by Edie Claire
“Then stop squirming around!” she ordered. “You’re just making it worse! She’s coming to get you, just hold still!”
Leigh felt like a colonial bushwhacker as she pushed the tall grass aside with her arms and plodded forward. The brush was so thick she could only see a few feet in front of her, and she had to assure herself repeatedly that alligators liked more water than this. After walking essentially straight for several yards, she was pleased to find that she had emerged from the thickest of the brush right where she had expected. The thin strip of grass in front of her did indeed connect to the larger “island” near where the man waited. But her smile soon faded. On closer inspection, the grassy strip didn’t look so promising.
“Be careful, now!” the man called to her. “Don’t get stuck yourself!”
Leigh felt for the fellow, whose head she could just see over the brush. He must find the situation humiliating, an emotion with which she was well acquainted. “No guarantees,” she called back. “If a rescue squad has to come with rope and pulleys, we might as well make it worth their time, right?”
She thought that he laughed dryly, but she couldn’t be sure, because his response was covered by the sound of a splash as the clump of grass on which she placed her foot instantly collapsed into three inches of water.
Dammit! She knew this was a bad idea. The grass here was like cattails; it wasn’t rooted in anything solid. She scrambled around in the muck trying to regain her previous foothold, but the shelf on which she’d been standing also seemed to have collapsed. The sucking mud was only a couple of inches deep, and she was capable of shuffling her feet to keep moving, although it took some effort. Her main problem was finding a portion of bank solid enough to hold her weight as she scrambled back to drier land.
“Are you okay?” the woman called frantically. “Where did you go? Should we call for more help?”
“Leigh, is that you?” Sue’s voice shouted.
“Yes, it’s me,” Leigh called back, working hard to keep her voice chipper as she sloshed along, each foot sinking to a different, unpredictable depth in the muck. Her calves would definitely be feeling this tomorrow. “No problem! Just give me another minute. I’m having to go the long way, that’s all.”
Just as she was beginning to think the bank would never present a satisfactory entrance ramp, and that she would have no choice but to go horizontal and thoroughly soak herself, she was saved by a piece of trash. She didn’t know what the soggy piece of fabric used to be, and she didn’t care. All she knew was that it was conveniently resting on top of a clump of vegetation, and that the combination of both things beneath one foot should give her enough purchase to leapfrog out of the wet zone. She sloshed over, took a breath, stomped on the mushy mess, and went for it. Her other foot landed and slid, but she caught herself with her hands before falling. Land ho!
She stood upright and slapped her muddy palms together with satisfaction. “Hang in there,” she called to the man, whose head she could see again. “I’m still coming.” Done with shortcuts, Leigh stood on her tiptoes, mapped out what looked like safest course, and returned to bushwhacking.
“Keep talking,” she called out a few moments later. “I think I’m almost there!”
Walter didn’t have to answer, because before the words were even out of her mouth, she could see him standing in front of her. He smiled broadly.
“She made it!” Barb’s voice rang out.
“Hooray!” multiple voices cheered.
Leigh stepped to the edge of the grass and looked toward to the boardwalk to see almost all of the birding group clustered around applauding. “Oh, my,” she said under her breath.
“Indeed,” Walter said dryly.
Leigh grinned. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
“Please,” he agreed.
Leigh found a suitably solid foothold a few feet away from him, and they agreed on a plan. She would take hold of his arms and, with some of his weight distributed onto her, he would try to dislodge his left foot from a more comfortable position. The ploy worked beautifully, albeit at the expense of his shoe, and once he was free Walter turned immediately to hobble off into the tall grass, ignoring the shouts of praise and encouragement emanating from the boardwalk.
Leigh was only too happy to let him lead the way. He moved like a man in a great deal of pain, but since it was obvious he would rather expire than ask for more assistance, she didn’t offer any. He followed her trail of beaten grass with determination, walking at a faster pace than he probably should have, judging by his muffled grunts and stifled winces. Leigh said nothing until he neared the spot where she had jumped out of the water. “You’ll want to start a new path here, since my shortcut was a fail,” she advised. “If you bear right, I’m pretty sure we can stay on dry ground the whole way.”
Walter, who was several inches taller than she was, straightened up and looked around. Then he bore to the right.
“Where are you?” a voice called from the boardwalk.
“Walter? We can’t see you anymore!”
“We’ll come out farther down,” Leigh shouted back. “Don’t worry, we’re playing it safe.”
Their progress slowed. Walter’s hip injury was obviously getting to him.
“Alligators like more water than this, right?” Leigh joked.
Walter chuckled. “I certainly hope so.”
They kept moving, slowly. Leigh tried not to think how ridiculously far they were having to walk on solid ground to reach the same place Walter had gotten to within seconds by stepping out over the mud flats. But they were getting close, now. The chattering voices on the boardwalk were guiding them in.
“Hey, here’s another trail!” Walter said with sudden optimism.
“That should make it easier,” Leigh agreed, wondering what other idiot had been out thrashing around in prickly overhead marsh grass. She was starting to feel itchy. Weeds had never agreed with her.
Walter stopped short. “What is it?” Leigh asked. She was in no mood for another detour. She wanted a hot shower. Not to mention those cinnamon rolls.
He made no response. Leigh stepped around him. Ahead of them was a small, irregular area where the grass was cleared already: pushed aside, shoved over, mashed down. On top of the trampled grass lay a man with sunken, bloodshot eyes and a face that was grayish-purple.
Chapter 10
“Don’t go any closer,” Walter ordered, holding out his arm.
Leigh looked from the grotesque figure sprawled on the ground to the grim, set expression on her companion’s face. She had no motivation to argue. She stood still while Walter slowly leaned in for a closer look. “He’s gone,” he whispered.
Leigh took another look for herself. She saw the body of a man who appeared to be in his sixties or early seventies, wearing duck shoes with casual slacks, a polo shirt, and a rain jacket. Everything he wore was sopping wet and smeared with mud. The jacket was torn and half pulled off. A bedraggled rain hat lay crumpled on the ground near his feet. A pair of binoculars was still attached to his chest by a harness-like contraption, but the straps had been pulled off-kilter, and the disturbed grass and chewed-up ground nearby bore witness to a struggle.
“Are you all right?” Walter asked her gently.
Leigh turned in surprise. No matter how long she lived, no matter how many more corpses managed find their way into her airspace during that period, she sincerely hoped she would never reach the point where she was “okay” with tripping over one. However, having the sympathy of someone who assumed this was a new experience for her was refreshing.
“There’s nothing we can do for him now,” Walter continued calmly. “Let’s backtrack a bit so we don’t disturb anything, then we’ll wind around to the boardwalk and call the police.”
Leigh allowed herself one more look at the ghastly purplish face. The man’s head was tilted up, exposing the hollow of his neck, and even with his skin already discolored the bruising around his throat was obviou
s. This was no heart attack. The man looked as if he’d been strangled by someone’s bare hands.
Leigh nodded.
Walter turned them both around and started off in a direction parallel to the boardwalk.
“Where are you?” Barb shouted with frustration. “Did you get lost?”
“Coming dear,” Walter called back soberly.
Leigh began to have a sneaking suspicion. “Are you a policeman yourself?” she whispered as they moved.
“No,” he answered. “I’m a pathologist. Well, a retired one, anyway.”
“I see,” Leigh replied, stunned. Her karma for corpses, as had been proven many times over, was both immutable and inescapable. But this time she’d been granted a bona fide guardian angel.
The power of positive thinking?
“There they are!” a voice called. Leigh looked out through the gradually thinning blades of grass to see Sue, Barb, and the others collecting on the boardwalk a few paces away. They cheered again as Walter preceded her out of the brush, and he managed to stand tall. But unfortunately, whatever injury he had done to his hip earlier made it impossible for him to step back up onto the boardwalk without assistance. Again, Leigh felt for him.
“Thank the Lord,” Barb opined. “I thought we’d never get you out of there. What took you so long?”
Walter shot a glance at Leigh. He seemed to be saying, “Don’t you worry, honey. Let me handle this.”
Leigh returned the slightest of nods. Perhaps the feminist in her should resent his natural assumption that her delicate sensibilities should be protected.
Meh. She was good with it.
“There’s something I need to tell everyone,” Walter announced. “I have some very bad news.”
Leigh raised an eyebrow. There was something personal in his tone, something she hadn’t expected. The other birders could sense it, too. They quieted immediately and gathered around.
“I’m afraid that Stanley has passed away,” he explained. “I’m guessing just a few hours ago. I’m not sure how he came to be off the boardwalk when it happened, but that’s where he is, still. We just came upon him, right over there. We’ll need to call the authorities. I’m sorry, everyone.”
After a few initial gasps, the group fell silent.
Stanley? Leigh searched her brain for the reference. Of course. Stanley was the birder the group had decided not to wait on this morning. He must also live in the Mesten Grande, because Sue said she had knocked on his door. But the others weren’t worried about him at the time, presumably because he often headed out earlier by himself.
So Stanley had been a birdwatcher. A perfectly innocent birdwatcher had taken a peaceful, early morning walk in the preserve… only to be strangled to death?
It couldn’t be!
“Poor Stanley,” Bev said finally, breaking the long silence. “I didn’t know he had a health condition. Nothing serious, anyway.”
“Are you sure he’s dead, Walter?” Barb questioned.
The pathologist threw his wife a long-suffering look. “I’m going to call the police now.”
Leigh kept her mouth shut. Being able to do so was a privilege she thoroughly appreciated.
“Oh, this is all so sad,” Sue said with sympathy, approaching Leigh. “I’m sorry you two had to be the ones to find him, but I am glad that someone found him quickly. How awful.” She looked around the group. “Does anyone know anything about his family?”
Bev spoke up as Walter connected with the police and walked away with his phone. “I know he was a widower,” she explained. “He told us he bought the motorhome the year his wife died, and he’s been coming down here every winter since. He never talked about family to me. The only other thing I know is that he was from Kansas City.”
“He wasn’t much of a talker, except when it came to birds,” Bonnie offered. “But for a guy from Missouri who was afraid of airplanes, he sure as hell had an impressive life list!”
“He worked for it,” Sue praised. “He’d go out at dawn every single day, rain or shine. He was determined to catch a crested caracara this winter.”
“Well, maybe he got that tick after all,” Bev said determinedly. “Maybe it was more excitement than his heart could handle. We might as well assume the best for him.”
With that statement, the cluster of birders began an improvised group eulogy for a man whom none of them, sadly, appeared to know very well. Not knowing him at all, Leigh gradually slipped to the periphery. Other visitors to the preserve periodically approached on the boardwalk, doubtless wondering why the crowd had gathered, but by silent consensus the birders maintained a huddle and didn’t look in the direction of the body. When Walter finished his call, he came to stand by Leigh.
“They’ll probably want to take your name and ask us both some questions,” he advised. “But you shouldn’t have to hang around too long.” He offered a small smile of encouragement.
Leigh smiled back tentatively. She had no doubt that — unless he was lying about being a pathologist — Walter was fully aware that Stanley must have been murdered. But she could understand his reasons for not saying so. It wasn’t his job to tell anyone the “how,” whether he happened to be capable of surmising it or not. Even giving details about the “what” would serve no useful purpose. An autopsy would be done by the proper authorities; the news would come out then. Stanley’s family had the right to be notified first, anyway.
Leigh’s eyes strayed to the grass that edged the boardwalk. The place where she and Walter had emerged was easy to spot. They’d made a trail of trampled grass so obvious it could be followed by a blind person — literally, and with a minimum of effort. But as far as she could see to either side, there was no other opening like it. If Stanley had walked directly from the boardwalk to where he lay now, he would have left his own trail of trampled grass.
So where had the victim and his assailant come from? She and Walter had met their trail maybe a dozen feet from where the body lay. But it hadn’t appeared to be coming from the boardwalk. If it had, they would have followed the trail in that direction to begin with and never seen the body. But no, they had merged with the existing trail, because it had been coming from farther out in the marsh, just as they were. Stanley and his assailant had come from the wetlands, they had struggled, and Stanley had fallen.
Where did his assailant go afterwards? Not back to the boardwalk. At least not the shortest way. Leigh tried to remember if she had seen another trail leading away from the body, but no helpful images came to her. Her attention had been focused elsewhere.
She looked up to find Walter’s steady gaze studying her. He had to wonder how much of the truth she suspected. Would most people register the significance of ecchymoses around the throat? Most people wouldn’t know that the dark, discolored areas of broken blood vessels were called ecchymoses, but you didn’t have to know what they were called to think of strangulation when you saw them.
“My dad is a veterinarian,” she explained in a whisper, although she wasn’t sure why she felt the need. “I helped out in his clinic a lot of years.”
Walter’s level gaze continued to study her. When he nodded solemnly, Leigh got the feeling they understood each other.
A siren sounded. Port Mesten wasn’t a big place, and it did not take long for the local police to arrive. As Leigh expected, the first officer on the scene followed her and Walter’s existing trail into the weeds looking confident, only to emerge a few moments later with his phone to his ear calling for backup. The Texas Rangers arrived soon afterward. The police immediately closed the entire preserve to other traffic, but the birding group was allowed to remain nearby during the initial questioning. Leigh found herself glad for their moral support. She recognized the police chief, Del Mayfield, but thankfully he had no Finney with him, nor did he show any sign of recognizing her. Not that he should, based on their brief encounter at the coffee bar, but stranger things had happened to Leigh.
Walter introduced himself as a reti
red pathologist and was interviewed extensively. He showed the Rangers exactly where he had gotten stuck originally, and what path he and Leigh had taken to walk back out again. He described how they had found the preexisting trail and joined it. He assured the authorities that he had established immediately by visual inspection that the man was dead, and that neither of them had touched the body. He also admitted, within hearing only of Leigh and the police, that he had been careful not to disturb the scene because he suspected foul play.
When the detective in charge finally turned to Leigh, he had almost nothing left to ask her. He needed a few points to be clarified about the path she took in reaching Walter to begin with, and he wanted her contact information. Other than that, he did not seem too terribly concerned with her. He was respectful, but in a dismissive sort of way, as if she were just one more unimportant bystander. Then he thanked her and told her she could leave.
It was her best police experience ever.
“Come on, sugar,” Bev said warmly, throwing an arm around her. “Let’s get you back home and get some food in you, shall we? We’ve all had a tough morning. No sense in starving ourselves on top of it.”
Leigh smiled weakly. If she was a better person, she probably would have lost her appetite. But the older she got, the more she took after her corgi. Stress or no stress, she could always eat. And right now, anything that came from Bev’s oven sounded fantastic.
“Those Texas Rangers must think Port Mesten’s going to hell in a hand basket!” Bonnie groused as the group finally began to move toward the parking lot. “Sleepy little place, nothing ever happens, and then this… twice in one week!”
“Oh, you can’t possibly compare the two!” Sue chastened, as if even discussing the subject were inappropriate. “A man dying of a heart attack is an entirely different situation from… that other thing!”
“Well, of course it is. But when the Texas Rangers have to come out—” Bonnie’s voice dropped out suddenly. “Wait a minute. Why did the Rangers come, anyway?”
Leigh felt her jaws clench. Walter had caused everything to proceed so smoothly, she almost had herself believing the worst of the unpleasantness could be avoided — at least until after she and Warren were safely back in Pittsburgh.