Her? Jesus. Was there some maniacal killer loose? “Her who?” he asked. Curse his furry brain.
“Kate. We argued. I told her about—”
Don’t go there, my friend. Not now. Gabe pulled Frances back against his chest and patted her, saying in a loud voice, “There, there, you found us. No one has seen Kate. Everything will be okay. Let me introduce you to these two.” As he turned her around, he whispered, hoping it was loud enough for her to hear, “Nothing about Everett. He’s dead.”
Frances sagged against him and then straightened with a huge inhale of breath.
She twisted around. Her red, tired eyes focused on his. She stared at him for what seemed way too long for comfort. “What’s going on? Why are these men here, if not to look for Kate?”
Obviously Frances shared the same brain fog as Gabe. How would they have known Kate was missing?
The sheriff drew closer. He’d initially kept his distance, allowing Gabe to greet the older woman. Gabe gave him points for sensitivity. Now, however, the man’s curiosity was piqued, and his lawman’s antennae waved.
Idle removed his hat in deference to Frances. He cleared his throat and she glowered at him and his lurking deputy, whose hat revealed longish black hair flattened by his Stetson. “Well, why are you out here in the middle of the desert with Gabe?”
“Ma’am, I’m Sheriff Idle of the Cochise County Sheriff’s department. This is Deputy Weston. We received a call that a body had been found.” At her sharp inhale, he added, “An adult male, ma’am. May I ask what your concern is?”
Idle’s voice was nothing but soothing and calm. No accusation, no anger, merely inquiring. Gabe bet the guy had a good success rate in getting people to confess, even to crimes they didn’t do.
Frances relaxed at his words, and then straightened, as if readying herself for battle. As a long-term environmental activist, it stood to reason that her encounters with the cops had not been positive. “I am a trainee for Adventure Calls. I work for Gabe here, and Tripp Chasen. My granddaughter Kate is also a new employee.” She took a deep breath and took time for a drag on her water bottle. “Although we’re not supposed to meet up during this orienteering exercise, I ran into Kate and we had, well, a little spat. She left in a hurry and I started to worry about her.” She gave the sheriff a look. “Grandmothers do that. Now. Can you tell me about this ‘adult male body’? I assume Gabe found it?”
“Why would you assume that?” the sheriff asked.
Frances shot him a grim smile. “Because he looks like donkey poo and yet he’s out here guiding you. He hasn’t gotten used to our desert yet.”
“Thanks for your support, Frances,” Gabe said. “And you got it right, I’m the lucky one who discovered a body. It is—was Everett Poulsen.”
Even though Gabe had warned her, Frances paled. “What the heck happened? He wasn’t even supposed to be out here, far as we knew.”
The sheriff nudged Gabe backward with his shoulder. “I’d appreciate your letting me talk to people about this incident. Me only. Protocol.”
“Got it. No messing with protocol.” Gabe’s feeble effort at humor earned a tiny grin from Frances.
The sheriff continued as if Gabe hadn’t spoken. “Ms. O’Shea, we need to continue to the SO—site where Mr. Ramsay found Everett Poulsen.”
Gabe decided to be helpful. “I can probably direct you from here and I could take Frances back to the casita. HQ.”
Frances bristled, so visibly that Gabe stifled a laugh. “I can find my way to the casita, thank you. I was on my way there when I spotted the three of you. However, why can’t I go with you to Everett’s camp? I assume he suffered some sort of accident? Heart attack?” She directed her question to the sheriff but it was obvious she wanted Gabe to answer. He pressed his lips together to stay silent.
The sheriff sighed. “How many trainees are running around out there?”
Gabe started to count on his fingers. “There’s me, Frances, Kate, Jesse, Heather and Ben. Six. That right, Frances?”
“Yep. Unless Tripp’s out here, spying on us.”
“Madrone said Tripp had gone somewhere to meet with someone.”
The sheriff grinned. “So many details. Okay. Let’s all go find Everett Poulsen.”
“You going to tell me what happened to him?” Frances looked from Idle to Gabe.
“We don’t know yet,” Idle said. “We’ll just have to see what we see.”
“Trust me, if Everett’s dead, many people will be dancing tonight.”
Gabe turned his involuntary snicker into a cough, but he doubted anyone believed his ploy. “Tell us what you really thought of him, Frances.”
The sheriff gave him a withering look. “Let’s get going. How much farther would you estimate?”
“Less than a mile. Fifteen, twenty minutes max.”
“We’ll keep it slow and steady. Neither one of you looks that great.”
Frances gave him a look. “Thanks for your concern, but I can keep up.”
Gabe didn’t wait for Weston’s comparison of Gabe’s pace to that of a desert tortoise. He headed out. He wondered if he could catch Frances alone and tell her about finding his knife near Everett’s body. But why? Everyone was a suspect, including Frances. Better to trust no one except Madrone.
His feet stuttered to a stop. What if Madrone’s breezy explanation of her relationship with Everett and her subsequent cutting off with him was a lie? She could have harbored a hatred for him. He shook his head. No. No. No. He had to trust someone and he chose Madrone. She couldn’t be a murderer. She revered life, to the point of being “mostly” vegetarian. He shook his head and started up again, a little faster than before.
How could he even consider Madrone a suspect? She’d instantly believed in his innocence and promised to work with him to prove it, should it be necessary. It wouldn’t be necessary. He would simply show them the body and get back to Adventure Calls. Thank God he’d finished his scavenger hunt assignment for Tripp before he stumbled upon Poulsen.
Someone poked him in the back. “Wait for me, Wild Bill,” Frances said. Gabe turned and stared at her. “It’s from an old TV show, Wild Bill Hickok. His sidekick could never keep up.” When his blank stare continued, she muttered, “Am I older than dirt? Just keep walking. And tell me what’s going on.”
“Honest, Frances, I haven’t got a clue. I saw smoke. I stumbled into his camp hoping for coffee on my way back to the casita.”
“When?” Her voice was soft yet strung tight.
“I found him,”—he looked at his sports watch—”earlier this morning. That’s all I know.”
“So you rushed to report it and wore yourself out and now you’re out here again. I meant it when I said you weren’t used to Arizona. You should’ve stayed back at the casita.”
“Despite Tripp’s expectations that we can all navigate with only a match, a sextant and a dime, I didn’t think I could draw a good enough map for ‘em.” He didn’t mention that he wanted to see the site again, and learn any opinion the sheriff cared to share. He was beginning to understand that those would be few. “Figured this was easier.”
“Plus you wanted to learn more about it. I heard you tell someone you knew Everett in school when Tripp waltzed in with him Thursday night. He seems older than you. Friends?”
“He was a few years ahead of me, and I’d skipped a grade. We weren’t friends.” He took in a deep breath. “We should be there soon.”
And they were. Gabe saw the rocks and the mesquite bosque, what Arizonans called the little growth of trees that made up one end of the campsite and led them to the outer edge. “The body’s there, the fire pit a few yards to the west. I didn’t stick around long enough to see what else is there, but like I said before, I crossed through the mesquite to see if I could find a vehicle. Didn’t.” He found a shady spot and lowered his backpack. “It’s all yours.”
The sheriff moved to his side and touched his arm. “I’d like for you to show us the
body, tell us if it’s still the way you left it. Explain how you noticed it.”
Great. Not just his deputy suspected Gabe, Sheriff Idle wanted to hear Gabe’s story. Again. He wondered how many times he’d have to tell it, and whether or not he could continue to hide his discovery of the knife.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: How I Found It
D espite Gabe’s desire to sit on that inviting rock and rest his weary bones, he moved forward beside the two lawmen. Frances trailed right behind them.
“Ma’am, I’d appreciate your waiting here,” the sheriff said.
“I’m sure you would.” Frances grinned. “But I want to see him. See how far the mighty have fallen.”
Her voice, laden with venom and anger, convinced Gabe she might have killed the developer had the opportunity arisen.
Gabe saw a stubborn look settling onto Sheriff Idle’s face. “Please sit down and wait here.” The sheriff directed a calm gaze on Gabe. “I don’t want vomitus on my crime scene. If you feel puky, get as far away as you can before letting fly.” His glance at Weston made it clear the sheriff meant his remark for his deputy as well as for Gabe.
Gabe vowed to bite through his shirtsleeve, maybe his arm, before he’d upchuck again. “Too late, Sheriff. I puked in a nearby bush. I’ll show you where.” He straightened his shoulders. Time for the not-so-instant replay. “Okay. I was east of here, heading back. Saw smoke and came to investigate. I hailed the camp, because you don’t want to surprise folks out in the beyond like this.” He shivered and hoped no one noticed. He cleared his throat and walked on. “No answer came, so I headed in.” He swallowed, realized he had almost no spit in his mouth. Took a sip of his water.
“He was lying on his back and there was a lot of blood. At first I thought he’d been attacked by an animal, but then I saw his chest. I knew he was dead right away. There were ants and flies.”
“And you didn’t move anything? Besides vomiting?” The sheriff looked calm, as if he were only seeking information, not passing judgment. His deputy’s face held a smirk.
Gabe realized he’d done some things a professional wouldn’t have, but dammit, he wasn’t a professional body-finder. Or an amateur, come to think of it. “I stirred the fire and made sure it was out. Made sense to me to prevent a flare-up. And I covered his body with my sleeping pad and some rocks. Wanted to prevent more . . . damage.”
“Uh huh,” was all the sheriff said. “Let’s see.”
They strode into the clearing. Everett Poulsen’s body, or at least a lump beneath Gabe’s laid out bedroll, lay on the ground a few yards beyond them.
About fifteen feet from where the body lay, the sheriff stopped and said, “Far enough. You stay here, Mr. Ramsay.”
Gabe nodded. He was close enough. Actually, too close.
The lawmen continued to the body. When Gabe saw that something had disturbed the makeshift cover he’d created for Poulsen’s body, the weight of his guilt lightened.
Frances came up beside him with a finger to her lips. She caught up to Idle and Weston just as Weston removed Gabe’s sleeping pad. Time for a new one. He’d never be able to forget where that one had been. Plus he imagined it would be part of the sheriff’s evidence collection.
Frances threw her hand to her mouth. Again that tiny thrill of vindication thrummed in Gabe’s veins. No matter how you downplay it, the sight of death is not easy.
“Seen enough?” the sheriff asked Frances. “I could arrest you, you know.”
“Yes. I had to see this, sorry. Everett looks much more peaceful dead than alive.” She bent her head as if in prayer, a gesture that stunned Gabe. Did she care about the developer more than she’d admitted? She returned to Gabe’s side. They found a rock to sit on to observe the work.
While the sheriff looked carefully at the body, stoic, unmoved, his deputy appeared ready to hurl his cookies. His face was gray, his hands clenched. “Jesus wept,” Weston said. Gabe didn’t like the part of him that took pleasure in the deputy’s discomfort.
The sheriff peered at the body, but kept silent.
“Notice his head?” said the deputy. “Think someone knocked him out before they stabbed him?”
“Could be. Remains to be seen.” The sheriff gave a quick glance toward Gabe and Frances. “We’re gonna need help here,” he told Weston. “The coroner, maybe a Crime Scene Tech from Pima County. Get on the phone, if there’s service here. And take another look at the area maps. See where the closest road is and look for a vehicle.”
His clearly relieved deputy hurried away from the body, muttering something about trying to find a signal, still chewing at his lip as if holding back bile.
The sheriff squatted to make a more thorough examination, but didn’t touch Poulsen’s body or anything nearby. He just looked, long and slow.
Weston returned in under a half hour hour and reported that he’d located Everett’s SUV about a quarter of a mile away. The sheriff directed him to take a number of photos around the camp and of the victim. Did the camera’s lens add distance or intimacy to the photographer’s view of the dead person?
Frances nudged Gabe. “Any clue when he might have died?”
“I’m no crime scene specialist, Frances. I’d guess very early this morning.” He kept his voice low.
“Terrific. Just great.” Nothing terrific or great in her voice, only despair.
Gabe nodded in the direction of the sheriff. “If I can hear their conversation,” he said in an undertone, “they can hear ours.”
The sheriff was circling the body, looking at the ground. He moved the twenty yards or so to Gabe and Frances. “You say you walked up to Poulsen’s body first?”
“Yes. As I recall, I walked in this side of that big agave and saw him lying there.”
“And you knew right away he was dead?”
“The blood was my first clue, the ants the second.”
“Those the same boots you were wearing?”
“Yeah.” Gabe looked down at his dusty, reliable boots. His good luck boots, he’d always thought of them. Met his first girlfriend when he was wearing them. Saw a Pawnee Montane Skipper butterfly while hiking in those boots. He couldn’t let his discovery of Poulsen spoil his passion for his hiking shoes. It took months and miles to break in a new pair. The boots had to stay.
“We’ll need to take an impression from them.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “As long as I get them back. They’re my only boots.” Plus they’re my good luck.
The sheriff’s mouth twitched as if he heard Gabe’s thoughts. “Then you noticed the fire and put it out. Find anything?”
“Actually the smoke from the fire’s what I noticed first. Smelled it, then saw it. What drew me here.” As I already told you. And what I found, I’ll never tell you, trust me.
The sheriff walked to the now very cold fire and stirred the ashes with his boot toe. “Looks like somebody burned some papers here. Notice anything this morning? It was morning when you got here, right?”
“Right. Around 7:00 or 7:30. I noticed something had been burned, but I didn’t see what it was. But the fire was still warm, so I didn’t dig around in it, except to spread it a bit so it’d die out.” And to pick up my knife.
“So you knew right away it was Everett Poulsen? How many times have you met the man?”
“As I told you earlier, we went to the same prep school in Breckenridge. After that, hadn’t seen him until the party at Tripp’s home and a couple days ago at the casita.” He wondered if he needed a lawyer, although the questions so far seemed innocent enough. He couldn’t afford a lawyer. Again.
The sheriff finished poking around in the fire and came back to where Frances and Gabe sat. “I have a few questions for each of you, if you don’t mind taking a few minutes while we wait for the rest of my team. If you’d just come with me,” he said to Gabe, indicating he should walk with him.
Once Gabe and Idle were some distance from where Frances remained sitting, he again spoke to Gabe. “Stands
to reason, if you’re a friend of Tripp’s and his new partner, that you and Poulsen didn’t see eye to eye on his development.”
“That’s correct. Truth told, none of us thought much of Poulsen’s plans to develop this pristine land. Tripp included.”
“Adrenalin’s a tricky thing,” the sheriff said. “Killing a man can spurt your adrenalin so high you run back to the casita and then find out you’re sick.”
Gabe thought a moment before he replied. “True. So can finding a dead guy. It’s not run-of-the-mill like I guess it is for you. I’ve seen dead men before, but . . . ” He paused. “I didn’t kill him.” Sweat beaded on his face.
The sheriff dug a boot toe in the ground. “Just a few more questions. Your friend Madrone said Poulsen let Tripp plan his little scavenger hunt for his trainees on Poulsen’s land. So that would mean, to me, they were friends. Right?”
“You’d think so. Believe me, I was real surprised when Poulsen and his wife waltzed into Tripp’s party. Last person I expected to see. And then I found out it’s his land we’d be spending time on. Poulsen welcomed us, said we would be seeing a little piece of paradise on the land he planned to be Mountain Shadows, bragged about how his development would be a boon to the local community. Tripp seemed friendly that night, then the next morning before we left on our assignments, he told us to search for anything—an endangered animal, plant or insect, a relic—that might stop Poulsen’s development.”
“How’d you feel about that?”
“About being surprised? Nothing new, happens to me all the time. Something my new partner and I will have to work out. About stopping Poulsen?” Gabe paused. “Good, I guess. I’m an eco-freak. I confess.”
“Confess to murder? Or to being an eco?” The sheriff didn’t even crack a grin but Gabe chuckled. He sobered. “Look, I didn’t kill the guy. If I killed all the developers who threatened pristine land, I’d be a serial killer. With no time to enjoy nature.”
“You have a point.” Idle looked at his deputy, who was still taking photos. “Anything else?”
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