Turkey Ranch Road Rage

by Paula Boyd

  “Of course.” He turned and held a door open for us. “And now he’s here. Let’s go see him.”

  This guy was starting to seriously annoy me. I walked through the door first, and as Jerry came through behind me I thought I heard Morgue-man suggest that dinner and a movie would be a superior bonding activity to the one we were currently experiencing. You think? Really?

  We followed Travis down the hallway, each in our own thoughts. I don’t know how he knew, but he was right. Jerry and I hadn’t been to a movie together since high school. And the more I thought about it, we hadn’t really even been on a date since we’d reconnected, unless you counted our recent rendezvous in New Mexico, which I guess you had to, sort of. Still, it was weird. What did we have between us? We’d been apart for twenty-five years then became instantly in love the second we saw each other again and were both free? Yes, I would have to say so. Actually, we never really fell out of love, I guess. But even so, where did that leave us? With way too many hurdles to jump over to be together full time, that’s where. It also left us on our date at the morgue, which I had no chance of forgetting since we were walking into the cold storage room.

  When we finally got around to unrolling the pertinent locker drawer, running from the room, vomiting and blacking out were all viable options. I didn’t go to medical school for a reason. Back when I was young and impressionable, Lucille had informed me that women had three choices—nurse, secretary and teacher. Even if I had bought into her theory, which obviously I had not, my list went down to two in a hurry since I couldn’t even dissect a frog in high school biology class, for godsakes. And here we were with something way bigger than a frog, and he’d already been dissected, not that there’s been much to work with. Even with the sheet up to his chin, he looked like a concentration camp victim, the mere photos of which had scarred me for life. I turned away from Tiger’s body.

  Behind me, Jerry and Travis chatted about various details, mostly, I think, about Tiger’s tattoos. I busied myself with studying the tags on the drawers, trying to decode their cataloging method. I wasn’t doing that well at it, however, because even though I wasn’t looking at the body, I could still see it. I could have gone my whole life and been perfectly happy without seeing that. I do not know how people make careers out of this stuff, I truly do not.

  “Jolene, take a look at this,” Jerry said, his words registering in my head a few seconds after the sound had hit my ears. “He’s almost completely covered in body art.”

  Mother had told me about the tattoos, but I hadn’t known the extent of them. I was about to though. I didn’t want to, but I knew Jerry wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think I needed to see it for some reason. I took a breath and turned around. They’d pulled the sheet away and Tiger was indeed pretty much solid ink from his neck to as far south as I wanted to see. His legs were decorated too, but I didn’t dwell anywhere long.

  “I ordered a set of photos for you, Sheriff,” Travis said. “They are probably ready. I’ll only be a few moments.”

  Travis left us standing beside Tiger’s body, Jerry concentrating on the tattoos, and me trying to think of absolutely anything except the corpse in front of me. “Have you talked to Amy today?” I asked, my thoughts jumping around like a ping pong ball. “I’ve tried to call Sarah several times and she’s not answering her phone. You think she’s okay?”

  “She’s fine, Jolene,” Jerry said, still analyzing. “That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about.”

  Maybe not, but I still did.

  “Look at this,” he said, pointing to an eagle, globe and anchor. “He was a Marine.”

  I made myself look. “Okay.”

  “What else do you see?”

  I saw a lot of things. There were so many figures and words it was hard to focus on just one. Tiger’s body had a wolf head in the center of his chest, not a tiger as one might expect. He had an eagle on one pectoral muscle and a buffalo on the other. The words “Freedom” and “Truth” and “Justice” floated between them. Wide bands of interlocking antlers encircled each bicep, and he had a couple of pattern things here and there. His forearms were almost solid in overlaid images, your basic serpents, roses, and naked women jumping out from the mix. His remaining chest was as decorated as his arms, and the designs continued around to his back. He had a red heart with “Mom” on the top of his right shoulder and a blue waterfall with “Death” on his left. “What do you think that stands for?”

  Jerry leaned closer and looked at the shoulder. “Maybe symbolic for something he lived through in the war.”

  “Or maybe he just wishes he could throw his mom over the waterfall and she’d die. That’s where I’d go with it.” Jerry gave me a sideways glance so I made a second effort. “Okay, fine. He’s obviously into causes, save the whales and all that, so maybe it’s symbolic. Water is life. Without it, there’s death. Nothing can replace water. Idyllic waterfall, symbolic of purity, etcetera, etcetera.”

  Jerry turned to look at me, but actually stared right through me for several long seconds. He was still staring when Travis came back in with the photos.

  “Here you go, Sheriff.”

  Jerry blinked himself back to reality and took the envelope. “What kind of cancer did he have?”

  “As I told her this morning, hepatocellular carcinoma, stage four.”

  “Primary adult liver cancer,” Jerry added.

  “You looked it up,” Travis said, glancing at me. I nodded and he continued. “Then you know it is the most common form of primary liver cancer. But it’s rare for liver to be the primary, it’s usually secondary. Most liver cancers start somewhere else, such as the lung, colon or pancreas, and then metastasize to the liver. His didn’t. But if you do have a primary liver cancer, and he did, he had the most common type. Stage four indicates that it’s spread and is inoperable. Understand?”

  Actually, I did. And the research I’d done had helped as well. I even halfway had an idea of what might be going on, but I wanted him to confirm my hunches. Educated and experienced professionals are good for that sort of thing. “What usually causes it?”

  “You want me to tell you what you already know,” he said simply.

  Okay, granted I am as transparent and easy to read as a neon sign behind glass, but this was something more. He was just plain weird and my threshold for such things is pretty darned high. “Yes, tell me what I know. That would be dandy. You could also throw in a few things I don’t just for grins.”

  Travis stared at me for an annoyingly long moment. He clearly had no sense of humor whatsoever. “There are a lot of factors that increase the risk. The obvious are hepatitis B and C, and cirrhosis from alcohol use, which applies in this case. Heredity and smoking are typical contributors as well, but chemical exposure can be a significant factor.”

  Jerry and I both looked at each other.

  “What about aflatoxins?” I asked.

  “Food fungus,” Travis said. “Not that likely. Arsenic and vinyl chloride exposures are more probable, and the effects of both acute and/or chronic exposures are exacerbated by alcohol abuse.”

  Jerry said, “Will lab results confirm that?”

  “No,” Travis said. “Documented exposures, including industrial and military, could indicate a link.”

  “But that’s not your concern,” I said. “You just need to determine cause of death and rule out homicide.”

  Travis nodded.

  “Toxic chemical exposure,” Jerry said, thinking aloud. “Carcinogens. How?”

  “He had to inhale, ingest or absorb them through his skin, or maybe all three,” I added, glancing to Jerry then to Travis, who nodded again. “Could the exposure have been a long time ago, or would it have to be fairly recent?”

  “Either,” Travis said. “Each of us is different. How, when or even if we develop a disease is related to many factors, not the least of which is the need to address an underlying emotional or spiritual issue. Many people need illness to redefine th
eir focus, to reorder priorities, to journey inward and discover self.”

  “Whatever the case, anybody who dedicates that much money, time and pain to body decorating has serious issues.” As Travis nodded in agreement, another thought occurred to me. “You know with all your insights and abilities, Travis, it’s just a shame you can’t talk to his spirit and ask him these questions.”

  “They don’t talk until they’re ready,” he said simply.

  Jerry didn’t bat an eye at this exchange, which I found quite intriguing. We hadn’t had a lot of time to devote to other worldly topics and this sure opened the door for that conversation, eventually. After a few moments, Jerry asked how long Tiger could have continued to live, considering his condition if he hadn’t overdosed.

  “He was in significant pain. Will and purpose had likely been his life blood for some time,” Travis said, confirming what he’d told me this morning. “There’s nothing more I can help you with, Sheriff. You know the way out.”

  It wasn’t a question. We were being dismissed. Yet, Jackie Chan Chopra probably had some dual meaning he was implying as well, but it made no sense to me. Jerry nodded to Travis and thanked him. I gave him a happy little wave and marched along beside Sheriff Parker out of the building.

  As we stepped outside, I said, “Has he ever told you what alien race left him here and when they’re coming back for him?”

  Jerry chuckled and clicked open the doors of the Expedition. “He has three Ph Ds.”

  “Big deal. What he needs is a sense of humor and a life. And for godsake, why would anybody need three Ph Ds? And why would anybody who had them come here?” I caught Jerry’s raised eyebrow. “It’s a reasonable question.”

  “I believe he said something about being needed here, balancing energies or some such thing.” Jerry gave me a half grin. “Also said he enjoys challenging people to open their minds.”

  “And he annoys those who already have just to amuse himself.”

  Jerry climbed into the car. “Perhaps.”

  I followed suit and as we pulled away from the morgue, my thoughts shifted to more important topics. “The cancer matters. Tiger may have killed himself accidentally or on purpose, or somebody else may have helped him out, but his illness matters.”

  “It’s possible,” Jerry agreed. “The man knew he was dying and he was in a lot of pain. That part matters.”

  “And he deliberately drove to Redwater Falls to spend his last days on earth trying to stop a camping park and/or save horny toads?”

  “Why not? He wore his dedication to such things all over his body.”

  “That might be true for him, but his entourage was a mixed bag. Bobcat didn’t care about the lizards, but Lily sure did. She was pretty melodramatic, but I don’t think she was faking it. She really seemed genuinely ill when she realized that pieces of chicken were about to be eaten.” When I saw Jerry’s quizzical look, I added, “It’s a long story and not important. The main thing is that they were both very interested in the land directly behind my mother’s house. Not the whole park area, just that land.”

  “I’m guessing they were interested in the oil and gas activity, right?” When I nodded, he added, “That could be a link with the Barnett Shale and Gilbert Moore. And if Lucille does own mineral rights on Bob Little’s place then she becomes very significant.”

  “Maybe Saide was trying to buy her property so he could get her to sign away mineral rights at the same time without realizing it, get them for basically nothing.”

  “Definitely a possibility.” Jerry thumped his fingers on the steering wheel. “But if she knew she had mineral rights and they were drilling back there, wouldn’t she have to be informed about it, and wouldn’t she have benefitted from it?”

  “You’d think so.”

  “Describe the man who was trying to buy your mother’s place,” Jerry said. “I wasn’t there when Fritz brought him in.”

  “Damon Saide really does kind of look like a weasel—an albino weasel with reddish blonde hair. Skinny guy, about my height, freckles, beady eyes. Thick hair on the back of his hands, not so much on his head.”

  “He was at the courthouse rally on Monday.”

  “That’s right!” I said, another memory falling into place. “Mother said she saw him arguing with Tiger, like they were going to get into a fistfight.”

  “Yes, it didn’t come to that, and I lost track of them when the explosions started.”

  “He doesn’t seem real smart to me, Jerry. When Mother was trying to kill him, he just hid behind the car and then acted like nothing was wrong when she stopped shooting. He was entirely too accommodating and understanding. If he’s the brains behind the park scheme then he’s a really good actor.

  Jerry straightened himself in the seat and started the car. “Do you know how to get in touch with him? Does Lucille?

  “No. Mother said she threw his card away, but I don’t know if she really did or not.”

  “Right. That would be my guess too.” Jerry grabbed his phone from the case at his waist and called Fritz. After a typical merry-go-round of nonsense with Lucille, she eventually admitted to having kept Saide’s card for evidence, and finally gave Jerry the phone number. When he hung up, he turned to me and said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but the forensic work is finished at your mother’s house. She can go home anytime.”

  And thus, so could I. “But you’re not telling her?”

  “I think she’s better off staying with Fritz for a couple of days. Makes it a lot easier on all concerned.”

  One would hope.

  Jerry dialed the number Lucille had given him, listened for about fifteen seconds and hung up. “Message machine. I wish we still had Saide in custody.”

  “Yeah, too bad that charge of failing to provide my mother with a moving target didn’t stick.”

  Jerry ignored my clever remark, which was probably just as well. The claim of self-defense even seemed almost reasonable at the moment. Geez, what had made me start thinking these crazy things were all perfectly normal?

  Jerry dialed again. “A white compact with bullet holes in it is pretty easy to spot though.” He made several calls, including one to his office and one to Perez.

  When he’d finished putting out an alert for the car and the weasel, I said, “Now, about Sarah... Mother said she was supposed to leave today. At least I think that’s what she said. Do you know anything about that?”

  Jerry caught up with my abrupt shift in topics. “I understood that she was heading to Dallas yesterday to try to change her ticket. She should already be back in Denver.”

  “There is no changing that kind of a ticket, Jerry. Either you’re on the flight you picked or you pay for another ticket, and I highly doubt that occurred.” I grabbed my phone and tried her dorm room. Not surprisingly, there was no answer. I tried her cell phone. After about six rings it went to voicemail. I tried again and she picked up.

  “Mom! What’s up?” She was out of breath and a little nervous-sounding. “Everything okay down there?”

  “Well, relatively speaking, I guess. Have you made it back yet?”

  “No, still traveling,” she said, still a bit shaky on the tone and breathing. “But I should be there before long.”

  I listened astutely for any background noise that might tell me where she actually was. I’ve honestly never been a snoopy mother, but facts are facts and Little Miss Sarah had been hanging out with the wrong crowd lately, namely her grandmother. I had plenty of questions for her and pinning her down on her whereabouts wasn’t going to help me get other more important answers. “You know Tiger is dead, right?”

  “Who?” Oh, she tried to sound oblivious, but it was half-hearted at best.

  “You know, the man who was staying in your room at the motel. You know, the room your grandmother rented for you at the New Falls Motel.”

  “Oh.” Pause. “Well, I really don’t know anything about any of that.”

  The obvious follow-
up question was “why not?” But why bother? I already knew she hadn’t been staying there. She’d been at the Hilton. We’d get to that later. What we did know was that Lucille had rented the room, either directly or indirectly, for Tiger and Company—we just didn’t know why. And Lucille Junior obviously wasn’t going to tell me. She wasn’t going to answer my next question either but I was going to ask it anyway. “Now, tell me again why you were in Kickapoo.”

  “I just wanted to visit, and Gram needed support with all the trouble she was having. She has Merline and Agnes, of course, but we’re her only family and we all live seven hundred miles away. I was able to get away so I did. She really appreciated it,” Sarah said, running every sentence together as fast as she could, having had a good week of training at such things from the master.

  “You know, I actually stayed across the highway from the motel where the dead guy was found. I was at the Hilton last night. What a coincidence, huh?”

  There was a long silence punctuated by a few heavy breaths into the phone. “Oh, wow, look at the time. Sorry, Mom, but I have to go. I’m going to be late. Love you. Bye.”

  Much like her father, it was what she hadn’t said that was telling. Dodging any direct response to fact statements was crucial since when caught, it could be said that no direct lies had been told. That paternal genetic defect, along with her grandmother’s obvious ones, had combined to create a latent tendency for stupidity that apparently struck at age 20. I tossed the phone into the seat. “My daughter is neither in Boulder nor headed in that direction. She’s right here. She didn’t leave, Jerry, I know she didn’t.”