by B J Bourg
He nodded and followed me across the property. We stopped at the edge of the water, where prehistoric grass was growing in thick clumps, and studied the banks of the pond, looking for any signs that would indicate something had gone in the water recently. There was nothing. Not a bent weed, nor a muddy shoeprint, nor a single drag mark.
I turned and started making my way slowly back toward the house, figuring I’d better search the back of the property again. I knew I had to pick up Junior for questioning, but I was so tired that all I wanted to do was crawl up in a ball and take a nap right there in the yard, next to that large engine block—
“Hey, wait a minute!” I said, rushing forward.
“What is it?” Melvin called, breaking into a run and trying to keep pace with me.
I didn’t answer him until we were standing in front of the large engine block located at the back corner of the house.
“Notice anything weird about this piece of equipment?” I traced the outline of the engine block with my finger, showing him that the edges weren’t highlighted in weeds. “This engine block was placed here after the grass was cut.”
He nodded slowly, still not getting it. “What do you think it means?”
“It probably means someone buried Katrina Bradberry in the yard and then moved this giant engine block on top of the burial plot to disguise the freshly turned earth.” I pointed to a few dried clumps of fresh mud mixed in with the grass at our feet. “You can see that there’s been some activity in this area.”
Melvin squatted and studied the ground as I turned and hurried inside the house, summoning Ricky Bradberry. When he had joined us near the engine block, I asked if he had moved it there.
“Nah, that was under the carport. I bought it from an old buddy of mine who used to have a bus, and I was going to use it for spare parts. I don’t know what it’s doing out here.” He scratched his head and glanced around the yard, pointed to his winch truck. “Whoever moved it had to use my truck. This thing is too heavy even for ten strong men to carry.”
“Where are the keys to the truck?” I asked.
“I keep them on a hook by the back door to the kitchen.”
“Does Junior know where you keep them?”
“Of course he does.”
That little bastard! I was disappointed in myself for not picking up any vibes from Junior. If his mom was buried under this engine block, the kid would have some explaining to do.
“Have you done any digging in this area?” I pointed to the clumps of mud at our feet.
“Like I told you, I’m always at work. I don’t even have time to cut the grass. Katrina usually does it, but Lenny helps her from time to time. I’m not sure who cut the grass last, but it was cut before this was moved.”
I mulled over what I had just learned, then began asking about Katrina. “Can you try to remember the last time you saw your wife?”
“Over the weekend, I guess.” He was thoughtful. “It was probably Sunday morning.”
“How was she?”
“She was fine.”
“Did she complain of having a headache or did she seem to be suffering from dizziness or shortness of breath?”
“No.”
“Did you notice if she was having convulsions when you saw her on Sunday? Or had she started vomiting yet?”
“Like I already told you, she was fine when I saw her.” As I stood there studying him, his eyes turned to slits and his bushy eyebrows came together over the bridge of his nose. “Are you accusing me of something? Do you think I did something to Katrina?”
I held his gaze. “Did you?”
He leaned closer. “No, I did not!”
I believed the old man. Cyanide was a relentless killer, and it didn’t waste time. Depending on the level of exposure, Katrina would’ve died within minutes or hours of ingestion, and it would’ve been painfully obvious to Ricky that his wife was in distress.
I pointed to his winch truck. “Can you get your keys and use your truck to move this engine block? I want to see what’s under it.”
He nodded and shuffled off. When he returned, he pulled himself into the truck and fired up the engine. The muffler coughed up a cloud of smoke and the engine sputtered, but he finally had it humming. Once he’d backed the truck up to the large chunk of metal, we attached the cable to it and he slowly lifted it into the air.
I pursed my lips when the ground came into view. There was a patch of bare earth about five feet long and four feet wide, and it was obvious it had been recently dug up.
“Damn, this is a grave,” I whispered to Melvin when Ricky had driven off with the engine block hanging from the back of his truck. “Can you call the sheriff’s office and ask them to bring a cadaver dog out here? If the dog alerts on the mound, we’ll have an excavation on our hands.”
“Do you think Rose is down there with Katrina?”
The very thought made my stomach turn, but I had to acknowledge it was a possibility. “I sure hope not, Melvin. God, I sure hope not.”
CHAPTER 40
An hour later…
I jerked awake and stared wildly about, wondering where I was and what it was that had awakened me. The sun was shining and I was in the back cargo area of my Tahoe, where it was nice and warm. I sat up and glanced out the side window. A sheriff’s office canine vehicle was parked in front of my SUV. A door slammed and I realized that’s what had stirred me from my sleep. I stretched, rubbed my eyes, and glanced at the time on my cell phone. It had only been an hour, but that nap had significantly recharged my batteries. I felt like a new man.
As I crawled from the back of my vehicle and rounded the corner—straightening my holster as I did so—Gretchen Verdin came into view. She had Geronimo with her and they were heading for the back yard of the Bradberry home.
She smiled when she saw me. “You look like you’ve been buried alive yourself.”
“At least I feel like I’ve been resurrected.”
“At least,” she said playfully.
I stepped in line with her and we proceeded to the back of the house, where Amy Cooke was sitting on an overturned bucket. She smiled a greeting, but didn’t move from her seat.
It was cooler now that I was out of my Tahoe and the wind was hitting me, but it wasn’t as cold as it had been earlier. I was thankful for that. I walked over to where Amy sat and we both watched as Gretchen guided Geronimo over the plot of packed earth.
“Where’s Melvin?” I asked Amy. When I had stretched out in the back of my cruiser, he had been sitting on the tailgate of his truck talking on his phone to the sheriff’s office dispatcher.
“He’s heading to his house to get some shovels and dowel rods. He’s convinced that Rose Murdock and Katrina Bradberry are sleeping down there.” She then shot a thumb toward the trees behind the Bradberry home. “Susan sent Takecia to sit on Junior’s trailer. She radioed a minute ago to say she still hasn’t detected any movement from inside, but Melvin did tell us that Junior sleeps during the day.”
“He does and—”
Before I could say another word, Geronimo made a scratching motion and then sat on his haunches.
“There’s a body under here.” Gretchen gave Geronimo a reward for his good work and backed away. “I can’t tell how deep it is or how long it’s been here based on his alert, but there’s definitely a dead body down there.”
I thanked her and she walked off, heading back to her regular duties. I had known there must be a reason for the freshly turned earth and I was expecting the dog to alert, but to have it confirmed sent a chill down my backside and I shuddered. What if Rose is buried in this spot with Katrina?
This was not how I envisioned Rose’s case to end. I had been hoping against hope that we would find her alive, even though the practical side of me knew the chances were slim and diminishing with each tick of the clock. I got on the phone with Susan.
“Sue, the dog alerted on the apparent grave behind Katrina Bradberry’s house. I think Rose might
be down there with her. I mean, we’ve searched everywhere for her and turned up nothing. If she’s not here, I don’t know where else she could be.”
She was silent for a long moment. “Is the area wide enough to fit two bodies?”
I scowled as I stared down at the grave, shook my head. “You know what? It isn’t wide enough or long enough to fit two people.” Hope was beginning to seep back into my pores, but then a thought occurred to me and it drained away. “Wait a minute…they could’ve piled the bodies on top of each other.”
“Well, let’s just hope Katrina is the only one down there.” She sounded tired. “Do you need some help?”
“No, we should be good. Melvin’s on the way with shovels and I’ve got Amy here with me now. How about you?” I asked. “How are you holding up? You sound tired.”
“I took a cat nap earlier, probably got in thirty minutes. I might sound like shit, but I feel better.” She paused and I could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “So, I understand Jennifer went out to the Bradberry home to pick up some possible samples of cyanide.”
I told her about the phone call between us, and how it ended. “I didn’t see her when she got here, though. Melvin dealt with her.”
“Well, let’s hope that’s the last we see of her.”
I frowned, told her about Jennifer’s brother who now lived in Mechant Loup.
“That’s great,” Susan said wryly. “This town just got a whole lot smaller.”
I agreed and ended the call just as Melvin’s truck rumbled through the yard. He stopped a few feet from the grave site. He jumped out with two paper plates wrapped in aluminum foil and two cans of Coke. He handed one of the drinks and a plate to Amy and the other to me, then he headed back for his truck. “I’ve got one for Takecia, too. I’ll be back in a second.”
My stomach was grumbling again, and I peeled back the foil to expose two fried chicken legs, a link of sausage, white rice, and several pieces of fried shrimp. I plopped to the ground next to Amy’s chair and began wolfing the food down. I knew we would be busy for the next few hours, and we might not get another chance to eat for some time.
When Melvin returned, I asked him where he’d gotten the food.
“They’re cooking under the tent at the Murdock homestead again.”
My thoughts turned to Laura Murdock and I frowned. “Has anyone checked on Laura lately?”
Melvin took a large bite of chicken and nodded. Talking around his food, he said he had checked in on her after retrieving the shovels from his house. “I told her we were still out here searching, but she didn’t seem to be encouraged. She was crying and she told me she knew Rose was dead, that she could feel it in her soul. She begged me to release her.” He swallowed and smirked. “She told me she’d do anything to get out, and when I say anything, I mean anything. She was offering me sex and money.” He shook his head. “I got the hell out of there and told Lindsey to document what she said on the radio log.”
I couldn’t even imagine how Laura was feeling, so I wasn’t about to pass judgment. About missing person cases, I’d always heard it was the “not knowing” that tortured the victim’s family the most. Somehow, I figured not knowing had to be better than learning Rose was buried underground in Katrina Bradberry’s yard. At least at the moment she could still hope that her daughter would be found alive.
CHAPTER 41
We finished our food in silence and then I put away my trash and grabbed one of the thin dowel rods from the back of Melvin’s truck. Beginning at the western end of the oblong patch of flattened dirt, I began slowly inserting the rod—it was four feet long and about a quarter-inch in diameter—into the ground. I pushed it as far down as it would go, pulled it out again, and then moved a few inches down before repeating the process.
The dirt had not been packed very tight and the rod pushed through quite easily. I had only gone about a foot from the western end of the grave site when the rod hit something solid. It was only about two feet down. I turned to Melvin. “Can you grab me some evidence flags?”
He nodded and rushed to his truck, returning with a handful of yellow flags attached to metal wires. I inserted a flag into the hole, and then continued making my way across the patch of dirt, duplicating that process each time the dowel rod encountered something solid beneath the surface.
After I was done, I straightened and stepped back from the grave site. We all stood there staring at the flags for a moment, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The flags formed the clear outline of a body, and Amy and Melvin were probably wondering the same thing I was wondering—would we unearth Rose, Katrina, or both, and what would be the condition of the body or bodies?
I tossed the dowel rod aside and grabbed a shovel. Amy and Melvin followed suit. Using each flag as a guide to determine how deep to dig in the different areas, we began removing one layer of dirt at a time.
We had probably worked for an hour and had cleared out most of the dirt from the center of the oblong grave when the first signs of a body came into view. It was a nose, or what was left of it. I dropped to my knees and began removing one gloved handful of dirt at a time. Before long, I had exposed a human face that was badly decomposed, but there was enough of the flesh still intact to identify it as the body of Katrina Bradberry.
“Can one of you call the coroner’s office?” I used the shoulder of my shirt to wipe sweat from my face. “We need to get her autopsied as soon as possible.”
Amy jerked her phone from her back pocket. “I’m on it.”
I continued digging with my hands, and Melvin assisted me. We eventually dug a trench around her entire body, and were able to determine that she was alone down there with her purse. I took a quick glance inside the purse and saw that it contained her wallet, a cell phone, and a set of keys that appeared to be for the bus.
“Thank God Rose isn’t in this hole,” I muttered when Melvin and I pulled back to take a break.
“But where is she?”
I didn’t even answer. Instead, I mentioned we needed to make sure Ricky Bradberry didn’t come outside and see his wife like this.
“That son of a gun is sleeping,” Amy said, walking up and putting her phone away. “I went to use the bathroom and I saw him crashed on the sofa, snoring like a trumpet player. Anyway, I notified the coroner’s office and let Susan know what was going on.”
“What time is it?” I asked, knowing it had to be almost dinner time because my stomach was groaning in anger.
“A little after four-thirty,” Amy said. “It’ll be dark in two hours.”
She was right.
I turned to Melvin. “Can you wait here for the coroner’s investigator?”
“Yeah, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to snatch Junior out of his bed and I’m taking him to the police department.” I peeled off my latex gloves. “The kid’s got some explaining to do.”
“I’m coming with you,” Amy said, but then glanced at Melvin. “Well, as long as you don’t mind.”
Melvin waved his hand in the air. “Of course I don’t mind. When I was a kid, I used to dream of being a cop just so I could babysit dead people while other officers go out and do the cool stuff.”
Amy hesitated, but Melvin flashed a large grin. “I’m joking. Get out of here.”
I was already halfway to my Tahoe when Amy caught up to me.
“Do you think he’ll fight?” she asked.
“I doubt it. He’s a sickly kid. He doesn’t have much energy for anything, much less fighting.”
Once we had piled into my SUV, I drove to the back of street, not even trying to disguise our approach. Takecia’s car was hidden behind some bushes and she was sitting inside, but she quickly jumped out when I sped by, heading straight for the front of Junior’s trailer. I stopped several feet from the steps and jumped out.
“Open the door, Junior!” I bellowed, banging so hard on the trailer that I thought it might fall off its block. “Junior, open the goddam
n door!”
After my second knock, I heard stumbling footsteps approaching the entrance. When the knob turned, I jerked the door open and Junior nearly spilled out face-first. He caught himself on the frame. His eyes widened when he saw me standing there, but they nearly popped out of his head when he saw Amy and Takecia hurrying closer, their guns drawn.
“Whoa, man, what’s going on?” he asked. “I thought everything was invisible.”
I reached up and grabbed the front of his T-shirt, jerking him out of the doorway. The shirt tore and he landed with a thump on the front lawn. The impact knocked his wind out. He began wheezing and coughing, trying to suck in some air.
“Get up,” I said, grabbing an arm. “And get your ass in my cruiser.”
Amy grabbed his other arm. We escorted him toward the front seat, where I pushed him inside. Amy snapped the seatbelt in place and told him if he made any wrong moves she’d strangle him with a strap.
“But…but what’s going on? This is kidnapping.”
I ignored him and slipped into the driver’s seat. While Amy advised him of his Miranda rights, I sped out of the driveway and onto Old Blackbird Highway, heading north toward town.
“You said you wouldn’t arrest me for the drugs,” Junior said. “You promised!”
“This is not about the drugs.” I slowed when we approached the Murdock home. Both sides of the highway were still lined with cars and dozens of volunteers were walking back and forth from the tents. Some were just coming in from the fields and others were heading out, armed with flashlights and walking sticks. It would be another long night in the search for Rose Murdock.
“Then what’s it about? I didn’t do nothing wrong, I swear it!”
“Do you remember having a conversation with your brother early this morning?” I glanced at him to measure his expression. It was blank. Hell, he was probably so high this morning—and every morning—that he didn’t remember anything. I was surprised he remembered me saying I wouldn’t arrest him for his minor drug offense.