time. I call it multitasking.”
She graced him with a tight-lipped smile.
“Sit here and get your bearings.” He headed for the kitchen. “Point me to the tea bags and I’m gold from there.”
“Thanks, Colt. By the way, our sheriff is Susan’s older brother, Buck.”
Colt cocked his head. “Didn’t he used to faint at the sight of blood?”
“Still does to my knowledge.” She found herself snickering and pointed to the cabinet above the microwave. The tricolor pooch followed at his feet as he called Buck and worked on filling up a teakettle that had been sitting on the stove.
He hung up with Buck. “He’ll be out for questioning.”
“I figured.”
Colt dropped a tea bag into the boiling water, and immediately hints of something flowery and spicy filled the kitchen. “I need to see the information you referenced in your podcast—the evidence the attacker wanted. I also need to know how you obtained it. No giving me confidential information garbage.”
He brought her the cup, and she thanked him again then wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. “It’s at the Gazette. In a locked drawer, and it’s notes, really. Ideas. The beginning of an investigation and a possible two-part podcast.”
His frustration released in a pent-up breath. “That’s not how you put it last night.”
“It’s a podcast. I’m allowed to embellish, Colt.” She sipped her tea.
“You embellished a killer right to your front door. Well done,” he smarted off and picked up his cell phone. “I have to call my unit. I don’t suppose you’ll allow me get you out of town while we investigate.”
She avoided eye contact. “Negative.”
He huffed and made the calls, then pocketed his phone. “Now isn’t the time to be stubborn. You’re not being weak by getting out of dodge to a safe house or somewhere more public. You’re a target out here.”
Georgia pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s not about being stubborn. Well, part of it might be. I owe it to Dandy.”
“Why do you owe it to Dandy? Is she your informant?”
“No. She died four months ago. I found her notes.” He listened as she explained how Dandy died and what was in the notes and where Georgia wanted to take the investigation. She was passionate, and he commended her for wanting to finish a deceased colleague’s work. It was noble and there was merit to it. “She would have done it for me, Colton. I know it.”
Colt would rather get her out of town until everything blew over, but she wasn’t going to let him and he wasn’t sure they had the budget to keep her up in a safe house if this thing dragged on too long. And it was possible. “Fine. But first thing in the morning, I want to see those notes, and we gotta figure out how to keep you safe 24/7. One of those names you tossed out may have been your attacker.”
She dipped her chin in a grateful nod. “I’m sorry to be such a burden.”
Georgia had nearly died tonight. They might not be a couple in love anymore, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t always care about her and want the best for her. She’d been his first and only love. Fond memories tempered his frustration at not being able to get her somewhere safer. “Don’t worry. It’s my job.”
And whatever it cost, he’d make sure he kept her safe.
