Death at the Black Bull (15 page)

T
he sky was endless blue and vacant when he left Hayward Trucking. He could feel the heat radiating off the car. Squinting into the sun, he figured it was closing in on noon. His stomach reaffirmed his assumption. At the intersection leading to the interstate, he pulled into a convenience store. Ten minutes later, he was back on the road and headed toward the Redbud substation. Virgil needed some time to sort out all he had learned from Caleb Hayward. He needed to let it gestate. A stopover at the substation was a perfect distraction. The realization that he hadn't been there in months was brought home when he pulled off the paved road onto the short graveled road that led to the front door.

The substation had been opened a little over three years before in response to the population growth in the area. That was largely due to the completion of the highway interchange and the expansion of Hayward Trucking. Dave, Rosie's husband, and Alex Timms had shared the operation since it was first opened. Alex's father-in-law owned and operated Luther's Livestock Auction. Alex worked part-time for him. Dave had been with the sheriff's office over twenty-five years. He predated Virgil and had actually been hired by Virgil's father. Virgil felt the substation was a perfect fit for Dave. When he became sheriff, he thought Dave might resent him, but Dave quickly let him know he had no aspirations for the job. He was one of those people very content to let ultimate responsibility rest in the hands of someone else. He told Virgil on more than one occasion that he loved the job but hated the paperwork. Now, at the substation, he was in charge, but he had Alex to handle the clerical tasks and he could do what he liked and at his own pace.

Virgil took note of the physical changes Dave had made since the substation had been established. The horseshoe-shaped driveway had been lined with random-sized stones, all painted white. The station itself had been a large construction trailer donated by a local company and painted to match the stones. It stood at the midpoint of the horseshoe. A flagpole had been erected in the green space in the middle of the oval created by the driveway, with a flourish of multicolored flowers at its base. Two steps and a small wooden porch led up to the front door. On either side of the door stood matching flowerpots overflowing with flowers similar to those at the base of the flagpole. The window air conditioner was humming as he reached the front door. The coolness as he stepped inside was welcome. Dave was just signing off with Alex, who was obviously on patrol.

“Hey, boss. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

Virgil slid into a chair alongside Dave. “Your wife sent me to check on you. She thinks you're so happy to get down here that maybe there's another woman. She's probably oiling the shotgun as we speak.”

Dave gave a quick laugh. “Rosie's more than enough for me. Sometimes she's too much, if you know what I mean.”

“Sometimes, she's too much for me, too. I'm not sure whether she's working for me or I'm working for her.” Virgil put the bag he was carrying on the desk alongside Dave. “I brought some lunch. Next time you talk to Alex, tell him there's some for him, too.”

“Great, my stomach's been growling for the last half hour.”

For the next ten minutes, they made some small talk while they ate. Dave filled Virgil in on the status of anything going on that Virgil might need to know.

“You having any luck with Buddy's case?”

“That's actually why I'm down here.” Virgil told Dave about his meeting with Caleb.

“I had no idea about the extent of their operation,” Virgil said. “Cal told me that they have a processing plant down outside of Juárez. He said they used to sell their annual crop of pecans wholesale to dealers on the open market, but a couple of years ago they opened the factory in Juárez. He said his father believed the more factors of production they controlled, the better off their position would be, so they package their product down there, then do their own distribution through the facility in Redbud.”

“Man, that's turned into some operation. Mexico . . . I understand cheap labor and all, but that requires a lot of capital investment. And I heard that when Micah's father died they were in a bad way financially.”

“I had heard the same thing, too,” Virgil said.

Dave was distracted by a call from Alex. “When you get back here,” he said, “Virgil brought lunch. Okay, see you then.”

“Any problems?” Virgil asked as Dave switched off.

“Nothing unusual. A couple of steers got out of the stockyard and started heading for the interstate. Alex called his father-in-law and they got a couple of hands down there and caught them up. Just another Wild West story.”

Virgil smiled. “You know, Dave, if you got a job in a big city, it would probably be a lot more interesting.”

“I'd rather chase cows than drug dealers.”

Virgil finished his soda and stood up. Dave joined him and together they walked out to Virgil's cruiser.

“I like what you've done with the place, Dave.”

“You make it sound like I'm an interior decorator. Alex does the flowers. We try to cover up the fact that we're working out of a trailer. Makes us look a little more permanent.” He gave the sheriff a wave. “See you, Virgil.”

“See ya, Dave.”

Virgil hadn't driven a mile before he got a call from Dave. When Virgil returned and pulled back into the driveway, he saw Dave standing outside the trailer. It didn't escape his notice that Dave was wearing his hat. More telling was the fact that his holster wasn't empty.

“Alex just called back in. Sounded like something. Thought, since you were here . . . Come on, we'll take my vehicle.”

Virgil turned off the engine and stepped out. Dave was already in his Bronco. Virgil knew it was likely they might be going off road because of Dave's suggestion. He had a heavier suspension and twice the clearance of Virgil's cruiser.

“What's up? Did some more steers go AWOL from Luther's? Hell, I'd jump a four-foot fence to avoid ending up on someone's plate.”

“Not sure, but Alex sounded a little apprehensive. That's not like him. Like I said, as long as you're close, I thought maybe you'd want to check it out with me.”

“Why not? A little change of pace for me.”

Virgil watched the passing scenery on the way down to Luther's Livestock Auction. The chance to look at the world as a passenger didn't come too often. It was less than forty miles from Hayward, but the differences in the landscape were dramatic. There was little subtlety in what was one step removed from desert; his vision filled with sharp lines and right angles. Buttes and stone carved into incongruous shapes by thousands of years of weathering breaking up a landscape that could have been found on the moon. Red rock striated with shades of blue broke up the monochromatic brown. Tufts of cholla, scrub pine, and an occasional cottonwood offered the only hint of green. He saw the distant mountains and wondered how a last band of Apaches could have called them home.

“There's Luther's.” Dave's words broke the silence.

Virgil looked at the collection of corrals bordering some larger feedlots, most containing cattle that lined both sides of the road. He knew that if he had rolled down the car window long before the pens came into view a strong aroma would have predicted their presence. It was not an unpleasant or unfamiliar smell. They continued on for another quarter mile until they saw Alex standing by his car. He took off his sunglasses and extended his hand when he saw Virgil get out of the Bronco.

“Hey, Sheriff. Didn't know you were coming.”

“What's up, Alex?” Virgil looked into the lean, tanned face of his deputy, noting how much Alex seemed to fit the land he'd just seen. He was spare and square-jawed.

“Well, maybe it's nothing, but when we were catching up them steers, I saw something. Maybe caught a whiff of something, too. Didn't say anything to the boys I was with, but thought maybe it was something worth checking out.”

“Okay, let's have a look.”

They got into Dave's truck with Alex behind the wheel. They drove for about twenty minutes until Alex finally slowed, then pulled off onto the shoulder. When they were out of the vehicle, Alex motioned for them to follow him. The road curved for a quarter mile into a steady ascent. He had left the car on the straightaway, the safest place before the start of the curve. Alex walked ahead, followed by Virgil, with Dave bringing up the rear. Virgil could hear Dave's breathing.

“Hold up a second, Alex.”

Alex stopped and Virgil waited until Dave came alongside.

“You all right, Dave?”

“Just give me a minute. Damn cigarettes.” He coughed twice. “I . . . I gotta quit before I end up in one of those anti-smoking commercials.”

“We're almost there,” Alex said.

“Stay here, Dave. I'll go on with Alex.”

Dave didn't protest. He sat on a huge boulder that had probably broken off from the escarpment on the opposite side of the road. It had stopped before dropping down into the ravine.

Virgil turned away and along with Alex they started farther up the grade. They had just rounded the curve when Alex pointed to the sky. Gliding on the thermals, there were a dozen or more buzzards. A few more yards farther on Virgil caught an unmistakable scent. An odor that, once smelled, was never forgotten.

“Could be an animal,” Virgil said.

“Could be.” Alex's voice lacked conviction.

They walked a little farther until the stench became overpowering. Alex pointed to something fluttering on the branch of a piñon, fifteen or twenty feet down the slope. “That's what I saw after I caught the smell and got out of my car.”

“Go back to the Bronco. I'm sure Dave's got a coil of rope in back.”

Alex left, and Virgil waited. A few minutes later he was back. Dave was with him.

“This doesn't smell good,” Dave said. He tied the rope to a metal road stanchion that bordered the midpoint of the curve in the road. Alex began to rappel down the rope, with Virgil acting as a guide from the top. Virgil followed when Alex hit the bottom. On the way past the piñon, he reached up and snatched the piece of blue fabric. He could see the pattern of small, yellow flowers against the bright blue background. When he reached the bottom, Alex was waiting for him. The smell of death was intense enough to make a strong stomach churn. Alex had taken out a bandanna from his pocket and made a mask. Virgil had no bandanna.

“I don't know, Virgil.” It was the first time Alex had called Virgil by his first name. The color had left Alex's face, and Virgil understood.

“Wait here a minute, Alex.”

Virgil grabbed a small cottonwood struggling for life in the middle of road debris, riprap stone, and whatever trace of soil it could find and continued his descent another fifteen feet until he reached the base of the arroyo. He could hear the barest trickle of a creek a little farther ahead as he picked his way across rock and road litter tossed from above. A scrape of boots told him Alex was following as he made his way toward a mix of dense foliage. He slipped and fell to one knee, impaling his right hand on a small cactus. As he pulled himself upright, a bright trickle ran down his fingers from the fatty part of his palm. He reached forward to part the dense cover in front of him. The rebellious calls of the scavengers above circling in the blue sky were like a bizarre chorus. There was little give to the scrub plants that had struggled to life, anchoring themselves in the hard earth. He pulled harder with his right hand until he heard the snap of a large branch as it broke under his grip. He reached with his left to another and felt it give. Then suddenly it released its grip on the hard dirt and pulled away. He stumbled back as a round object rolled out from underneath the bush and landed a few feet in front of him.

“Holy shit!” The exclamation came from Alex, who had caught him as he fell backward. Oblivious to the stench that rose from the bushes, they looked down to see the eyes of a man whose head no longer belonged to his body.