Circles in the Snow

by Patrick F. McManus

  “I’ll remove the arrow when we get back to the lab,” Susan told Tully. “I suppose you’ll want it for evidence.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, this has to be a murder. Arrows don’t go off accidentally.”

  “Hey!” Willy yelled from the hole. “He was layin’ on a rifle—a scoped rifle!”

  “A rifle?” Tully said. “Don’t touch it, Willy. As soon as you guys get the body back in one of your rigs, I’ll come down and take a look.”

  “Gotcha, Sheriff.”

  “You better climb out of there or your boss might leave without you, Willy. Good work! I could use a sharp lad like you on the force.”

  “No way you get that kid!” Susan snapped. “He’s one of the best I’ve got.”

  “Oh, all right, Susan, I’ll take the rifle. Not much you can do with that. Suppose I can get a look at our dead guy’s face?”

  “Sure. He’s in no hurry. Hap, tilt the tub up a bit, so Bo can get a look.”

  Hap, grunting, tilted the tub back and held it. Tully squatted down on his snowshoes and grabbed the hair, lifting up the bearded, frost-encrusted face. Both eyes and the mouth were wide open, as if startled by the pain and impact of the arrow. The teeth were tobacco stained. Blood had dribbled around them and frozen in pink streaks. He straightened up.

  “Anybody you know, Bo?” Susan asked.

  Tully was silent for a moment, as if pondering something. Then he said, “Afraid so. It’s Morgan Fester.”

  “Fester!” Pap said. “I thought he left last month for his ranch in Mexico!”

  “I thought so, too,” Tully said. “His hands up here never reported him missing.” He released the hair and the head thumped back down into the shell.

  “Maybe his hands didn’t want to spoil their good luck,” Pap said. “I never found Morg that pleasant to be around at any time, and I didn’t work for him. Hard even to imagine what that was like.”

  Susan kicked the shell and indicated with a jerk of her thumb for it to be hauled to the hearse. She looked at Tully. “You think he must have been bad to his workers, how about his wife?”

  Tully nodded. “Morg was a mean cuss all right, not to speak ill of the dead. But for all his rottenness, I sort of liked the guy. He was the last of his kind—I hope.”

  Pap nodded. “From time to time, I liked him, too, but not all that often. In fact, he’s one of those persons I wouldn’t look too hard for his killer, if I were you, Bo.”

  Tully shook his head. “Sorry, but the law doesn’t work that way, Pap, at least not since you retired as sheriff. Now a murder is a murder and the law requires the killer be found and prosecuted, whether he’s a good guy or a bad guy.”

  “Even if the killer is one of the good guys, you go after him, is that right, Bo?”

  “Seems a pity, doesn’t it? But that’s the way the system is supposed to work. I didn’t invent it, so don’t blame me.”

  “I wasn’t accusing you of a decency, Bo.”

  “I know. Well, I’d better drive over to the Fester ranch. His hands would be among my first suspects. I’m sure any one of them would have reason to kill him, such as Fester’s taking the price of a lost cow out of his pay.”

  Susan said, “If you boys are done chatting, I think we’ll pack up and leave.”

  “Please do,” Tully said. “Pap and I have to get busy on some police work.”

  Susan tramped back to the road, followed by Augie. The reporter snapped some pictures of her as she climbed into her Suburban. Tully turned to Pap. “You might as well go home. I’ll get my crime scene investigations unit out here to see if it can pick up any clues.”

  “Crime scene investigations unit?” Pap said. “I didn’t know you had one of them.”

  “Yeah, its name is Lurch, sometimes known as Byron Proctor.”

  “I know Byron.”

  “Well, he’s one of the best CSI units in the business. Our crime scene is pretty messed up, but there’s no telling what Lurch might be able to come up with.”

  Pap got in his pickup truck and prepared to drive off. Tully suddenly remembered that his father was one of the best trackers he had ever known or even heard about. Lawmen in other counties had often called him in to track a runaway prisoner or suspect. Tully yelled, “Stop!”

  The old man almost drove off the road. He rolled down his window and glared at Tully, who walked over, stuck his head in the cab, and said, “I just thought of something. I want you to stay here and help my CSI unit.”

  “Help him how?”

  “You are one of the best trackers I know, Pap. I want you to teach the Unit something about tracking.”

  “I’ve worked crimes for you before, Bo, but with this new snow, I doubt I’ll be able to turn up anything. There was a time, though, when I could work new snow pretty good.”

  “I know. It won’t hurt to try anyway, just to see what you might come up with. I know you haven’t got any other pressing engagements, and the Unit can use your help.”

  “If you put it that way, I’ll wait for the Unit. But he better get a move on.”

  The eagles across the river had remained on their perches during the entire ruckus, their white heads still glowing against the black background of the forest. Apparently, they were interested observers. Tully was surprised they weren’t jumpy, because somebody had been shooting eagles. Residents around the mouth of the river had picked up several of their carcasses floating out into Lake Blight. Some of them had saved feathers, passing them around among friends and neighbors, not realizing it was against the law to possess eagle feathers. Apparently, this flock hadn’t been the target, or they would have been a lot more nervous. He lowered himself into the hole, pulled out his handkerchief, and picked up the rifle, a scoped .22-caliber Remington lever-action. He set the rifle on the edge of the hole and climbed out. It seemed likely Fester had intended to shoot eagles with it. He carried the rifle over to his Explorer, stowed it in the luggage section, and radioed the station. Florence, the radio operator, answered. “Blight County Sheriff’s office.”

  “Flo, get me Daisy, please.” Daisy Quinn was his secretary.

  “One minute, Sheriff. She just stepped out of the office. I think she was headed for the ladies’ room.”

  “She knows I don’t allow that during office hours. I’m away half a day and the place falls apart.”

  “I know, Bo. Without you here, it’s all fun and games and going to the bathroom. Ah, here comes Daisy now.”

  Daisy came on. “I understand you’ve been haranguing Florence about lack of discipline in the office while you’re gone. It may be that our nerves suddenly relax their tension in your absence. What’s up?”

  “What’s up, I’ve got a murder out here on the South River Road, and I need my CSI unit to check it out.”

  “A murder! I don’t believe it. What next! Anyway, Lurch is busy doing a crossword puzzle at his desk. I’ll see if he can manage to break away. The victim anyone we know?”

  “Morgan Fester.”

  “Oh, my gosh! I know a lot of people who would like to murder Fester, but none who would actually do it. You have any suspects?”

  “A few hundred. No, not really. I’m about to head over to the Fester ranch and talk to his hired hands. If anyone wanted to kill him, I suspect it might be someone who worked for him. Or maybe his wife.”

  “Oh, I know his wife, Bo. We go to the same church. She’s a lovely person. Hillory’s spending the winter in Mexico—Cabo San Lucas. She tells me it’s a wonderful place.”

  “You know how she and Fester got along?”

  “Okay, I guess. He lets her do whatever she wants, such as spending winters in Cabo, and he does whatever he wants.”

  “And that was?”

  “Right, he doesn’t do any of it anymore, does he? Mostly, he fooled around with his various girlfriends.”

  “You happen to know the names of any of the girlfriends?”

  “No, but I could probably find out.”

  “Please d
o, Daisy. I need all the help I can get on this one.”

  “Sure, Bo. I love this sort of thing! Oh, and he spent a lot of time in Silver Tip. Or so I’ve heard from Hillory. It was practically his home away from home, according to her.”

  “The town or the brothel?”

  “The town couldn’t keep anybody entertained—a few dozen houses the miners and their families live in, a grocery store, a barbershop, three or four taverns, a grade school, and, of course, the Silver Tip Miner. That’s about it.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. The other Silver Tip pretty much dominates the name. Do you know federal agents stop by the brothel on a regular basis?”

  “I didn’t know that. There goes more of our tax money.”

  “No, Daisy, they just show the ladies some photos of gangsters they’re trying to get a lead on, see if they might have stopped by Silver Tip, which I guess would indicate the gangsters were on their way to the West Coast. That brothel is famous all over the country, maybe all over the world, and criminal types seem to go out of their way to pass through there. Maybe some noncriminal types, too, but that’s just my guess. Anyway, right now I’m practically freezing to death. Before that happens, I’m headed over to Fester’s ranch to talk to his cowhands. Tell the Unit on South River Road about a mile past Trapper Creek he’ll come to a knoll by the river. He’ll see where the snow is all messed up. That’s our crime scene. Pap will be waiting for him. I’ll see the two of them back here when I’m done at the Fester ranch.”

  “Oh, one more thing, Boss.”

  “And that is?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you, but I will. The General Store up at Pine Flats was robbed last night.”

  “Just what I needed! Another crime! Anyone hurt?”

  “Yeah, but not too bad. It happened just after the store closed at nine o’clock. Clyde Parker said he had just locked the front door when someone came up behind him and hit him on the head. Parker was raving when he called. He said he didn’t see who hit him but that Milo Burk and two other young guys had been lurking around in the back of the store earlier. Milo’s two friends left, but Clyde thinks Milo hid somewhere in back until the store closed. He thinks Milo hit him from behind with something and then opened the door for the other two. They cleaned out the cash register and took a couple cases of beer, maybe some other stuff, but Clyde said he doesn’t know what. When Clyde came to, the robbers were gone. He didn’t report the robbery until this morning, after he’d had a chance to see what the thieves got away with.”

  “So he thinks the Burk kid is one of the guys who robbed him?”

  “That’s what he thinks.”

  “You send anyone up to investigate?”

  “Yeah, Brian and Buck.”

  “Good choice. Pugh is the best we’ve got, and Buck can come in handy if things get rough.”

  “I just got a call from Pugh and they’re headed over to the Burks’ place to talk to Milo.”

  “I know Milo. He used to be a pretty decent kid, straight-A all the way through grade school and high school. Then his folks sent him off to college. He flunked out his first semester and has run wild ever since. Never send a kid to college! That’s where Milo started drinking and fighting. There’s no telling what he and his friends might do. I hope Pugh knows that.”

  “Yeah, he does. And in case you’ve forgotten, you went to college.”

  “Yeah, but I was an art major. And look at me now.”

  Daisy laughed. “Well, I told Brian to be careful.”

  Tully snorted. “A lot of good that will do, knowing Pugh like I do. He’ll probably try to bring Milo in by himself. Well, it sounds as if you’ve got everything under control, Daisy. I’ll finish business up here and then head in.”

  He clicked off. Clyde Parker. If anything deserved to be robbed it was Clyde’s General Store. It had been robbing the residents of Pine Flats blind for thirty years. If any of them wanted a box of cornflakes, they had to pay Clyde twice the normal price or drive forty miles to the nearest town to buy it. On the other hand, Milo Burk was a tough kid and could be dangerous. He hoped Pugh would pay attention to Daisy’s warning. One thing for sure, the robbers were poor. Poor people rob you with a gun, a knife, or a club, and rich people rob you with a pen or a cash register. Tully wasn’t sure which kind of robber was the more dangerous.

  Chapter 3

  The back road to the Fester ranch was rough, icy, and rutted with snow, forcing Tully to put the Explorer into four-wheel-drive. He soon emerged from the rolling hills, and the forest gradually thinned into open ranchlands. A large herd of black-and-white cows grazed near a fence where bales of hay had been broken and dumped out for them. The tracks of the truck that had dumped the bales turned in the field and made their way back to a gate in the fence near the road. Suddenly Tully had a nice flat surface of snow to drive on the rest of his way to the ranch. He finally reached the headquarters, where someone had plowed the entrance-road snow down almost to gravel. The main ranch house was dark and still, so he continued on behind it to a huge bunkhouse, where smoke rose from the chimney and lights glowed in the windows. A dozen or so pickup trucks were parked in an area next to the bunkhouse. He got out and pounded on the door. A bearded young man dressed in jeans and a faded red underwear top opened it. “Yeah?”

  “Sir, I’m Blight County Sheriff Bo Tully. I wonder if I might ask you and the other members of your crew some questions.”

  “What if I say no?”

  Tully pulled back his coat front to show his badge. “In that case, son, I knock you on your butt and ask my questions anyway. And I better get some good answers.”

  The kid stepped back. “Come on in.” He shouted over his shoulder. “Jeff, there’s a cop here to see you!”

  A voice growled from the back of the barracks. “Well, show him in, Wiggens. I’ll be right out.”

  Four other ranch hands sat around a table playing cards. A couple of them nodded at Tully and then went on with their game. Tully glanced into a large room off to his right. A pool table sat in the middle of it and a large flat-screen television loomed at the far end. He guessed bunkhouses had improved quite a bit over the years.

  A door opened and a small but sturdy man came out combing back his wet thick black hair, apparently having just gotten out of a shower. Rather small to be ramrodding a crew of ranch hands, Tully thought. The man strolled over, his cowboy boots thudding on the board floor, and stuck out his hand. “Sheriff, I’m Jeff Sheridan. I’m in charge of the ranch while the boss is gone.”

  Tully shook his hand. Sheridan scarcely came up past his shoulder. He was slim and handsome. Even ranch foremen apparently had changed a lot over the years. “Actually, Mr. Sheridan, I’m here to ask you about your boss.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. Mr. Fester doesn’t exactly confide in me.”

  Tully took off his hat and ran his fingers back through his hair. “Maybe I’m the one to tell you something, Mr. Sheridan. Morgan Fester is dead.”

  The man dealing cards at the table stopped. The foreman sucked in his breath. “Dead! No wonder I haven’t heard from him. We thought he’d packed up and gone off to his ranch in Mexico, without bothering to tell us. Not entirely unlike him. One day he was just gone, without saying a word or giving us any orders or anything. He left the same day as Mrs. Sheridan. He’d been talking about leaving for a while but never bothered to discuss his plans with us. We thought probably he had left with the missus. How do you know he’s dead?”

  “Found his body on a knoll just off South River Road, a little past Trapper Creek.”

  The men at the table had stopped playing cards and were staring at the two of them.

  Tully stared back. “How long did you say he’s been gone?”

  Sheridan scratched his chin. “Three weeks or so, I’d guess, since the time Mrs. Fester left for Mexico. I might be able to tell you the exact day, if I check his office. It’s over in their house.”

  “I don’t think this
is an emergency, but I would like to find a phone number for Mrs. Fester. I understand she’s spending the winter in Cabo San Lucas. She probably gave her husband a number where she’s staying. Think we could take a look?”

  “Sure. I’ll grab the key.” He walked into a side room that looked like a small office of some kind and lifted a key off a bulletin board containing numerous other keys.

  They stomped through the snow over toward the ranch house. Tully suddenly stopped and said, “Whoa! That’s the largest bird feeder I’ve ever seen!”

  Sheridan smiled. “Mrs. Fester is quite the lover of wildlife. One of our main jobs in winter is to keep that feeder full at all times. You see the path that leads over to that thicket of brush and trees?”

  “Yeah, I thought there might be an old outhouse or something in there.”

  “Nope, a big covey of quail winters in there. Mrs. Fester expects me to keep that path shoveled out so the quail don’t have to walk through snow on their way to the feeder.”

  Tully laughed. “I’ve heard of bird lovers, but this seems a bit extreme.”

  “That’s nothing. For a while we were feeding half the deer in Blight County over the winter, but finally Mr. Fester put his foot down and said no more of that. I guess he wasn’t about to go up against her when it came to birds, though.”

  They went up on the porch and stomped the snow off their boots. Tully glanced at the parking lot. “Your hands definitely seem to favor pickups. Not a sports car in the lot.”

  Sheridan laughed. “Sports cars are much too sissy for these guys. All three-quarter-ton four-wheel-drives. Most of them belong to the crew, but several are owned by the ranch.”

  “Fester drive any of those owned by the ranch?”

  “Yeah, any he wanted. I don’t think he had a particular favorite.”

  “Interesting. How about Mrs. Fester?”