She drove, and I looked at photos on her iPad as we made the gradual five-and-a-half-mile climb up to the Goodsprings Bypass Gravel Haul Route.
“Gruesome, aren’t they,” she said. “An old boy that lives out this way got curious about the vultures and went out for a look yesterday, but he didn’t tell anyone until dawn this morning. Maybe what he saw got into his sleep and he had a change of heart.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, some mumble-bumble bullshit that didn’t make any sense.” She glanced over again. “He didn’t want to get mixed up in it, or he owes on a ticket, or, I hate to say it, he may have found a watch, a wallet, something out here and took it home.”
I couldn’t tell much about the victim’s identity from the crime-scene photos, but I gave her what she was waiting to hear.
“If there’s any possibility it’s Juan Menderes, we’ll expedite DNA testing. If it’s Menderes, there’s a woman named Rosamar Largo who claims he’s her half brother.”
“Is he?”
“Probably not.”
“If it turns out he is, I want to talk to her.”
“Sure.”
She slowed to a stop. “Here we are. Lovely, isn’t it?”
Despite bright sunlight, I pulled off my sunglasses for a better read of the ground. It was a flat gray-white spot facing desert hills, littered with beer cans, trash, and bullet casings. Tire tracks crisscrossed the sandy soil. It looked like a regular place for target practice. Taking it in I had an obvious, quick early thought: whoever killed the victim wasn’t worried about him being found.
“Busy place,” I said.
“Yep, civilization,” she answered. “People come out here and drink and target shoot. It’s far enough out to not bother anybody and close enough to the road not to be inconvenient. The dark spot there is where he died. What I don’t understand is why he was disfigured the way he was. I can’t get my head around them cutting off his hands and doing what they did to his face. Makes me think they had something personal with him.”
Perth was a big-boned woman, sturdy not overweight, in jeans, cowboy boots, a solid leather belt, and white shirt, probably freshly ironed this morning but sweat-wrinkled now in back. Her hands were big, her face strong-featured. I heard sadness in her voice that caused me to look at her more closely.
She pointed at two knee prints in the gray-white soil.
“I think he tried to stand after being shot. See the second knee print and the toe dug in? See there and then there, where his left foot landed as he stumbled to his feet.”
She pointed out dots of black blood sprayed and dried hard on mesquite.
“Shotgun,” she said. “The coroner thinks the first barrel took away his lower jaw, so he wasn’t going far when he stood up again. He was bleeding out and struggling for air. Look here, though, the footprints that come in from the side after he’s up on his feet again.”
I saw them, but it was a hard read so I asked her, “Are you used to tracking game?”
“All my life and in desert country.”
“What made you think the victim here could be Juan Menderes?”
“Body type, and I thought maybe that might explain the violence done to him.” She added, “I needed something that could explain it.”
“This isn’t public yet, but it’s looking like Juan Menderes delivered drugs in addition to Hullabaloo party cakes. The Hullabaloo drivers use the same van every day. They’re responsible for keeping them clean and cared for. Looks like he had his modified. We found a hidden compartment welded in the floor of the van. The Rosamar Largo that I was telling you about says she dropped him at a southbound 95 on-ramp a little after 11:00 p.m. the night of July 4. A ride was set up.”
“He’s her brother, but he doesn’t tell her where he’s going? That’s a little bit hard to believe.”
“He’s not her brother.”
“Is that opinion or fact?”
“A little of both. I don’t think she’s worried about him. She’s worried about herself. It’s in everything she says.”
My opinion was just more hearsay to Perth. She pointed at mesquite thirty yards away.
“Part of his jaw was over there. If we come up with dental records, there won’t be any way to match them. The shotgun took away his nose, cheekbones, and eye sockets. Took away any easy way to visually ID him.”
That was probably the goal, I thought. Perth turned to me.