“What is it?” the woman asked fearfully.
The little girl ran to the front window and pulled back the curtain. “I can see a light,” she exclaimed. “It’s way up on the road.”
“Come here,” her mother ordered. “Get away from there.” Guiltily, the girl returned to her mother’s side.
“I think it’s the snowplow,” Wylie said with relief.
They paused to listen to the grumble of an engine and the unmistakable scrape of snow being pushed aside. Seeing the alarmed expression on the woman’s face, Wylie spoke. “This is a good thing. It means the storm is winding down. They’ll get the power going soon and we’ll have electricity and heat.” The woman didn’t look convinced.
The engine suddenly went silent. “Is it gone?” the girl asked. “Are they all done?”
“Maybe, but they’ll be back to clear the other side of the road,” Wylie explained.
The girl left her mother’s side and returned to the window. “How come I still see a light?” she asked. Wylie joined her and the woman even eased from her spot on the couch to see. “Maybe he’s stuck,” the girl offered.
“More likely he saw your overturned truck and stopped,” Wylie said. “I’m going to go check it out, talk to him.”
“Please don’t,” the woman said. “Stay here.”
“I’ll be gone for only a minute. Don’t worry. He’ll have a radio on the plow. He can help us,” Wylie said.
Ignoring the woman’s protests, Wylie grabbed her coat from the back of the sofa and a flashlight and moved to the mudroom. She shoved her feet into her boots and tucked her hair beneath a stocking cap. She had to catch the snowplow driver before he left. In the very least he could radio for help, let the authorities know they needed medical attention.
Wylie threw open the door and came face-to-face with a man dressed in winter gear. Startled, she dropped the flashlight and it fell to the ground with a clatter and rolled away. They both bent over to retrieve it.
Wylie got to the flashlight first. “Oh, God, you scared me,” she laughed nervously. “I was just coming out to try and catch you.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said as they both stood upright.
“No, no,” Wylie said turning the flashlight toward the man, “I’m glad you’re here. We need…” And that’s when she recognized him. It was Jackson Henley, the man who murdered her family. The man who took Becky.
37
August 2000
Things were moving fast. Agent Santos got the call that the search and rescue dog got a hit right on the edge of the Henley property. Thankfully, it wasn’t a body. But a bloody rag with Becky Allen’s scent on it was bad enough.
While she waited to hear if their request for a search warrant was approved, she discovered a few more unsettling details about Jackson Henley. He was part of the ground offensive that liberated Kuwait during Operation Desert Sabre, but beyond this, his military record was marred by several run-ins with his superiors. Jackson Henley did not like to follow orders, liked to drink, and to harass his female soldier counterparts.
One woman reported that Henley, along with a group of other male soldiers, mentally and sexually harassed her to the point of a near breakdown. Another woman accused him of false imprisonment after he purportedly refused to let her leave after the two spent a night together. The charges were eventually dropped, but it appeared that even as a young soldier, Henley liked to keep his girlfriends all to himself.
There was more, most dealing with his apparent battle with alcohol, and in 1992, Jackson came home to Blake County a shell of the person he was before he left.
Santos knew that one bloody cloth didn’t mean that Jackson Henley was guilty of anything, but it didn’t look good. They couldn’t even be sure that it was Becky’s blood. She may have touched or held the rag in her hands, transferring her scent to it, but the blood could belong to someone else.
It took precious minutes trying to secure a search warrant for the Henley property. A piece of evidence on the edge of a property didn’t mean that a judge would automatically grant a search. Still, Jackson’s skittish behavior and his past legal issues went a long way in getting the judge to agree to sign off on the warrant. They were good to go.
Now all they could do was hope that it wasn’t too late for Becky.
Santos pulled up to the Henley property and her nose was immediately assaulted with the noxious smell of burning rubber. Now why would anyone be burning anything on a hot day like this? she wondered. Sheriff Butler had the same thought. When Santos stepped from her car, Butler was shaking his head and coming toward her.