“I cherish each day I have with her. Each minute I can see her smile and hear her speak are the greatest of treasures to me.
“So I force myself to do it. I force myself to go into those houses, to search them.
“I feel ashamed for having to do it. I feel bad for having to violate the space that was once these peoples’ homes. But I didn’t kill them. They did that. Now they’re out of pain. I have to believe in my heart that they no longer care. That if they can spare someone the pain and desperation they themselves felt in their final days, that they’d somehow approve.
“There’s a house not far from here. I don’t remember the address, but I can take you to it.
“The front windows were broken out by previous looters. The smell of death came wafting out into the street.
“I assumed there was a dead body in the house. Maybe several. Maybe an entire family.
“But as I went through the house searching for medication I found no such bodies. What I found instead was that the sliding door leading into the back yard was left open. There was a horse’s carcass lying in the back yard. A Palomino. It was the stench from the horse’s carcass which permeated the house and into the front yard.
“I was puzzled as to why there would be a horse in the back yard of a residential street. And why it would be left there to rot when so many of us are growing more and more desperate for meat.
“But I had more important things to worry about and I put it out of my mind. In fact, I forgot about it completely until you mentioned you were looking for a Palomino. Would you like for me to take you there?”
Chapter 27
Not long after that the Bills were examining what was left of Tom Cohen’s horse, looking for clues.
There were precious few to find.
Ranger Medley shook the hand of the informant and thanked him.
“Please,” he said. “Write down the medications your daughter needs. “I’ll put out a radio call and ask the LPD and fire department to check the pharmacies and drug stores that are too far for you to walk to. If there are such medications anywhere in the city we’ll find them and bring them to you.”
The offer brought tears to the man’s eyes.
“God bless you, sir.”
As for the horse, there wasn’t much left of it. Turkey buzzards, which used to shy away from cities but which had been getting bolder in recent weeks, had been picking at it.
So had some of the neighborhood cats which had been abandoned by families no longer able to feed them.
And nature, of course, had been doing its thing by breaking down the flesh and slowly turning the creature into dust.
The horse was still saddled, yet inexplicably the saddle blanket was missing. The bridle was in place, yet the bit was gone.
It was hard to tell, given the degree of decomposition. But none of his legs appeared to have been broken.
The worst part was the way he’d died. He was shot not in the head, as any decent horseman would have done, but through the gut.
He suffered and died a slow and miserable death.
This was just wrong on so many levels.
But it was, without doubt, Tom Cohen’s horse. When he went down for the very last time he fell upon his right side, exposing the left side of his face to the elements. The perfectly shaped black diamond below his left eye was unmistakable.
As pitiful as the sight was, it offered up no clues as to the identity of the killer or his present whereabouts.
Part of Bill Wise’s mind was sorry they didn’t find the killer’s body inside the house, driven to suicide by the evil thing he’d done.
Another part was glad he wasn’t there. For his suicide would have deprived Bill of the certain amount of satisfaction he’d get for watching him put to death.
After they’d finished scouring the horse’s carcass and the back yard and found absolutely nothing they could use, they returned to the house and examined it more closely.
Much of the broken glass from the windows on the front porch had fallen directly in front of the door. The three of them had been careful to step over it when they walked into the house, so they could preserve the scene as much as possible.
The informant had been asked to do the same when he left the house.
Wise went to one knee and examined the glass closely.
None of it was crushed by footsteps, as it should have been if it was there for any length of time.
“The windows haven’t been broken for long,” he said. My guess is that he was living here until he shot the horse, then the stench drove him away. Looters smelled the decay and broke the windows to recover the suicide weapon they were sure was in there.
“Yeah. And probably to search the place for any other valuables.”
“I’m guessing they opened the back door, thinking that’s where somebody shot themselves, then left after they figured out what they were smelling was a horse and not human.
“Right. And if he was living here he almost certainly left clues.
As if to back up their theories, the dresser drawers in the master bedroom had been rifled through, their contents all dumped on the floor.
A jewelry box had been emptied of its contents and thrown across the room, breaking a full-length mirror hanging on the closet door.
The mattress and box spring had been upturned as someone searched beneath each of them.
Word had gotten around that many residents were keeping loaded weapons beneath their beds as they slept.
They did find a white baseball cap on the dining room table.
At least it was white once upon a time. Now it was absolutely filthy and seemed out of place in the relatively clean house.
“It could belong to our killer,” Medley said.
“Yeah. But it could also belong to the looters.”
Medley picked it up and gingerly examined it, hoping to find someone’s name written inside it.
No such luck.
“Let’s bag it and take it with us. DNA lasts forever. Maybe someday they can get the lab up and running again.”
Wise looked through the kitchen’s cupboards until he found a gallon-sized zip-lock bag and placed the cap inside it.
As he did so he noticed a single hair hanging from it, and examined it closer.
“Shoulder length, brown. That might come in handy.”
As the blackout dragged on longer and longer it became apparent the lights wouldn’t be on anytime soon. Most men had been having their wives and girlfriends use scissors to cut their hair short.
Short hair was much easier to keep in a world where it couldn’t easily be shampooed or combed.
Shoulder length brown hair wasn’t as common as it once was, and might serve as a beacon to help identify the man they were looking for.
“Let’s not count on it though,” Medley commented. He might have cut it since he left.”
In addition to the ball cap they recovered a dirty t-shirt from the center of the kitchen floor. They doubted it belonged to the house’s original owners, since all other clothing seemed to be in its proper place.
They also found Ranger Cohen’s saddle bags, his initials marked in black felt tip on the under side.
They were completely empty.
“Well, it’s not much,” Wise commented. “But it’s a step farther than we were yesterday.”
Chapter 28
Across town another murder investigation was taking place. And it appeared to be moving at a slightly faster pace.
Rangers Castro and Sondrini already had a witness who’d not only seen the shooter, but had talked to him. Granted, it was a little boy. And children could be troublesome witnesses. But he was able to provide some very good clues. Even if the boy’s memory or fear prevented him from making a positive identification in the future, the Rangers knew they were dealing with a white man, working alone, who came and went on foot.
In all likelihood that meant he lived close by.
And that gave them a great
start.
They’d spent the first three days of their investigation canvassing the neighborhood.
They were hampered by the harsh realities of the new world. Most people didn’t open their doors any more to law enforcement.
There was just too much fear that the people on the porch claiming to be policemen weren’t policemen at all, but rather someone bent on robbing them of their meager rations.
A uniform or a badge meant little as evidence of the policeman’s identity. Since the earliest days of the blackout rumors had circulated around the city that thugs were killing policemen, stealing their uniforms, and using them to run roughshod over the general populous.
The rumors were patently false. But in an atmosphere of great fear and uncertainty they were widely believed.
Since even uniformed policemen were having trouble getting people to open their doors these days, it wasn’t any great surprise that the Texas Rangers would have an even harder time.
The typical Ranger didn’t wear a uniform. He carried a badge, and had the option of wearing it on his shirt or jacket. But from a distance (or through a window) it didn’t look much different from a dime-store costume badge.
In fact, since this was Texas, and in Texas little boys liked to play cowboy, plastic five pointed “Texas Ranger” badges were available for sale at every toy store in the city.
In addition, most residents of Lubbock were totally unaware there was a small detachment of Rangers permanently stationed within their midst. For the typical Lubbockite, The Texas Rangers were based in Austin. All of them.
When hearing a knock at their door and having to guess who it might be, the typical Lubbockite would no more expect a Texas Ranger than a little green Martian.
Knowing all that, Castro and Sondrini weren’t at all surprised that fewer than one person in ten answered their doors to them.
They were frustrated, but not surprised.
And it made their job much more difficult.
For there was a good chance one of those residents saw something, or knew something, or maybe even knew the suspect.
But they were keeping that information to themselves.
At the end of that day they’d knocked on over a hundred doors and had found just six people willing to talk to them.
“Hello. I’m Investigator Castro with the Texas Rangers. This is Investigator Sondrini. We’re working the murder of our commander, who lived a few blocks from here on Ridgemont Drive. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
“Um… I guess so. But how come the Rangers are here? I thought you guys were all based in Austin.”
“Actually we’re all over the state.”
“If there was a murder shouldn’t the Lubbock cops be investigating it?”
“They’ve offered to help, but they’re pretty overworked themselves.”
“Yeah, I guess they are. I see them speeding by on their little go-carts all the time.”
“The man we’re looking for bribed a little boy with candy to draw our commander out into the open, where he ambushed him.
“He’s a white man, of average height and weight. Probably in his thirties. I’m sorry to say that’s the only description we have on him. But we’re guessing he’s a loner. Maybe somebody with a vendetta against cops or other authority figures. Probably somebody who doesn’t get along well with his neighbors.”
“I don’t know, officers. But I’ll ask around and see if I can come up with something. Check back with me in a few days, after I’ve been able to talk to my friends and neighbors.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Maybe enlisting the help of citizens was the way to go.
Chapter 29
Castro and Sondrini briefed their new tactic at the Ranger muster the following day. Wise and Medley had been having similar problems getting people to answer their doors and decided to try the same tactic themselves.
The following day they spoke to the first of several people they were hoping might be able to help them.
“Good morning, sir. I’m Ranger Medley, this is Ranger Wise. We’re investigating the murder of another Ranger who was gunned down a couple of weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear of your loss. Anything I can do to assist you?”
“We’re looking for a white man, slight to average height and weight. Brown hair, probably down to his shoulders. He may or may not have been riding a Palomino horse around the neighborhood. Have you seen such a man?”
“Is he the murderer?”
“We believe him to be. We won’t know for sure until we find him and speak with him.”
“That description fits a lot of men around here. I’ve seen the horse, but to be honest I didn’t really pay much attention to who was riding it.”
“Are you sure it was a Palomino?”
“I’m not the biggest expert on horses around, but I’m pretty sure. Mostly white and with big patches of brown and black.”
“But you can’t say for sure who was riding it?”
“It was a man, I’m sure of that. But I’m not sure how big he was. I mean, a tall guy on a horse looks pretty much the same as a short guy on a horse.
“As far as what he looked like, I don’t have a clue. I remember he had a white baseball cap on. But looking at a stranger’s face is something I try to avoid these days.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“A lot of people I encounter when I go out to search for food are mean and surly. I’ve always been an outgoing guy. I was the guy who used to hold the door open for strangers walking behind me. I nodded to people and said ‘good morning’ to them whether I knew them or not.
“I always had a smile and a kind word for strangers.
“But these days, it seems that nobody wants to acknowledge my kind words. They either ignore them or growl something in return, as though I’m putting them out by trying to be friendly.
“It’s almost as though my being kind makes them suspicious. Like maybe they suspect I’m trying to take something from them.
“I’ve had a couple of people stare me down, glaring at me and saying ‘What are you looking at?’
“I know everyone is fearful and under a lot of stress these days, but some of them have gotten downright hateful and mean. So I try not to look them in the face anymore.”
“Most of your neighbors aren’t answering their doors for us. Due mostly, I suppose, to that same fear and distrust you’re talking about. Do you know most of your neighbors?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, some of them have left to find other members of their families. And a couple of them have killed themselves. But I still get along with most of them.”
“So they’ll answer their doors to you?”
“Oh, yeah. We sometimes share food with each other when we stumble across a good find.”
“I’m going to ask you to help us find our killer, if you wouldn’t mind doing so.”
“Um… as long as it isn’t dangerous.”
“No sir, not at all. All we’d like for you to do is to talk to your neighbors on our behalf. Ask them if they’ve also seen the man on the Palomino. And whether they know who he is or where he lives.”
“Oh, that’s not too bad. Sure, I can do that.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m going to write down your address and we’ll check back with you in a few days.”
“Okay. I don’t have a problem with that. Is there a way I can get ahold of you quickly if I find out where he lives?”
“Yes sir. We’re using a flag system now that’s pretty effective.”
“A flag system?”
“Yes, sir. We make a point of riding down certain cross streets every day looking for markers to alert us that someone wants to talk to us.
“In this neighborhood that’s Utica Avenue. If you want to talk to us, just find something yellow. It doesn’t matter much what it is. Anything yellow will catch our attention. Write your house number on it and post it on a light pole or tree where your street intersects wi
th Utica. When we see it we’ll pay you a visit.”
“Okay. I’ll do that.”
“Thank you, sir. If we don’t see your flag we’ll check back in a few days.”
It was a crummy way of conducting a murder investigation, granted.
But they didn’t have a lot of options.
Chapter 30
Randy didn’t get nervous often. He was extremely comfortable in his own skin and had a supreme sense of self-confidence.
But this… this was different.
As he dismounted and tied Trigger to an oak tree in front of 5705 91st Street he felt like a little kid being sent to the principle’s office.
His palms were sweating.
He felt like a stooge.
And the most maddening thing was he didn’t understand why.
There were a couple of times in his past when he’d felt a powerful attraction to a woman. He wasn’t a man who threw the word “love” around, but he’d definitely felt this feeling before.
The previous relationships didn’t work out, not because the magic wasn’t there. But rather because Randy was adamant he wouldn’t marry or have children until after he retired from the Rangers.
And the women he was involved with weren’t willing to wait.
But this… this just didn’t make sense. His other close relationships lasted months. One lasted for two years.
He’d only spent a couple of hours with Sarah Anna Speer on the night before the lights went out.
And he hadn’t spoken to her since.
It made no sense that he felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach.
It made no sense his heart soared when he saw the tiny heart she’d drawn next to her address.
None of this made sense at all.
If he was smart he’d turn tail and run.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do that.
He walked up the steps and knocked on the door, then took off his Stetson and held it in both hands in front of him.
Sarah answered the door and stepped onto the porch.
Death Comes Calling (Ranger Book 3) Page 9