Ripped To Shreds

by Jeanne Glidewell

  "There was no evidence of a broken neck during the autopsy," Sheriff Wright said. There was a definite hint of disappointment in her tone.

  "Okay, but I'm sure there are other ways the pair could have killed Bea. So, as I was saying, the couple had two options. Option one, freeing her, would be paramount to turning themselves into the authorities. They'd have been arrested and ordered to stand trial in front of a jury of their peers, as you in the justice system like to say. And the pair had to realize they'd almost certainly face severe punishment. Rick said they'd get serious prison time and their lives would be adversely affected forever."

  "The ranger's correct," the sheriff agreed. "Their atrocious actions were deplorable. And I'll recommend that the judge throw the book at them."

  "Absolutely!" I exclaimed in response. "So, given the consequences of option one, my guess is they chose the other option and killed her. Then they dragged Bea's body to where Rick discovered it, leaving her remains to the carnivorous predators to devour."

  "That's all well and good, but it's only a supposition. We have no way to prove that theory." Sheriff Wright appeared anxious to find a way to tie the cases together.

  "I think there is," I told her. "No doubt you've seen the bracelet we discovered in a pile of bear scat this morning. I guarantee you that bracelet did not travel through the digestion system of the animal who left the dung pile. I took a nature call in the identical spot, not ten feet from that very pile of scat yesterday and then again this morning. At some point between those two occasions, that bracelet, which Boonie can confirm belonged to his wife, was intentionally placed in the scat. Bea had informed me earlier that her grandmother had given it to her to wear as a talisman. Granny promised her it would bring her good luck, Bea said."

  "Granny lied," Rip muttered.

  "And the missing diamond?" Not surprisingly, the sheriff ignored her fellow sheriff's sarcasm.

  "This part is only speculation, but we believe that because of its value, the impressive gem was pried out of the bracelet before it was used in hopes of distracting the detectives when they discovered it sticking out of the scat. I'm sure the Harrises thought the investigators would assume the mauling by the bear had dislodged the gem, or the acid in the animal's digestive tract had eaten away at the mount just enough to loosen it. You might want to have someone in your department check with any local pawn shops for the missing diamond."

  "I definitely will." Sheriff Wright scribbled furiously on her notepad. "But I don't see any reasoning behind placing the bracelet in the scat."

  "Not only would this action serve to potentially throw the authorities off-track, it'd also probably give John and Barb long enough to pack up and move on. I'm sure they already thought the authorities were closing in on them. You see, I kind of told Barb the detectives had determined it was definitely a homicide, and also that Rip and I were involved in an investigation of our own."

  "You were involved in what?" The sheriff stood up and pointed to Rip. "I specifically told you to stay out of it. You may have been the sheriff in some Podunk county in Texas that—"

  "That what?" Rip broke in. He was standing up now, pointing at the sheriff as he yelled at her. "That had a population three times that of Johnson County, Wyoming?"

  I waved my hands before an all-out confrontation erupted between the two sheriffs. "Let's keep to the subject. Please hear me out, Sheriff Wright. And Rip, please calm down and have a seat."

  "Oh, all right. Finish your story and make it quick," Sheriff Wright said as Rip reluctantly sat back down. Wisps of steam seemed to be escaping the sheriff's ears and floating around her face, distorting the scowl on her face. Of course, that might have just been my imagination because of my fervent desire to convince the sheriff of John and Barb's guilt. The sheriff tapped the tip of her pen on her desk several times before speaking again. "I still don't see how you think you can positively tie the bracelet in the bear poop incident to the Harris couple."

  Bracelet in the bear poop? I thought. There could be a country song in there somewhere just waiting to be written. I waited for the sheriff to settle back down and then continued with my theory.

  "The bracelet was removed from the dung by a rookie detective wearing latex gloves and then placed in a plastic bag to keep from destroying any trace evidence. If I'm correct, and I believe I am, the last person to touch that bracelet was either John or Barb Harris. The bracelet has an unusually wide band that consists predominantly of smooth gold. If a fingerprint matching one or both of the Harrises can be taken off the bracelet, I think you'd have enough evidence to arrest the pair. Don't you?"

  "Perhaps. Is there anything else?"

  "Yes. I'm sure Boonie can confirm this revolver with a gold-plated barrel belonged to his wife. I had Rick and Rip search for a weapon in the trap's vicinity because I couldn't imagine Bea not having some form of protection with her after her close encounter with a cougar. I now wonder if that close call might have prompted her lack of hesitancy when she killed that bear in the campground. I know after Rip and I came face to face with a mama bear and three cubs, I was much jumpier on subsequent treks through the forest."

  "And who wouldn't be?" The sheriff said in agreement. "Please continue."

  "When Bea stepped into the trap, she most likely flung this gun out of her hand so she could use her dominate hand to brace her fall. Since the gun was buried in the muck in that marshy valley, and neither the Harrises nor the rangers knew to look for one, it was still lying where it'd landed when it flew out of Bea's hand. I have a hunch only the victim's fingerprints will be found on the gun."

  "Hmm," the sheriff muttered as if in deep thought.

  "One last thing," I said, reaching into my pocket for the sycamore leaf I'd placed in there earlier. "When the rangers discovered the trap this morning, it was covered in blood. They naturally assumed it was from the animal, or animals, the poachers had previously snared. I think if you have the blood tested on this leaf that I found right next to the trap, you'll find out it belonged to Bea Whetstone."

  The sheriff thought for a moment. Then, without replying, she made a call to request the bagged bracelet be brought to her from the evidence locker. She then pressed a button on her intercom. "Millie, send someone from the crime lab to my office with a fingerprint dusting kit."

  A timid voice could be heard over the speaker. The woman started to say something like, "I'll take care of it after I finish handling some other pressing matters." But Millie got cut off by the brash sheriff, who practically growled into the microphone, "I want it yesterday!"

  "Yes, ma'am. I'll get right on it!"

  * * *

  "I'm almost certain I can pull a decent enough print off this bracelet to run it through IAFIS," the crime lab technician said about twenty-five minutes later. Having been married to a career law enforcement officer, I knew he was referring to the largest criminal fingerprint database in the world.

  "What if they've never been arrested before and aren't in the system?" I asked. I didn't want a technical detail like that to throw a monkey wrench in my theory.

  The sheriff replied to my inquiry while looking straight into my eyes. "Don't worry, we'll handle it. We'll obtain the couple's fingerprints one way or the other. We've known it was a homicide all along, but have been keeping the details of the case under wraps. We wanted to prevent the media from insinuating a serial killer might be on the loose and terrifying everyone in the county when there was nothing to suggest that was the case. We also thought if we put it out there that we were convinced the woman's death was due to an animal attack, the real perpetrator wouldn't feel as pressured to immediately cover their tracks."

  I heard Rip whisper to Rick behind me, "What'd she just say about a purple tater?"

  I shushed my husband, and directed my attention back to the sheriff, as she continued. "We were hoping some clue would pop up that'd lead us to the killer, or in this case, killers."

  Rip couldn't resist needling the sheriff. "Is tha
t why you blew off my suggestion to study a couple of images we captured earlier on the motion-sensing camera?"

  "Sorry about that." The sheriff looked directly at Rip and had the decency to look ashamed. Judging by Rip's smug expression, it was obvious her apology was a tad bit of redemption for him.

  "Were you looking at John and Barb Harris as potential suspects?" Rip asked.

  "No." Sheriff Wright appeared uneasy. It was clear that admitting to failure was not an easy pill for her to swallow. "To be honest, we were looking at the husband and trying to build a case around him. Unsuccessfully, I might add. Our attention then shifted to a local lady who was believed to be involved with the husband prior to his wife's murder."

  "Janelle Tyson-Simms?" I asked.

  "You knew about her, as well?" The sheriff appeared bewildered.

  "Of course!"

  "Hmm. All right. I guess I shouldn't be surprised to hear that. So, anyway, to this point John and Barb Harris have been flying under our radar."

  "Really? They've been on our suspect list for quite a while, but—"

  "Your suspect list?" The sheriff was clearly aghast by my statement. "Don't take this wrong, Mrs. Ripple. I do appreciate your efforts and the time and thought you two put into this murder case. But I'm not particularly happy that you and your husband took it upon yourselves to dabble in an official investigation without my approval. Interference by the public can often be more of a hindrance than a help. This time may turn out to be an exception to that rule. Still, don't make a habit of it. In my county, anyway."

  Her praise had a double-edged sword effect. Her words of appreciation pleased me no end, while making Rip want to tear her a new one. The word "dabble" had clearly put a big, fat burr under his saddle.

  The sheriff, oblivious to the daggers being cast her way from Rip's eyes, continued, "I'm sending the leaf to the crime lab for testing, as well as the bracelet. I'm also sending a couple of squad cars to the RV park to question the Harris couple. We'll fingerprint them and try to verify any alibis they might provide. My guess is that if they are guilty of one or both crimes, they've flown the coop already. I sincerely hope your theory is correct, Mrs. Ripple, and I am fairly confident now that it is. You've been able to provide a lot of incriminating evidence. And I must say, I'd really like to put this case to bed."

  Jaclyn Wright sighed. The fact we'd been more successful in our investigation than her entire team of "competent" detectives had in theirs seemed to take the wind out of the sheriff's sails. But I was thrilled beyond words at her remarks. I could already visualize myself carving another notch in my imaginary belt. I was proving to be quite adept at solving cases, if I must say so myself.

  I'd missed my calling, I thought. I briefly wondered if my age was too advanced to hire myself out as a private detective. Better yet, a traveling gumshoe who was paid to stay in local RV parks while serving as a private eye on individual homicide cases. That'd be a more satisfying way to earn a little cash, or free rent, than selling toilet chemical and water regulators to other RVers.

  After a couple more minutes of discussion, Sheriff Wright recommended we head back to Rest 'n Peace RV Park. I think she was about to say we should go to the campground's clubhouse and play bingo with some other old fogeys while her men handled the situation from here on out. However, after a quick glance at Rip, she'd thought better of it.

  Instead, she said, "Thank you. I believe we can handle it from here without your assistance. But we do appreciate your help in this challenging case. If it turns out the way I suspect it will, I'll be recommending you both for a special commendations plaque from the department. And, Ranger Rick, your part in this case is appreciated as well. I'll put a bug in your supervisor's ear that your efforts are worthy of a raise or an advancement."

  Rip began to say something, but I elbowed him in the ribs before he could turn down her offer. As far as I was concerned, the plaque was well deserved. We had put ourselves in danger more than once, even looking a mama bear with cubs in the eye on one occasion.

  I knew that every time Rip looked at the plaque, he'd be visualizing the iron-fisted sheriff, or battleaxe, as he preferred to call her, eating a plate of perfectly seasoned crow. Regardless of his negative opinion of Sheriff Wright, I think he was placated by her next words. "Hope I didn't offend you."

  That apology, as lame as it sounded, would have to do, for there were no more conciliatory remarks forthcoming. I told Rip she'd meant the comment as a plea for forgiveness, and added, "I know how much you hate to be criticized by a woman."

  He gave me a pointed look. "No, big Rip! I'm used to it."

  Rip chuckled at his own tongue-in-cheek humor even though I was certain the sheriff's jabs were still burning a hole in his stomach like an ulcer that wouldn't heal. But I knew the man who'd been shackled to me for the last half-century well enough to know he appreciated the sheriff's pitiful act of contrition.

  "Ready to head home to the Chartreuse Caboose, my dear?" Rip asked. "I'm proud of you, you know. Figuring out the connection between the two crimes is another feather in your cap."

  "And yours, too," I added.

  "It was you who put the pieces together, not me. Another job well done!"

  Rip whistled Girl on Fire, the popular Alicia Keys song, as we strolled out of the police station, hand-in-hand. I was amazed he'd even heard of the song, much less was familiar with its melody. Even after fifty years together, I still learn something new about my man every day.

  Chapter 26

  When three squad cars rolled into the campground a few minutes later, they met Barb and John Harris in their truck with their fifth wheel hooked to the hitch, exiting the park through the campground's gate.

  We'd returned to the park prior to the detectives' arrival and noticed the Harris's site was vacant. At the time, we didn't realize they'd pulled their rig around to the park's dump station to empty their holding tanks and fill up their fresh water tank before heading out. They were planning to do some dry camping in a remote part of the mountainous range for two or three days until they were confident the coast was clear and they could proceed to their next scheduled hunting grounds.

  You'd never have known their site had been occupied except for a small white cooler they'd left on the picnic table. I imagine they'd overlooked it in their haste to get the heck out of Dodge as quickly as possible. The cooler had both Chinese and English characters written on it. After a line of intricate designs that seemed as if they'd take a day and a half to pen, it read, "Pork Cutlets. Beware of hazardous dry ice."

  Pork cutlets, my behind! Horrifically harvested organs, it should have read. I was relieved to see the cooler was an exact match to the one in both of the photos my camera had captured. And also that the cooler was empty, an indication that no bear had suffered or died to fill it. The corroboration of my surmised theory was duly noted by the sheriff, who pulled up in her own Johnson County Sheriff's SUV a few minutes after the detectives.

  While we'd been awaiting the police force's arrival, I also noticed John and Barb had forgotten to remove their brass water regulator from the spigot. If the detectives didn't bag it as some kind of evidence, I planned to snag it the following morning, knowing it was only a matter of time before Rip left the used over-priced regulator I'd purchased from Bea behind in a campground somewhere.

  A couple of minutes later, we noticed the commotion at the gate and walked over to see what was going on. The sheriff was reciting Miranda rights as two detectives placed Barb and John in handcuffs. Afterward, the two were helped into the back of a squad car to be driven to the sheriff's office for interrogation. Then they'd be booked into to the Johnson County Detention Center at the same location on Fort Street.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, we were summoned to report to the sheriff's office at our earliest convenience. I was ready to go in twenty seconds. Rip, on the other hand, was hem-hawing around. He took his own sweet time to shave whiskers that hadn't even grown out yet, c
ut his grapefruit into precise little wedges, drink two more cups of coffee than he usually drank, and read through the paper. When he began scanning through the society pages, it became apparent to me he was deliberately making the sheriff wait. I knew he was trying to make the point he was not at her beck and call and would arrive in her office when he so chose. It was a deep-rooted, mulish trait of his, and I'd had enough of it.

  "Come on, Rip! I know what you're doing, and you're just making a horse's behind out of yourself. I'm anxious to hear what Sheriff Wright has to say, and I'm tired of waiting on you. If you really need to know who married who in Buffalo last week, the paper will still be here when we get back."

  * * *

  It was an hour later when we walked into the police station. It had taken Rip a good ten minutes to decide whether to wear his blue shirt or his gray shirt. Finally, I picked up the gray shirt and hurled it at him. "Put the blasted thing on before I leave without you!"

  Sheriff Wright ushered us into her office, but not before turning the table on Rip's ploy to make her wait on him. I almost applauded when she said, "If it took me that long to get ready to leave the house, I'd never get anything done. But then, you probably didn't have nearly as much to do when you were a sheriff and could stroll in to work any old time you felt like it."

  The expression on Rip's face after her cutting remark was priceless. The sheriff asked us to make ourselves comfortable and then told us she wanted to let us know John and Barb Harris had been charged with manslaughter in the murder of Beata Whetstone, along with numerous poaching violations. "After a couple of hours of interrogation, the couple finally admitted their guilt after all the evidence was laid out in front of them. We questioned them in separate rooms–"