Caching Out by Tammy Cheatham

Marshall yelled around Tate at the group of men
standing near his porch. “What the hell are all you people doing in my yard? 
Get outta my way, Echo, this is my damn house and I got a right to protect
what’s mine.”  
    When
Marshall tried to push past him, Tate slammed the big man face down on the hood
of his truck, one arm twisted behind his back. Quietly he said, “Marshall,
these men were just leaving. Seems they turned in at the wrong driveway. Won’t
take but just a minute for me and Crawley to clear them off your property and
while we do that I want you to have a seat in your truck. You got that Marshall?”
    When
the big man nodded, Tate released his arm and watched him walk to the door of
the truck. Glaring at the three unwelcome visitors, Marshall fumed, “I see
you’re damned baseball bats and I know who every one of you is. Anytime you
want a piece of ol’ Marshall, you just come on back when the cops aren’t here
and I’ll be happy to oblige you.” 
    Tate
stood in the front of Marshall’s truck, as Martin shuffled the three vigilantes
into their vehicle with a stern warning of what would happen if they tried
anything like this again. As the tail lights of Gerald Long’s truck faded, Tate
motioned to Marshall.
    Marshall
stepped out of the truck and brushed past without a word. Stopping at the steps
he turned to look at Tate. “I let you have your fucking way this time
Echo, but you can’t always be around and I owe them boys something.”  Without
waiting for a response Marshall walked into the house letting the door slam
behind him.
    Thirty
minutes later, Tate pulled into the Ridge Diner closely followed by Martin in
his patrol car. Stepping through the glass doors they took a booth near the
door and ordered coffee.
     
Martin laughed, “I thought them boys was going to shit themselves when Marshall
stepped out of his truck and made a beeline for them. Good thing you was there
to talk him out of beating the shit out of them all, there’s no way I could
have held him back on my own.” 
    Tate
grinned over his coffee cup as he blew on the hot liquid. “Yeah, well, maybe we
should have looked the other way and let him do just that. After all, that’s
what they had planned for him. You confiscate their baseball bats?” 
    Martin
took a sip from his own cup.“Got ‘em in the back of my patrol car right now. Told
them boys that they better hope nothing bad happened to Marshall in the near
future or I’d be out to pay them a visit. You get anywhere with the
investigation today?”
    “Nothing
significant. I did spend several hours this morning searching the Department of
Criminal Investigation records to see if there were any reported cases with
similarities to the Parker case. Nothing logged that compares. I need that
damned DNA report. ”
     “Well
the DCI does maintain the largest database of records in South Dakota,” Martin
said, “but we both know that not all the small town forces report things like
they should.”
    Tate
sighed, “I knew it was a long shot, but I had to look. Also checked the
unrestricted FBI case files with no luck. Made another trip by Parker’s house
just to check the perimeter, we had a report of kids sneaking in to look at the
scene. While I was there I picked up her laptop. Found it under a stack of
papers that she appeared to have been grading. System is password protected and
I turned it over to the county lab to have them extract emails and a list of
websites she accessed recently or anything else that might prove helpful.”
    Leaning
back in the booth, Tate said, “Thanks to the hair follicle test, we know that
she wasn’t a regular smoker and we know when the weed got in her system. I
still believe that the Ketamine was a gift from the killer. Daniel Westhaven
called and confirmed no reported cases at County Hospital involving Ketamine
which pushes me to believe that I’m right about the killer using it to subdue
her.”
    Rising
to leave, Martin