Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy

by Rehder, Ben

  “It varies, but five grand easy. Sometimes ten.”

  “Here’s the theory we’ve been working with: Searcy hunted with Mr. X. He shoots a deer, and Mr. X passes off a fake later. Searcy figures it out, gets pissed off, and comes after him.”

  “Waldrip or Dawson?”

  “Damned if I know. Could be either, or both. Or, hell, somebody else entirely. We do know that Searcy placed a call to Waldrip on Sunday, six days ago. He was officially missing as of Monday, and you found him Tuesday morning. Searcy made no calls to Dawson, and no recent calls to other guides. He did call those other two guides several weeks ago….”

  Marlin was trying to remember the conversation he and Garza had had with Duke Waldrip. He said, “What if Searcy hunted with somebody else—someone we haven’t even talked to yet—and then he discovered the mount was a fake? Let’s say he was embarrassed about getting ripped off and wasn’t going to do anything about it … or maybe he was going to deal with it later. But with the deer season ending, he still wants to get a good deer … so he calls Waldrip again.”

  There was silence as the deputies mulled that scenario over. Cowan said, “But let’s not forget about Bobby getting shot. I mean, we know it’s gotta be the same guy, right? Whoever killed Searcy broke into the house to steal the deer mount. We agree on that?”

  “I’d say so, at least for now,” Tatum said.

  “Then we’re back to one of our original questions. Why steal the mount?”

  Turpin said, “If the theory’s right—meaning Searcy got ripped off and came to settle the score—then whoever killed him might be identified by that mount, right?”

  “Some taxidermists put labels on the back,” Marlin said.

  “Excellent,” Tatum said. “I imagine there’d be fingerprints on it, too. If not the guide’s, then the taxidermist’s.”

  Marlin gestured toward the X ray. “Here’s something else, though. Normally, a guy like Searcy would get pretty pumped up about a deer like this and take photos after the kill.”

  Tatum clapped his hands together. “So we could find those photos and maybe identify which ranch he hunted on. Maybe there’d even be photos of the guide.” He turned to Cowan. “Let’s call the widow. See if there are any cameras lying around with undeveloped film.”

  “There’s a problem with that, though,” Marlin said. “If Searcy did see the deer after the kill, and if he took photos, when the mount got delivered to him—”

  Turpin, an avid hunter, finished the sentence for him. “He’d recognize it as a different deer in a heartbeat. That crossed my mind earlier. Searcy—if he had any kind of memory at all—would know this wasn’t the same deer he shot. He wouldn’t need to x-ray it.”

  Everyone in the room was plainly stumped: Why did Searcy x-ray his trophy? They tossed a few more ideas around, but nothing cleared the confusion. Marlin could tell that Tatum was ready to end the meeting and start chasing down more information. “John, I appreciate your help,” the chief deputy said, standing. “I know you’ve got your hands full. Speaking of which, what was that call out on Flat Creek last night?”

  Marlin told them about the elderly lady who had described being attacked by a doglike animal she couldn’t identify. “She chased it off with her walking stick.”

  “Coyote?” Turpin asked.

  “Man, I hope so,” Marlin said. He was starting to regret the interview with Hard News Tonight. He’d said that the animal troubles were over, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  “Well,” Tatum said, “between chasing trespassers and wild animals, can you do one thing for us?”

  “Talk to Waldrip again?”

  “No. Actually, I want to hold off on that until we see where this goes. Apparently Dawson got married a couple weeks ago….”

  “Cheri? That woman is his wife?”

  “Yep. Vegas quickie. Can you talk to her, see what she has to say about Dawson? Maybe she knows where he went. She might open up if she thinks it’s about a hunting scam instead of a homicide.”

  22

  “SSH! I THINK I hear something!”

  “What is it, Red?”

  “Just shut up for a second.”

  Red listened, but now all he could hear was the sound of Billy Don panting like a mule in labor. The trap was about fifty yards away, and both of them were already winded from the hike through the woods. The stock of the rifle was slick in Red’s hands.

  Red began to take slow, careful steps forward. Hell’s bells, what if they’d already caught the chupacabra? Red figured this could be the turning point in his life. Granted, he was already what most people would consider an American success story. He owned his own Palm Harbor mobile home, complete with satellite TV. His 1977 Ford truck was nearly paid for. And just last month, he’d bought his own washer and dryer on revolving credit. The rate was only eighteen percent, and they don’t offer those kinds of terms to lowlifes.

  But this thing here—the chupacabra—this could be his ticket to a whole new world.

  He glanced back at Billy Don, who had stopped to take a leak.

  Of course, Red would need some new friends.

  Billy Don zipped up and walked forward to meet him.

  “Shit,” Red whispered. “You had to go ahead and piss right here? We’re trying to catch a wild animal, remember?”

  Billy Don shrugged. “I hadda go.”

  “Well, keep it in your damn pants.” Red turned and continued his slow approach to the trap. They were now thirty yards away, but the brush was too thick to see—

  He heard something! A snort, or grunt, or some damn noise. Billy Don nodded his head, his eyes wide, meaning he had heard it, too.

  Red double-checked the rifle to make sure a round was in the chamber. He’d brought along his .30-06 loaded with Nosler tips. If that wasn’t enough to stop the chupacabra, they’d need a frigging bazooka.

  Red picked his path carefully, stepping over sticks and around rocks. There was a clump of cedar trees ahead. Once they got around those, they’d have a clear view of the trap.

  He heard another grunt.

  Then a higher-pitched squeal.

  Whatever it was, it was seriously pissed off.

  Just a few more steps.

  Now Red could see one corner of the trap. He saw movement!

  Red took a quick look at Billy Don, who was several yards back, sort of shuffling sideways. Damn, the big pussy was ready to run back to the truck.

  Red took another step forward—and he saw it!

  It was …

  It looked like …

  Aw, damn. It was only a feral pig. Mr. Pierce had said he didn’t have any wild pigs on his ranch, but he obviously didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

  Red was dejected, but he decided to have a little fun with the situation.

  He faced Billy Don. “You stay here. I’ve got the gun, so I’ll go see what’s what.”

  Billy Don nodded vigorously.

  Red continued slowly around the cedar trees, out of Billy Don’s sight. He placed the rifle carefully on the ground, sucked in a big breath, then ran back the way he’d come, screaming.

  “Jesus! Billy Don! Get the hell out of here!”

  Billy Don didn’t need to be told twice. The huge redneck ran as fast as his size-fourteen work boots would carry him, plowing over cacti, uprooting stumps, leaving a trail of broken branches in his wake.

  Red had stopped on the trail, and he was laughing so hard, he was crying. Billy Don was completely out of sight, probably back at the truck by now. Finally, when Red’s laughter had subsided, he saw Billy Don peeking cautiously from behind a laurel tree. This brought on a new round of laughter, Red’s ribs hurting so bad, he plopped to the ground.

  Billy Don approached him, scowling. He walked past the cedars, and Red watched his expression change as he saw the pig. He glared back at Red. “Very funny.”

  “The man’s a pig, you know that?” Cheri said. “A genuine pig.”

  Marlin could smell
liquor on her breath. It was early Saturday afternoon and he was in her apartment on the north side of San Antonio, a forty-minute drive from Blanco County. Sprawled on the couch was a thin man with a long greasy mullet, wearing a muscle shirt and grimy blue jeans. Cheri had introduced him as “Goat.” It seemed they had a regular barnyard theme going. A pig and a goat.

  “You want something to drink?” Cheri asked. “Cold beer?” Her smile had some mischief in it. “I won’t tell.”

  “Iced tea would be good.”

  “Be right back.”

  While Cheri went into the kitchen, Goat turned the TV volume down and placed his bloodshot eyes on Marlin. “You a cop?”

  “Game warden.”

  Goat nodded. “That ain’t so bad.” His eyes floated back to a wrestling match on the screen. “I ain’t much of a hunter myself.”

  “Not everyone is,” Marlin said.

  “Hunted birds with my dad once,” Goat said. “Back when I was a kid. Then he fucking passed out and I had to drive us both home.”

  Before Marlin could continue his scintillating conversation with Goat, Cheri returned with a beer for herself and a can of Coke for Marlin. Coke, not tea. Close enough.

  Goat rose from the sofa and announced that he “had to blaze.” He kissed Cheri on the cheek, nodded to Marlin, and was gone. Cheri sat where Goat had been sitting. Marlin remained standing.

  Marlin went back to his original question. “Have you seen Kyle lately?”

  Cheri wrinkled her face in disgust. “Two days ago, out at his place. This is Saturday, right?”

  Before Marlin could answer, she said, “You know I got married to that asshole, right? Last month in Vegas. Yeah, we were just screwing around. I know that. But we were married, all legal and everything.” She grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table and lit up. “Then when we got back, I kinda figured he’d say, ‘Okay, that was fun, but it was just a joke.’ But he didn’t, so I thought I’d see where it went. I mean, I really cared for the guy and everything. If you can believe that.”

  Marlin thought, Yeah, you’re all broken up about it. With a guy like Goat hanging around.

  She exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling, then took a swig of beer. “So then on Thursday, he finally says, ‘You know it was all bullshit, right? We’re not really gonna stay married.’” She shook her head. “I’m glad I hadn’t canceled the lease on this apartment yet. What a prick. Why the hell did he waste my time like that?”

  She glanced at Marlin as if he might actually know the answer to that question.

  “Have you talked to him since then?” he asked.

  “Hell no, and I don’t plan to, neither.”

  “Did he say anything to you about going out of town?”

  Again, she cut her eyes his way. “Is he wanted for something?” Marlin could tell that she hoped the answer was yes.

  “I just need to talk to him about some of the hunting that was going on out there,” he said.

  She watched him for a long time. “What kind of hunting?”

  Why would she ask that?

  Cheri said, “Because they weren’t just hunting deer out there, I can tell you that much.”

  Bingo.

  Marlin played it casual. “Yeah, we stumbled over some of the cages he had out in the stable. Now we’re just trying to figure out what kind of animals he was keeping. More of a formality than anything. It’s a safety issue. We gotta keep track of the animals coming into the county.”

  “Were they illegal?”

  She was quicker than Marlin gave her credit for.

  “What, the animals? Like I said, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. That’s why I want to talk to Kyle.”

  “And you think he left town?”

  “Possibly. We found his car at the Houston airport.”

  Cheri’s smile was wide now, revealing straight, strong teeth. She wagged her cigarette at him. “I think you’re leaving something out, Mr. Game Warden.” She leaned forward. “You tracked his car down at the Houston airport, all because of some wildlife violation? Right. I don’t think so.”

  Marlin was starting to lose his patience. He was asking questions but not getting many straight answers. “Cheri,” he said slowly, “I need to find Kyle. And if you know where he is, you need to tell me. Otherwise, you’ll be facing some charges of your own.”

  She winked. “Wow. You’re even cuter when you’re angry.”

  Marlin ignored her. “So I’m going to ask some more questions,” he said, “and your job is to answer them. Are we clear on that?”

  “Jeez, I’m trying to help, okay? God, from good cop to bad cop in ten seconds flat.”

  “Then just answer my questions. When was the last time you saw Kyle?”

  “Two days ago, like I said. Thursday morning, he told me we were getting annulled, so I got the hell out of there.”

  “And you haven’t talked to him since then?”

  “Not a word. Haven’t heard from his lawyer yet, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “Nope.”

  “Or how we can get in touch with him?”

  “Try his cell phone. Damn thing’s practically glued to his ear.”

  Marlin and the deputies had already tried that number. Many times. “Did you know he was leaving town?” he asked.

  “News to me.”

  “Any idea where he might go on a spur-of-the-moment trip? Any favorite places?”

  “Vegas, mostly. Sometimes Cancún. That’s about it, as far as I know.” She stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray. “Listen, I really gotta go to work.”

  “Last question. Do you know what kind of animals they were hunting at Kyle’s ranch?”

  Cheri stared into space, thinking. “Damn, I heard them mention something just the other day. What was it? Some kinda foreign animal. Like from Africa.”

  Marlin gave her a moment to rack her memory, but she’d apparently had a little too much to drink. Finally, he said, “Jackal?”

  She snapped her fingers. “Yeah, that’s it … I think. Something like that.”

  “This is really important, Cheri. I need you to be sure. Was it a jackal or not?”

  “Yeah, a jackal. That’s what they said.”

  “Did you—”

  Cheri stood up. “I gotta change clothes real quick. You mind?” She was already unzipping her jeans.

  Marlin nodded, and she stepped into the apartment’s lone bedroom, leaving the door open. “Did I what?” she called out.

  “Did you ever see any of the animals?”

  Her voice was muffled, as if she was pulling a shirt over her head. “No, just the deer.”

  “Did you ever meet any of the hunters?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “You never met a man named Oliver Searcy?”

  “Nope.”

  Marlin could hear drawers opening and closing.

  “Go ahead,” she called. “I’m just putting on makeup.”

  “You ever meet any of the hunting guides?”

  “Just Duke,” she said.

  “You ever meet his brother, Gus?”

  “I heard his name a few times, but I never met him. They said something was wrong with him.”

  She came back into the room, looking like a different woman now. She was wearing black leather pants, a tight white crop top, and red pumps. Her hair was teased and her rouge was as thick as the dust on Marlin’s hood. Lots of eyeliner and ruby red lipstick. The stuff of an adolescent boy’s daydreams.

  She turned to go back into the kitchen, and Marlin noticed a tag on the neck of her crop top. She came out of the kitchen with another beer.

  “You’re not driving, are you?” Marlin asked.

  “Don’t need to. The club’s a block away.”

  He said, “Earlier, when we were talking about the animals, you said you heard ‘them’ mention something. Who did you mean? Kyle and who else?”

  “Duke. If
anyone knows where Kyle is, it’s Duke. He was there when I was leaving on Thursday.”

  “When Kyle broke up with you?”

  “Well, no, but he must’ve just showed up right afterwards. I saw him in the driveway.”

  That meshed with Waldrip’s story. He said he’d seen Kyle on Thursday.

  Cheri turned to grab a small red purse.

  “By the way, your top is on inside out,” Marlin said.

  She looked down and giggled. “Oops. Thanks.” She pulled the half shirt over her head, facing Marlin. She was braless, and her breasts were truly a marvel of modern-day surgery. Marlin knew she was doing it just to shake him up, make him feel embarrassed. He felt his cheeks flushing, but he didn’t turn around. Underneath it all—the implants, the clothes, the overdone makeup—she actually was an attractive woman. She didn’t need all the crap to catch a man’s eye. Her body was lean and toned, and Marlin hated to think what it would look like after another decade or so of drinking and drug abuse.

  She got her shirt back in place, the afterimage still strong in Marlin’s brain. Marlin met her eyes, and a grin curled on her lips. She reached into her purse and handed him a matchbook from a strip club.

  “I waitress the early shift, but I dance from eight till midnight. Come on by,” she said, her tone making it a dare. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

  23

  MARLIN STOPPED AT a pay phone, called Bill Tatum’s cell phone, and relayed everything he had learned from Cheri, which wasn’t much. Marlin wanted to question Duke Waldrip about the imported animals, but Tatum told him he probably wouldn’t have much luck.

  “Why’s that?” Marlin asked.

  “Doubt he’ll talk to you. We’ve been getting nowhere, so Cowan called him earlier. He was happy to talk, until she mentioned the airport. Then he shut down. Said he was tired of answering questions, he didn’t know what happened to Searcy, he didn’t know where Kyle was, and he wanted us to—quote—‘quit pestering him.’ She asked about his brother, Gus, and Duke said to leave him alone, too. Then he hung up.”

  “Houston getting anywhere on Bobby’s shooting?”

  “If they are, I haven’t heard. I spoke to Bobby earlier, by the way, and he sounds pretty good. He’s coming home tomorrow.”