Scratchgravel Road A Mystery

THREE



After Josie left for the hospital, Otto returned to her jeep and sat in the driver’s seat with the air-conditioning vents pointed directly at him. He was certain Artemis would beat the record books that day. His shirt was already soaked. He pulled his ball cap off and wiped the sweat from his head with the handkerchief he kept in his back pocket. He hated wearing the Artemis PD ball cap, but he had burnt his balding head enough times that he finally started taking the extra precaution.

He opened Josie’s metal evidence kit that lay on the passenger seat, certain she wouldn’t mind him using her equipment. They worked well together. He respected her as an officer, and liked her as a person. It was his opinion that Josie needed to spend less time worrying about her job and more time worrying about her love life. She had not had much luck in that arena, and Otto worried her current romance with the local accountant was doomed for failure if she did not move things along. He had told her this, and was told to mind his own business in return.

Otto found the plastic accident template that was used to draw accurate pictures of the scene, as well as a graphite pencil and a sketchpad in the back of the kit. He opened the notebook and used the template to draw straight lines representing Scratchgravel Road, a rectangle showing Cassidy’s car pointed south, the bodies roughly a quarter mile east of the car, and Xs to signify the larger mesquite and creosote bushes and boulders in relation to the body. Once he had a rough sketch of the area he looked at his watch and sighed. The hottest part of the day. He knew it would be instant nausea when he stepped back out into the desert furnace, but he had to take the measurements, which meant leaving the air-conditioning to walk from the road to the corpse.

Otto pulled the measuring wheel from the back of Josie’s jeep and pushed the button to reset the distance to zero. He took off walking, counting steps to ensure he was getting an accurate measure with the rolling wheel in the thick sand. He recorded 825 feet from the road to where he and Josie had stopped their vehicles in the sand, and another 47 feet to the body. It was almost a quarter of a mile from the road to the crime scene.

As Otto finished making his second sketch to scale and labeled the distances, the ambulance returned and Josie exited from the passenger-side door. Several minutes later she had driven her jeep to where Otto’s was parked. She grabbed her evidence kit and camera and walked the remaining distance to the body.

“How’s the girl?” Otto asked.

“I think she’s coming around. Vie said to call back in a couple of hours.” Josie placed her kit under a mesquite bush for a small amount of shade and pulled her camera strap around her neck. She held the 35-millimeter camera up to her eye to check the settings. “The coroner is on his way,” she said.

“Mr. Personality?”

Josie smiled. “Have you ever once heard that guy laugh?”

“I suspect he doesn’t know how.”

Josie pointed to the ground around the boulder, about ten feet from where Cassidy’s body had lain. “These are fresh prints. Make sure you get them noted on your sketch, and I’ll get pictures.” She focused her camera and snapped several pictures from different angles, trying in vain to keep her mind off the putrid smell. “I’d like to get a cast of one of the prints but that sand is just too fine.”

“There aren’t any prints around the body. It’s blown clear,” Otto said. “Makes it pretty obvious whatever happened to him took place first, then Cassidy came into the picture.”

“Or she came back into the picture.”

Otto swore and swiped at the flies swarming them.

After twenty minutes, they were satisfied they had thoroughly photographed and logged the area.

“Let’s get this over,” Josie said.

They approached the body and Josie handed Otto her camera.

“You snap pictures. I’ll record.”

“You’re a good person. I’ll be smelling that tonight in my nightmares.”

Josie shuddered. She had volunteered for the task that would require getting personal with a dead body that had been out for several days in blistering heat. The bugs and small animals had already started on the exposed flesh. She was surprised the coyotes had not finished him off.

Otto pointed toward the man’s ankle, where blackened flesh had been torn away from the bone. “Looks like the vultures have already started on him.”

Josie looked up into the sky expecting to see the circling birds, angry at the human intrusion, but there was nothing but blue. She pulled her plastic gloves from her back pocket and said, “I heard once that the reason vultures are bald is so they can stick their head into decomposing roadkill and not get their feathers all nasty. You ever heard that?”

“You have to quit hanging out with cops. You need a life.”

Josie smiled and pulled a mask out of the evidence kit lying under the bush. The kit was already so hot the metal clasp burned her fingers when she touched it. She slipped the mask over her nose and mouth, then pulled the gloves on. She turned on the handheld recorder she pulled from her shirt pocket, tested it once, then started her recording.

“Today is July twenty-third. It is 1:34 P.M. This is Chief of Police Josie Gray, in Artemis, Texas. Location is a quarter mile east of Scratchgravel Road, about a half mile from River Road. I am examining a deceased male, age undetermined due to breakdown of the body. Decomposition is visible on face, hands, neck, and on the right ankle.” Josie paused and leaned closer to the man’s face, forcing her gag reflex down at the smell. “There are larvae around the eye sockets and mouth. The neck and face area also appear to have been eaten by small animals.”

Josie paused the recorder and stood suddenly, walked several steps away, and removed her mask, taking in fresh air. Otto handed her a water bottle and after several minutes she returned.

She kneeled again in the sand, and held the recorder to her mouth. “The man is bald. Dressed in a button-down Western-style shirt with a thin black bolo tie. He is wearing blue jeans and black work boots.” She paused and lifted the man’s untucked shirt slightly above his waist. “He is wearing a black belt with an expensive silver buckle. Clothes are in good condition. No other bags or luggage in the area.”

Josie grimaced and pushed two fingers gently into the front pocket of the man’s jeans. She fished out a wood-grained Case pocketknife and several coins.

Otto opened a plastic bag and she dropped the items inside. He held it closer for inspection. “That’s a fifty-dollar pocketknife. This guy’s not some down-on-his-luck Mexican trying to cross the border.”

She checked the other pocket while Otto labeled the bag with an evidence marker. “Want to roll him over?” Otto asked.

Josie was kneeling beside the corpse in the shade provided by Otto’s shadow. She turned back and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m afraid the body will fall apart. I’ll let Cowan deal with that one.”

She turned back to the man, and noticed a black-and-purple-colored lesion stretching from under the dead man’s shirt sleeve onto the back of his hand.

Josie said, “Hand me another set of gloves, will you?”

Otto pulled another pair of plastic gloves from the evidence kit and handed them to Josie. She wiped the sweat out of her eyes on her shirt sleeve and strained to get the gloves over her first pair in order to double up. She knew it was paranoia, but she was more afraid of unseen parasites than a gun or a knife. At least she stood a chance if she could see what she was fighting.

She struggled to unbutton the cuff on the man’s sleeve and then slowly slid it above his elbow, grimacing at what she saw. Large black and red sores, some open wounds, covered his arm. “Think this came before or after his death?” she asked.

Otto leaned over her back and snapped several pictures. “Nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Josie leaned across the man’s torso, unbuttoned the other sleeve, and pulled it slowly up. A half-dozen lesions were revealed on the top of his forearm. Josie used the fabric on his cuff to lift his arm and look at the underside. One sore, with pus oozing from the center, stretched several inches from his wrist up his arm. She unbuttoned his shirt and found no wounds on his chest or abdomen.

Josie pulled his shirt closed and stood. “I don’t like this.” She walked to his feet and pulled up the bottom of his jeans, struggling to raise the jeans a few inches above his black work boots. She stood and shook her head. “Nothing. Only appears to be on his arms.”

Otto took a step backwards. “I think we’d better leave this for Cowan. We don’t know what this might be, or how contagious it could be.”

They both turned toward the sound of a car in the distance.

“Speak of the devil,” Josie said.

They watched the 1978 Dodge station wagon that had been painted white and converted into the county hearse approach Cassidy Harper’s little blue car.

“That has to be the ugliest car in all of Texas,” Josie said.

“You don’t think he’ll try and drive that thing back here, do you?” Otto asked. County Coroner Mitchell Cowan was known for a supreme intelligence that translated into negligible common sense.

“Better get him on your cell phone before he tries it,” she said. “I would trust that man with my dead body in a heartbeat. I sure wouldn’t want to rely on him with my life though.”

Otto dialed his cell phone. Josie turned back to the body and listened to him tell Cowan to wait by the road to be picked up.

“Hang on, and I’ll go with you. I have to get out of this heat for a minute,” she said.

“I’ll drive. You take a break.”

Josie pulled off her gloves and mask and dropped them on the ground by the body. She would put them in a hazardous waste bag when they got ready to leave. She found hand sanitizer in the evidence kit and rubbed a liberal dose onto her hands before climbing into Otto’s jeep.

When temperatures hit above ninety they always left one of the cars running to have a cool place to escape the heat. They both sighed at the cool air blowing from the vents. Otto pulled a gallon jug out of a cooler in the backseat and they traded drinks of water before Otto took off to meet Cowan.

Josie and Otto got out of the car as Cowan was assembling his materials from the back of the station wagon. He was built like an ostrich, with a small head and thin neck that ballooned into a large midsection and ended in stick legs. Josie had always liked Cowan. He appeared to have no joy or humor in his life, but he showed up and did the job to the best of his ability with no complaints. She respected that.

“Nice day for a murder in the desert.” Cowan looked up from the black medical bag he was packing and glanced briefly at Josie and Otto before returning to his bag.

“You have a hazmat suit with you?” Josie asked.

“That I do. And, if I wear it, I will certainly stroke out from heat exhaustion before the examination has even begun. Plastic suits are not very practical on a day like today.”

“The arms of the dead man are covered with oozing lesions. Doesn’t look good,” she said.

“Any idea on time of death?” he asked, ignoring Josie’s comment.

“I’m guessing two days.”

“Because?”

“Because there are flies and fly larvae in the eyes and nose,” she said.

Cowan nodded. “Blowflies, yes. Have they hatched?”

“No.”

“Good work, then. You’re probably right. Sounds like about forty-eight hours.”

“You taught me well,” she said.

He grunted an acknowledgement and slammed the tailgate shut. He walked past the two of them and got into the backseat of Otto’s jeep. Josie smiled at Otto, who rolled his eyes and got into the driver’s seat.

“Blowflies don’t typically deposit eggs at night,” Cowan said.

Josie nodded, still smiling. “So, what are you saying? The time could be off by eight hours?”

“Blowflies are the best watch a dead man has.”

“Cowan, you have a unique way with words,” Otto said. He drove cautiously and pulled to a stop beside Josie’s jeep.

Cowan stepped out of the car without speaking and, wearing his brown dress loafers, trudged awkwardly through the sand. Once he reached the body, he set up a plastic tarp and his equipment. He then performed a cursory examination that included his own set of 35-millimeter photographs. He was able to turn the body over and Josie asked him to check the man’s pockets for identification. When he found none, she stepped back over to wait with Otto. After another twenty minutes Cowan turned to face Otto and Josie, who were standing in the narrow shade of a mesquite bush, waiting impatiently to get out of the heat.

Under the rolls of deep-set wrinkles running across his forehead, Cowan’s customary sad expression had turned grave. “Two things. First, cause of death was most likely blunt force trauma to the head. Bruising on the back of his skull indicates he was hit with a heavy object, and with considerable force. The injury wasn’t caused accidentally or by a fall.”

“But the injury could have caused death?” Josie asked.

“Certainly. I’m not ready to rule it as his cause of death, but I wouldn’t rule it out either,” Cowan said. “Second, I’ve never seen necrotizing fasciitis in person, but the lesions certainly fit the description.”

“What is it?” Otto asked.

“It’s a bacterial infection. Rare. It destroys skin, tissue, fat, and muscle. Regardless, the flesh is certainly dead, apparently eaten away by something.”

“Could the wounds have happened after the man died?” Josie asked.

“I’m guessing not, but we need to get him into the lab. This heat is doing a number on the body.”

“Wouldn’t the flesh be dying because the man laid out here for two days?” Otto asked.

Cowan frowned. “Not the same kind of dead. I’m fairly certain this man’s flesh was dead before his body was.”

Otto looked at Josie, then back at Cowan. “Could it be contagious?”

“Too early to speculate. I would recommend a hot shower and copious amounts of soap after we’re done here.” He gestured toward the hearse parked along the side of the road. “Now. How do you suggest we transport this body out of here?”

“We could fold down the seats in the back of my jeep. Would it be safe to bag him and drive him out to the hearse?” Josie asked.

Cowan pulled his glasses down his nose and looked wide-eyed at Josie. “You understand why we installed the plastic mats in the back of the hearse? There’s a fair chance that this body will leak fluids. This won’t be pretty. And the smell will most likely permeate your vehicle for some time to come.” He pulled his glasses off and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. “Have you ridden in the county hearse lately? Lysol can’t touch that smell.”

Josie glanced back at the body and grimaced. Not a good start to the work week, she thought.

Otto opened his phone. “Let me call Danny. We’ll get him to bring the county truck over. He can transport in the back of the pickup.”

Josie didn’t argue. Thirty minutes later, Danny Delgado, sanitation supervisor, also known as the Dump Man, drove the Arroyo County four-wheel-drive pickup truck through the desert like a pro. Weighed down with large rocks in the bed of the truck, he could maneuver through sand, mud, and water like a stunt driver. He backed up to the body without a question. Josie figured he’d transported worse, but she couldn’t imagine what that might be.

Otto had driven Cowan back out to the road where he retrieved disposable plastic jumpsuits, thick plastic gloves, and face masks from the hearse. He insisted each of them put the outfit on, including Danny, before they touched the body. Even with the heat, no one complained.

With considerable effort, and a fair amount of stomach distress, Josie, Otto, and Cowan bagged the corpse and loaded it onto the bed of the truck. As soon as the body was deposited, they stripped off the jumpsuits and stuffed them into a hazmat bag that Cowan said he would dispose of at the morgue. They were all sweat-soaked and Cowan passed around cold bottles of water, which they drained. Danny hopped into the pickup truck and hollered that he would meet Cowan at the morgue.

Cowan headed to the hearse. “I’ll call as soon as I know anything.” He pulled away with a parting toot of the horn.

Standing by the side of the road, Josie examined Otto, whose face was bright red. His uniform shirt was sweat-stained and his flyaway gray hair was a mess.

“I would just like to go home and sit on my front porch with the dog and drink a beer,” Josie said.

“I got a close second. A cool shower and clean clothes. Then we meet up again for an ice-cold Coke and a bologna sandwich from the Hot Tamale. My treat,” he said.

* * *

The phone on the bedside table rang and startled Cassidy out of a half-sleep. She looked around the hospital room, not sure what she should do. Hers was the only bed in the room and she’d seen only two people since she woke, both of them nurses. On the fourth ring Cassidy propped herself up on her elbow and closed her eyes at the flaming sunburn on her arm. Tears ran down her cheeks as she picked up the receiver and placed it gingerly against her ear.

“Hello?” she asked. Her voice barely registered.

“Hey, it’s me. What’s going on?”

She closed her eyes, relieved to hear Leo’s voice, but dreading the inevitable questions.

“I passed out from heat exhaustion. I spent too long outside.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Got a bad sunburn, that’s all.”

“What were you doing outside?”

“I was just out for a walk.”

There was silence for a moment. “What do you mean you were out for a walk? It’s like an incinerator out there.”

She forced the words out, clenching her eyes shut. “I found a dead man.”

The line was silent for a beat too long. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I was over by the river, just hiking, and I came across a body. I passed out and Chief Gray found me.”

“Where were you?” he asked.

“I don’t know, over by the river.”

“What do you mean over by the river? Where?”

“I don’t know. Just out in the desert.”

He blew air out in frustration. “Why can’t you just give a straight answer?”

She closed her eyes against the anger in Leo’s voice.

“What was wrong with the guy?”

Cassidy opened her eyes and stared at the computer monitor attached to an arm that connected to the wall. She stared at the blank screen as Leo’s question replayed in her mind.

“What was wrong with him?” Leo repeated.

She wanted to hurl her own questions back at him. Why were you talking about Scratchgravel Road to someone at one in the morning? Why did you leave in the middle of the night without a word to me?

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe he was an illegal, crossing over, and the heat got to him.”

“Can you come home tonight?”

“You can come get me. I’ll pick up my car tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said, and hung up.

She stared at the white sheets on the bed wondering how her life had collapsed in such a miserable heap in just one day. She leaned back into the pillow to get the weight of her body off the burnt arm, closed her eyes, and began to cry.

The door to the room opened and the nurse bustled inside wearing her white starched uniform and carrying a tray full of medical supplies. Cassidy willed the nurse to turn around and leave the room, but she didn’t. She approached the bed and reached out for Cassidy’s wrist. The nurse placed her fingertips on the inside of her arm and pressed into her flesh. After a moment she wrote numbers on her clipboard and laid it on the bedside table.

She grabbed a tissue from the box next to her clipboard and handed it to Cassidy, who sniffed and wiped her eyes. The nurse found a tube of ointment in the cabinet and unscrewed the cap as she walked back to the bed. Her expression was kind but worried.

“How’s your pain?” Vie asked.

“It’s okay.”

“You want me to call your mother? A friend maybe? Someone who can come sit with you?”

Cassidy shut her eyes and tried to stop the flow of tears as the nurse began to gently rub the cream into her arms.