by Billy Kring
Buddy nodded, then said to Carlo and Hunter, “You mind if I leave with her?”
Carlo said, “Go ahead. Santino, Bobby, you guys can leave, too. Mil gracias.”
“Glad we could help,” Santino said. They drove off in the water buffalo, and other than the occasional car on the road, the area was silent. Vehicle activity and people could be heard at the Starlight Theater in town, but the noise was faint because of the distance.
“What else you need to do here?” Hunter said. “If you’ll help me pick up the tarps and put them in front of the Ford, I’ll close the trunk and leave for the state’s forensic team out of Midland. I’ll call them when I leave here, and they’ll be out tomorrow.” They moved the tarps one at a time and put the wrapped human remains close together in front of the vehicle, then Carlo pushed down the trunk, which closed with a click. The buckets with the fluid they moved next to the Ford. Both checked around for anything else, but the site was clean.
“You need me for anything else?”
“Nope. Thanks for the help.”
The events of the day weighed on Hunter’s mind as she drove to Marfa, and she spent an hour at the station writing up the report before going home. With it still on her mind, Hunter changed into shorts, a sports bra, a baggy, black tee shirt, and her New Balance running shoes and left her home for a run going on the access road by the railroad tracks that led to the cemetery and beyond. She felt the kinks work out of her mind at the third mile, so turned and made the slow return jog at a twelve-minutes-per-mile pace to her home on Plateau Street.
Afterward, she showered and dressed in Wranglers, roper boots and a pale blue western shirt made by Ely. She put on her Stetson as she went out the door and drove to the Paisano Hotel and Jett’s Grill where she could relax, eat, and drink a glass of wine or two at the outside eating area so the night sky and stars were visible. Something about eating outdoors that she always enjoyed, she thought. She spotted a famous author she liked, Reavis Wortham, eating at another table with a beautiful woman. Hunter recognized her as Reavis’ wife from the photos on Wortham’s Facebook posts. She thought about introducing herself as a fan, but decided not to, being shy around celebrities.
The incredible night sky was star filled as she drove the short distance home, and Hunter felt content when she parked her pickup and went inside. She set the coffee pot timer for in the morning, then went upstairs to her bedroom. She slipped under the covers, read the new Ace Atkins novel for ten minutes, then told herself, just a few more pages, and fell asleep an hour later with the book on her chest.
Hunter awoke before the alarm the next morning, and went downstairs to pour some coffee. As she raised the cup for her first sip of the day, the phone rang. It was the Border Patrol Office.
“This is Hunter.”
“It’s Joe. You need to hustle back down to Terlingua. Go in plain clothes, and take your truck.”
“What happened?”
“Carlo Diaz asked if you could help him this morning.”
“On what?”
“Somebody committed arson on the vehicle you helped him with yesterday. He asked the Sheriff to ask our Chief if you could help. The Chief said for you to go, so I’m passing on the message here.”
“Thanks. I’ll call Carlo.”
Carlo answered on the first ring and said, “Think you could help out down here?”
“How? You have the legal authority on this.”
“I can’t track like you. I thought we might find some sign. I’ll buy you lunch.”
“I’m on my way.”
Hunter thought about the fire as she drove to Terlingua, wondering why on earth anyone would want to burn the car and the bones. She called Carlo, who told her he had a table at the Chili Pepper for them. She parked in front and entered to see him at a table near the wall, sipping coffee. Hunter ordered as soon as she sat down, and drank the coffee they brought as she waited for her order. “Why’d they burn it, you think?”
Carlo said, “Either there was something in the car, or it was about the bones. Nothing else makes sense.”
The food arrived, with Hunter getting the bacon and eggs, with Carlo getting pancakes and bacon. They talked little while they ate, both thinking of the images in the car trunk.
Hunter said, “Have you checked for tracks?”
“Earlier. Found some scuffed places, but I’m no Border Patrol Agent. Everybody says you and Raymond can track anybody.”
“There are others that are as good, and the Texas Ranger from Alpine is pretty good, too, but since I’m already here, I’ll be happy to help. I’ll call Raymond and see if we can get him to come over, too. He’s close.”
Carlo cut his syrup-drenched pancakes and speared a large piece with his fork. It went into his mouth, along with a bite of bacon. He chewed and said, “Bueno.”
By the time they finished eating, Raymond had responded to Hunter’s call, and entered the cafe in time to see them eating the last bites off their plates. He said, “You didn’t get me any?”
“I saved you a couple bites,” Carlo said.
Raymond sat in a chair and said, “What’s up?”
They told him and he nibbled on the last piece of bacon that Hunter handed him as he listened, then they left the cafe and drove to the lot and the burned car.
Raymond said, “Still smells.”
Carlo said, “They used gas as the accelerant. Burned quick, and Buddy and the fire department people got here pronto, too.”
Raymond said, “Did they see anyone around the area?”
“Nope. It was about three AM, and nobody out doing anything.”
At that moment a new, bronze, fully tricked-out Land Rover drove into the lot and two men exited. The driver wore a Hawaiian shirt with blue south Pacific scenes showing crashing waves and palm trees, and tan cargo pants. Merrell hiking boots covered his feet and a western style straw hat perched on his head above Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses.
The passenger was slightly taller, and lean but muscular. His relaxed walk made Hunter think of a large jungle cat, maybe a leopard. She couldn’t see his eyes because the man wore dark Aviator sunglasses.
A western straw hat covered his head and the clothing was a tan khaki, both pants and shirt, and military-style footwear in the same color. “What happened here last night, somebody have a bonfire?”
The driver smiled, “That’s that wetback car, isn’t it? The one with the bones you looked at yesterday?”
Raymond said, “You know something about this?”
“Us? No, just making conversation. It was all the talk in the café this morning. Wonder who lit it up?”
Carlo said, “How about you hang with us a while, I’ll ask you a few questions.”
“Oh, we would, but we need to get back to the ranch.”
Carlo said, “Which ranch would that be?”
“The Corazon.”
“Out by the Christmas Mountains?”
“That’s it.”
“And you are…?”
“Mike Hart.” Hart pointed to the other man, “This is Ellis.”
“Ellis what?”
Ellis said, “Just Ellis.”
Mike Hart said, “All he goes by, like Madonna or Cher.” He smiled.
Carlo said, “Mr. Hart, I assume you’re related to Winston Hart, the owner of the Corazon?”
“That’s right.”
Raymond whispered to Hunter, “The owner of the Corazon cinnabar mine, and a dozen or so others.”
“And the hundred-thousand-acre ranch it sets on.”
“So, we’re talking big bucks here?”
“The quicksilver set Hart up, then he got into oil, but that was all the original Hart, from before the turn of the twentieth century. His children kept that going into computers, music, and a lot of other things.”
“What about this one?”
“He’s the youngest, and last in line. What I hear, he’s determined to spend all of it. He sort of went crazy after his older brothe
r disappeared. They’d been real close.” They watched the Deputy Sheriff talk to them, and Raymond said, “Let’s go look at the car. I wasn’t here for the show yesterday because of that group I was tracking, but maybe there’s something left to find.”
“What, that’s not burned?”
“Maybe all of it didn’t go up.”
They drove back to the Ford, and Raymond walked around the burned area while Hunter remained at the trunk. She noticed that Ellis wasn’t paying attention to Carlo, but only to her and Raymond.
Raymond said, “Can you open the trunk?”
Hunter went to it and noticed it wasn’t closed all the way, so she lifted the lid with a stick. The interior was scorched, but not as badly as the remainder of the vehicle, or the tarps and bones.
Raymond said, “You didn’t find any carrots and potatoes in there, did you?”
Hunter’s eyes widened. “Just some cop humor,” he said, and winked. He checked the inside, using a branch from a nearby dead mesquite to run around the floor and walls.
The inch-thick crust was like week-old bread lining the rim of the trunk, and Hunter checked how stiff it was. Her first pinch broke a small piece off, exposing a piece of half-inch long section of finger bone. She studied it and the crusted area around it. This was from a small person, and the tip of a finger.
Ellis frowned, He walked to join them at the car. Before he reached the car, Hunter grasped the small bone and pulled it loose, putting it in her pocket as she turned her body so Ellis didn’t see what she had.
Ellis reached Hunter, “Find something?”
She held up a piece of the smelly crust an inch from his nose, “Just this stuff. You want it?”
Ellis leaned his head farther from the smell, “I’ll pass.”
Hunter tossed the piece into the trunk, “Me, too.”
Raymond watched Ellis the way a guard dog silently watches a stranger. When Ellis returned to his friend Mike Hart, Raymond said in a soft voice, “That guy makes me uncomfortable. We need to find out about him, if he’s going to be around our country.”
Hunter nodded as she put her hand in the pocket to feel the small bone. She recognized it because the bone was so clean now after she pulled it out of the crust. It was a finger bone, the top joint, like one sheared off at the final knuckle. It felt so small she knew it had to be the pinky finger of a child or a very small person.
Raymond edged beside the burned hull and stopped beside her, his eyes turned down to her front pants pocket where her hand wriggled the bone. “I know you’re a woman, but it looks like you’re playing pocket pool there.”
She stopped. “I’ve got something we need to get checked out by forensics. Let’s slip out of here.”
“I thought we were looking for tracks.”
“Okay, we’ll do that first, then get back to the office.”
They began at the area beyond the burned Ford, going in slow circles around it, then expanding the circles from there. Hunter found a single set of tracks, but they quickly faded in the desert soil and rocks. Raymond said, “The tracks are lined out straight. Looks like whoever it was, was headed near the old cemetery.”
Hunter drove them to the cemetery and they walked through the crosses and small tombstones, looking for the tracks they saw earlier, but nothing showed. They made a circle around the area and Hunter found one possible partial print, but nothing beyond that.
An hour later, Hunter said, “We’re not finding anything worthwhile. Let’s head to the office so I can make some calls and get this bone checked out.”
“I’m ready.”
They stopped to tell Carlo what they were doing, and he examined the small bone. “You want, I’ll take it to our office and get the crime lab people still there from Midland to see what they can do. What are you thinking on checking?”
Raymond said, “The usual, sex, nationality, any relatives, and age, plus whatever you can use, since all this is still your case.”
“You keep reminding me.”
Raymond grinned and said, “I’m putting you in for Terlingua’s Deputy of the Year.”
“I’m the only deputy in Terlingua, smart guy.”
Hunter chuckled, “But you’re the best, too.”
“Y’all get out of here, go home, have some good food, drink some cold beer and pet the dog.” He gave a large feigned sigh, “I’ll stay here and carry on, by myself.”
Raymond and Hunter left Terlingua, going to Lajitas and the River Road, on to Presidio and north to Marfa. It made for a long day, but when they finished their paper work, they each went home.
Hunter showered, made a ham sandwich and poured a glass of fat free milk. She carried the food and drink to the couch and turned on the television. As The Weather Channel meteorologists showed the map and talked about what was coming next, she ate listlessly, almost too tired to feed herself. Taking the now empty glass to the kitchen, she rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher, then went up the stairs to her bedroom. Her dreams began within minutes of a faceless child caught in a flood of brown water.
Chapter 2
The healed stub of what was left of Adan Villa’s left pinky finger still felt tender when he bumped it, but at least the shiny skin had finally grown intact over the bone where the last knuckle ended. He loitered by the lush green putting practice area of the Lajitas golf course, drinking an orange soda as the golfers walked by to try and stroke a few into the various holes cut into the practice green. His smile caught one of the older men’s attention and the man said, “You want to make a little money?”
Adan nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”
The man gave him a friendly come on gesture and said, “You can be in charge of these for me,” indicating the bag of golf clubs on the two-wheeled pull cart. Adan nodded, grasped the handle on the cart and followed the man and his golfing friend onto the first tee. The man showed Adan which club to hand him, and as they went around the course, he told Adan why to use one club over the others for different distances and different situations.
“Lots of golfers I play think the driver is the most important one in the bag, but it’s not. The putter is where you make or break it.”
“Is that because some people hit it three times on the green, and some only hit it once?”
“Yes, it’s called putting, when you’re on the green.” The man appraised the twelve-year-old. “You’re pretty smart, kid, you picked up on that fast.”
“I watch people play, but I don’t know what things are called.”
“Tell you what, you come back next week, same day and time and caddy for me. We’ll start a few lessons if you want. I need to walk the course because of my ticker.” He tapped the center of his chest. “Otherwise I’d let you drive my cart. But maybe, every once in a while, we can use it, what do you think?”
“I would like that, and thank you.”
It was a hot day, but they didn’t hurry their pace, and the man, who said his name was Benton Sellers, hit two pars, two bogies, and one birdie on five holes, and was happy about it.
They putted out on the 18th green for another bogie, then put their bags in their car. The man gave Adan forty dollars for a tip, which Adan didn’t expect.
“Thank you very much, Mister Sellers.” He held the two twenties like they were precious documents, and felt the stress of hunger ease, since his last meal had been two green peppers and a cold corn tortilla yesterday morning.
Benton looked at Adan a moment, “You from around here?”
Adan hesitated a micro-second before saying, “Yes, near here, from Terlingua.”
The man didn’t exactly believe him, but he let it slide. “Okay, so we’ll see you next week.”
Adan smiled and waved at them as they drove from the club house, passing a bronze colored Land Rover driving in to park. He watched the driver whip the wheel to throw a small rooster tail of dust into the air and then hit the brakes and slide the last dozen feet to the parking space. The driver and his passenger exited and A
dan felt uneasy when he saw the passenger. He instinctively crouched low and edged sideways behind a tall cluster of pampa grass. Glancing over the pampa grass again, he watched the man enter the club house. Something about him, his stance, maybe his movements, made Adan think of one of the men that night at the river, the one who tried to trap him in the car trunk. He watched through the windows as the two men entered the clubhouse. Adan walked away, keeping the building between him and the two men inside. He returned on foot to Terlingua and the short distance beyond it to the Cottonwood store for food, keeping an eye out for Border Patrol vehicles.
He used his newly acquired money to purchase canned sardines, crackers, an orange soda, a large bottle of water, called Dasani, and a bag of beef jerky. He took the items to an area off the road and deep in the brush that offered concealment, and he settled down on the dusty serape and pieces of cardboard he’d placed on the sand two months ago. This place was much better than scavenging in the desert eating lizards and bugs, or stealing handfuls of feed from the cattle troughs in the area pastures to mix with tank water and eat like a cold, scratchy gruel. Sleeping had amounted to sleeping on the plaster-like desert hardpan or in a sand and gravel wash without a blanket. Those were some hard nights, he thought. Now, with a big serape, some thick cardboard, and money to buy food, Adan felt content. He enjoyed the sardines, and ate half a sleeve of saltines while drinking the soda. As the sun sank behind the western hills and mountains, He arranged his serape like a sleeping bag on top of the cardboard and thought about what his mother told him before she died of cancer and he left home. She had been called a curandera, a healing woman capable of knowing things beyond her sight. A few people called her a bruja, a witch, but not a bad one, they always added. She taught him about desert herbs and things one could use to treat cuts or stomach problems, and always, every day, she taught him lessons in speaking English and in reading both Spanish and English books. “These things will give you advantages in everything you do.”
He said, “But I live in Mexico.“You won’t always.” He noticed something shadowed in her eyes when she said it, like she held a secret. He understood in hindsight that it was her illness, that she already knew she was dying. His mother once walked all day to reach a larger town, and found a small tienda, a store, where they carried used items for sale and where she heard there were many old books and magazines for mere centavos apiece. She counted out the change she carried in a small bandanna knotted at the top to hold the double handful of coins hidden inside. The store owner gave her two burlap sacks that had once held pinto beans but were now empty.