Suspect Zero Page #3

A young BOY stares back at him, his face photostatically

copied. Across the top, also-handwritten: "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?"

At the bottom of the sheet, typed, we read:

"Jason Corey, Age 14. Ht. 5'1", Wt. 130, Eyes Brn, Hair Brn.

Last Seen:
Riverside, Ca. Date of Disappearance: 10-16-99."

Mackelway eyes the face, then the vitals. No idea why this was

sent to him. Then he looks at Page Two.

A young WOMAN stares back at him this time. Another faxed

photo. Another "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" scrawled across the top of

it. And, at the bottom of the sheet:

"Anna Casitas, Age 22. Ht. 5'6", Wt. 125, Eyes Brn, Hair Blk.

Last Seen:
Macon, Ga. Date of Disappearance: 5-6-00."

The other three faxes are more of the same: Pictures and

vitals. Faces. Facts. "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?"

He looks at the bottom of the transmissions, finds the fax

number of the sender. Dials it. All he hears back is the loud

grainy shriek of a dedicated fax line.

He eyes the faxes again. It's not alarming, but it's odd. Then

Charlton emerges from his office, shouting:

CHARLTON:

Mackelway! You gonna sit on your ass all

day, or do you wanna do something?

Mackelway's out of this room in an instant.

CUT TO:

9 EXT. REST STOP - OFF THE INTERSTATE - DAY 9

Your standard roadside rest-stop: a parking lot with weeds

poking through it and bathrooms you wouldn't go near. Those

STORMCLOUDS we saw earlier are CLOSER now...

POLICE CARS and HIGHWAY PATROL MOTORCYCLES fill this site.

Charlton's FBI SEDAN pulls up. He and Mackelway get out.

Two men approach: SHERIFF HARRY DYLAN, 50; and his deputy, BUD

GRANGER, a gangly, baby-faced pup.

DYLAN:

Afternoon, Rick.

(Charlton nods)

Looks like a robbery/homicide. Body's

over that way.

He gestures toward a ravine, where a TOW TRUCK is currently

lowering a winch toward an abandoned vehicle.

It is Harold Speck's Buick, nose-down in the ravine, teetering

on a rock, like the balanced scales of justice.

MACKELWAY:

Ya run the plates?

Charlton eyes Mackelway: "Easy, Hot-shot." Mackelway nods,

reminding himself to remember his new rank. Dylan hands a

preliminary report to Charlton.

DYLAN:

Fella's name is Harold Speck. Traveling

salesman, from Abilene.

Charlton eyes the report, then hands it to Mackelway. The

hierarchy is being made clear. Very.

Mackelway turns:
this ravine runs right up against a SIGN that

reads "Welcome to Texas" on one side and "You are now leaving

Oklahoma" on the other.

A vehicle, left right on the state-line. Odd...

Then, a NOISE:
that Tow-Truck WINCH, grinding badly. It's just

about to yank the Buick out of this ditch.

MACKELWAY:

(it blurts out)

Hey!

Before Charlton can react, Mackelway is running across this

weed-choked lot, zeroing in on the TOW-TRUCK DRIVER.

10 EXT. ATOP THE RAVINE - CONTINUING 10

The Driver, JUMBO, is operating the winch from a hydraulic

handle on the back of the truck. Mackelway barrels in:

MACKELWAY (CONT'D)

What the f***'re you doing?!

JUMBO:

What's it look like, Bud?

Mackelway reaches past Jumbo and hits the "Stop" button

himself. The winch shuts down. Mackelway turns. A handful of

LOCAL COPS stand atop this ravine, watching.

MACKELWAY (CONT'D)

You guys ever heard of evidentiary

procedure?

No one replies. Charlton approaches. Mackelway tightens,

expecting a reprimand for overstepping his bounds.

MACKWELWAY (CONT'D)

Sorry, Sir. There wasn't time.

Charlton eyes the car. Then Mackelway.

CHARLTON:

Did the right thing, Agent Mackelway.

Let's have a look.

Charlton starts down the embankment. Mackelway doesn't,

hanging back as he eyes the TRACKS this Buick made before

tumbling. Something about them...

He pulls a small CAMERA from his pocket, a Minox. Snaps off a

few photos of the scene - the Buick, the ravine, those tracks,

some FOOTPRINTS alongside them.

Then he heads down the 15-foot embankment.

11 EXT. RAVINE - CONTINUING 11

It's an ugly sight. Speck is inches from us, but his head is

facing in the other direction, twisted unnaturally.

Mackelway kneels beside the open window, pulls out some

gloves, puts them on. He will not lean on the car, or even

breathe on it, his caution around evidence obvious.

CHARLTON (O.S.)

What's that?

Charlton is opposite him, outside the passenger-side window,

pointing at the DRAWING that O'Ryan had tossed onto Speck's

lap. It lies face down on the seat.

But something's been FINGER-PAINTED on the back of it: A

RED CIRCLE, with a SLASH through it.

Charlton begins to reach for it, when:

MACKELWAY:

(to stop him)

Sir?

Charlton stops. Mackelway indicates: "Gloves."

Charlton eyes him. It's irritating being corrected by a guy

you outrank, especially when he's right.

MACKELWAY (CONT'D)

Sort of a... stickler for procedure.

CHARLTON:

I imagine you would be.

That was a jab, but we don't know it yet. Charlton puts on his

gloves. Mackelway snaps off a few more shots with that Minox,

looking over the rest of this car, as:

GRANGER:

(aloud)

Hey Jumbo. Toss me down a crowbar.

Granger's by the trunk. Before Mackelway can comment, Jumbo

has tossed a CROWBAR down from the top of the embankment: a

ten-pound hunk of iron, flying right at us.

Everybody ducks... as it CLANGS on the roof of the Buick.

Jumbo shrugs.

JUMBO:

You said toss it.

Mackelway shakes his head. "Shitkicker." Granger grabs the

crowbar. He's just about to open the trunk as:

MACKELWAY:

Hold it a second.

Granger pauses. Mackelway crosses to the trunk, and snaps off

a few shots with the Minox.

Something catches his eye, along the line of the TRUNK. He

kneels closer... An odd RESIDUE, crusty and hard, has formed a

thin line on top of the paint in a single post.

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