Death at the Black Bull (16 page)

Virgil heard the spontaneous retching coming from Alex. He glanced back to see him clutching a cottonwood branch for support as he emptied his stomach. Virgil felt the piece of blue fabric that he had stuffed in his pocket.

He knew it did not belong to a man.

Leaving Alex, he stepped forward into the copse of bramble, scrub pine, and matted grass, pushing low-hanging limbs out of his way as he went. He had only managed a few steps when he found the headless corpse. As he moved to investigate further, a pine branch that he had released from the grip of a wild grape vine slapped his face. The sting startled him. The pungent smell of death impelled him forward. He had taken the torn fabric, blue with the vibrant yellow flowers, from his pocket. He worked it nervously in his hand as he struggled a few steps forward, until it was wadded into a ball.

Alex was a few feet in back of him. Suddenly, a shaft of light fell on a lot more of the blue fabric. Virgil stopped. Despite the heavy stench, he drew in a deep breath while Alex came alongside of him. Then he drew back a low-hanging branch to reveal what he knew would be there.

He felt Alex's hand dig into his shoulder as he steadied himself. The two just stood there for a long minute.

“I never . . .” Alex never finished the sentence.

“I know.”

“Why . . . Why would they . . .” Alex struggled for the words. “Decapitate them?”

“I don't know,” Virgil said. “Maybe as some kind of warning.”

“Who do you think they are?”

“I'm not sure, but I have a feeling they might be the couple Jimmy was trying to find, who are no longer in the wind.”

I
t was closing in on six by the time Virgil started back to Hayward. He'd gone to Redbud looking for answers, but was coming back with more questions and two more murders to investigate. He had stayed until they had processed the crime scene. Alex photographed the scene while Dave searched for any trace evidence up on the road. He had called Virgil over to look at some tire impressions in the loose dirt on the shoulder, but the dirt was more like dust and too loose to make a mold. They had Alex take as many close-ups as they could get. They all agreed the impressions looked like truck tires.

“Well that narrows it down to about ninety-eight percent of the population,” Dave said.

Within another hour, the coroner had come down from Hayward. This was part of the protocol Virgil had established when he became sheriff. It was not an innovation warmly received by the town council, since it involved extra pay and frequently overtime.

Dave held the coroner in little esteem. “He's as useless as tits on a bull. If it weren't for that one-eyed intern of his, those two bodies at the bottom of that gulch would have been picked clean by them buzzards by the time he got to them.”

“Well, I don't know the intern that well, but as far as that assessment of Doc Kincaid is concerned, your opinion wouldn't be colored by the fact that he was your main competition for Rosie, would it?”

“Well, that kid rappelled down that slope with one eye and was at the scene twenty minutes before Kincaid finally reached bottom.”

“Imagine that, a one-eyed twenty-seven-year-old former Special Ops guy, who did two tours in Iraq, got down there quicker than a fifty-five-year-old with a stomach bulge you could set a dinner plate on. Guess things like huffing and puffing when you walk up a hill come easier to guys on the shady side of fifty.”

Dave had no comeback.

The coroner said he'd call Virgil as soon as he had preliminary results. Virgil was tired. It had been a long day, so after he left the hospital and Doc Kincaid he headed for home. He was looking forward to a quiet night.

Cesar was sitting on the front porch sipping a beer as he pulled up in front of the house. Five minutes later, Virgil was next to him, sipping on his own beer and trying to put the day's events in his rearview mirror. A soft breeze caressed him, and he felt the stress of the day slipping away. He breathed deep the smells of the ranch, trying to displace the other smells. The mixed perfume was more than green grass, cut hay, and manure. It was home.

Cesar brought him up to date.

“That little foal is coming along. Only thing is that Star won't let him take a step without being on top of him.”

“Well, she's waited over twenty years for motherhood. Guess being a mom is a little overwhelming after all that time. How's the graze holding up?”

“Don't think there's going to be much of a second cutting less we get some serious water. Even good bottomland gets thirsty.”

They sat a long time in quiet listening to the soft murmurs of the earth. Finally, Cesar stood up.

“Guess I'll head into town. Get something in Margie's then maybe . . .”

“Then maybe you'll visit somebody.”

“Could be.” Cesar gave a half smile and stepped down off the porch. “You know, maybe later you could pick up that phone. Maybe call down to Black Bull. I hear there's a nice lady down there.”

“Old man, someday I'm going to find out how you know everything.”

“Then you'll be as smart as me.” He gave a half wave and headed toward the pickup parked by the corral.

Virgil sat sipping another beer until the sun slipped behind the barn. Finally, he dragged himself to his feet, went inside, and took inventory of the refrigerator. He got some cold chicken and potato salad and fixed himself a plate, then watched what was going on in the rest of the world as he slipped into the recliner in front of the TV. By the time he finished his supper, he realized that his corner of the world was not so unique after all.

He carried his dish to the kitchen and set it in the sink. He glanced at the clock, picked up the phone, punched in some numbers, and waited.

“Black Bull, how can I help you?” A familiar voice.

“Let me think about that.”

*   *   *

He knew he was late, and if it weren't for the accuracy of first light hitting him square in the eyes, he'd still be asleep. Quietly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, then stood, still squinting. The monotonous weather was getting to him. Another cloudless sky. Looking out at the empty landscape, he had the feeling he was facing another long day, but he felt good. At the realization, he glanced over at the still-sleeping figure, his eyes lingering on the smooth, exposed skin that reawakened a fleeting desire. The taste of the night was still on his lips as he headed for the bathroom.

“When am I going to get that riding lesson?” The question greeted him ten minutes later as he returned from the bathroom. He walked to her side of the bed. She hadn't changed position and looked up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

“You mean you want another one?”

With a speed that surprised him, she reached out, grabbed his pillow, and in the same singular motion threw it at him. He caught it in midair and threw it back at her. Wordlessly, he sank down on the bed as she rolled over. He reached down and brushed her breasts with his hand, then kissed the small hollow in her neck. Finally he brought his lips to hers.

“Yuck, morning mouth,” she said as they parted.

“Mine or yours?”

“Mine,” she said.

“You taste good to me.”

She placed her hand on his cheek.

“I gotta go,” he said. “I'm already late.” He leaned over once again, gave her a quick kiss, and stood. “I'll call later.”

“What about breakfast?”

“I'm good. I'll catch something on the fly.” He blew a kiss and left. He thought about stopping by the ranch for a quick change of clothes, but decided to put it off until after he met with Dr. Arthur Robert Kincaid, the coroner, whom everyone in town knew as Ark. So many people in small towns seem to carry nicknames, Virgil thought. How had he himself escaped one?

He pulled into the hospital parking lot. His next thought, once inside, was why were morgues always in basements?

There was no sign of the coroner in his office, so Virgil headed down the hall. Before he got as far as the viewing room, a door opened and the intern stepped out.

“Good morning,” Virgil said. “Is Ark . . . I mean Doctor Kincaid in there?”

“Sorry, he is running a bit late.”

Virgil reached out his hand. “I'm Sheriff Dalton. We never really were introduced.”

“Yes, I know,” the intern said. “The badge, the shades, and the cowboy hat gave you away. I'm Chet Harris.”

They shook hands.

“It's all right,” Harris said, as Virgil couldn't help looking at the man's eye patch. “It's a little disconcerting for most people. The patch—”

“Oh, sorry . . . It's just that you don't see . . . I mean . . .” Virgil rarely got caught with his conversational pants down, but the young intern was still smiling and seemed to be enjoying his embarrassment. “Maybe, if you got a parrot.”

“Good recovery, Sheriff. Actually, I've tried a couple of prosthetic eyes, but so far haven't found one that doesn't cause irritation. Can I get you a cup of coffee while you're waiting?”

“Thank you, sounds good.”

Virgil followed the intern back through the door and they spent the next ten minutes getting acquainted, until Dr. Kincaid finally entered.

“Sorry, Virgil. Had to drop the kids off at summer camp. Hate starting the day late. I feel like I spend the whole day playing catch-up.”

“Relax, Ark. As a guy who didn't become a father till he was almost fifty, I cut you plenty of slack. Besides, this has given me a chance to get to know your pirate.” He handed Ark a cup. “Coffee?”

“I've got some stuff to do,” the intern said. “Nice meeting you, Sheriff. Good suggestion for Halloween.” He started to leave the room.

“Hold on a minute, Chet. It can wait. Sit for a moment. This is part of the job description, too.”

“Okay, so what have you got for me?” Virgil said.

“This is preliminary, Virgil. I won't have the tox screen and other lab work for a while, but I can tell you a couple of things. First off, they didn't die a natural death.”

“C'mon, Ark. I didn't get out of bed for your gallows humor.”

“Okay. They were executions. A round in the back of each head. Then the decap.”

“Why?” Virgil mused out loud.

“That's your job to find out, Virgil. My guess? Somebody wanted to send a message. A lot of this kind of thing, as you well know, has been showing up south of the river. By the way, that was a dump site, not a kill site. So they were killed somewhere else, then brought there. No IDs on either body, so I can't help you there yet. I'm guessing illegals, but again that's something for you to figure out.”

“Okay.” Virgil got to his feet. Then he sneezed. He reached his hand into his pocket for a handkerchief, but came out instead with the scrap of blue with the yellow flowers.

“What have you got there?”

“Maybe,” Virgil said, turning over the fabric in his hand, “a way to find out who these folks were.”

*   *   *

When Virgil got back to the office, Rosie was sitting at her desk, finishing a sandwich.

“You could've gone to Margie's for a half hour,” he said.

“Didn't want to leave the office unattended. Especially not now.”

“Yeah, I guess the ante has been raised around here.”

“Remember what I said that first day, Virgil. I had a bad feeling about this.”

“Sometimes it's not good to be right.”

She didn't respond.

“Go on home,” he said. “I've got this covered. Spend some time with Dave. Keep him busy so he doesn't have time for a smoke.”

“He told me about the walk up the hill,” she said. “But I told him he's got to
want
to quit. I can't do it for him. All I can do is bury him if he doesn't.”

She left soon after. Virgil stayed in the office until Jimmy came in and brought him up to speed. Then Virgil went home, hoping for a quiet night.

*   *   *

It was close to ten the next morning when Virgil got to the office. He was pleased to see no sign of Rosie's car. He had told her to stay later with Dave. Dave was a big guy, barrel-chested with forearms that could crack walnuts, but the walk up that hill to the crime site had forced Virgil to confront the inevitability of time and its consequences. In the midst of everything else, he had to recognize some underlying realities. Dave's health was only one of these. Dave had always been a bigger-than-life guy, but always with the cigarette dangling from his mouth. Virgil knew for the road he was about to travel, he needed all his resources. For him, this investigation had suddenly turned into more than he had expected, more than just a killing in a small town.

The office was more shadow than light when he stepped inside, so for the first few minutes he raised shades and opened windows. He even left the door open to get some fresh air into the office before he had to hermetically seal it again and give it over to the incessant hum of the AC.

He walked through the door at the far end of the office to the connecting annex. The holding cells were empty, an uncommon scenario lately. He remembered his father talking about how the cells would be vacant for so long that before a new occupant went in they would have to go in and clean out scorpions and cobwebs. He said he didn't want his typical stay-over convinced that his hallucinations were real.

Yes, things had definitely changed. There was such a regularity of cell use in the last few years that their regular cleaning had become a line item in the annual budget. It was no longer just the weekend celebrant who spent a night. More and more, occupancy rates had not only gone up but were starting to reflect some big-city problems. The town drunk had been evicted by the drug dealer and his entourage. Domestic disputes had increased, and violent crime had become a fairly consistent part of the equation. As Virgil sat down at his desk in the midst of the growing sunlight that was inching its way across the room, for the first time in his tenure he was wondering if he needed some outside help. He had just taken a sip from his cup, with the quick realization that this wasn't Rosie's coffee, when she came through the door.