Smoke and I hung out at the barricade a few minutes until Deputy Vince Weber arrived. He was a compact bulk of strength, and a good choice to hold back any curious members of the public. He wore a questioning frown. “Morninˊ. Our highway crew found what?”
“Go have a look,” Smoke said.
Weber jogged over to the excavator, climbed up into the cab, and spent a minute looking at the body. He returned to the barricade and shook his head. “Ah, geez. What kind of creepola would do that to a little old lady?” His face screwed together, etching deep creases in his forehead and cheeks.
“The same sort of questions we ask ourselves over and over in this job, and never get a very satisfying answer,” Smoke said.
“Yeah. So what’s the deal with the bog? I thought this was a swamp,” he said.
“Bogs are also called peat swamps,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“I understand the peat goes down sixty feet deep in this area,” Smoke said.
“Had no idea,” Weber said.
“I didn’t either, until Highway proposed this project. This bog’s deeper than a lot of our county lakes. When the glaciers moved through, they carved out basins that filled with water and gave us our lakes. I remember from geography class that if the mineral count in the water was low enough, plants filled in and created bogs.”
“Huh. Yeah well, now that I got my science lesson for the day, I feel a little smarter.”
Smoke gave Weber a nod. “We’ll leave you to it then.”
I followed Smoke back to where the highway crew was huddled. We pulled out memo pads to record the information for our reports, required for all deputies at crime scenes. Smoke asked the questions and we each jotted down the names, dates of birth, and addresses of the three men. Then he asked for details of the event.
Bart was the first one who spotted the body in the bucket as it was lifted out of the bog. The other two saw it a minute later. They all attested the bucket went in empty and came out occupied.
“Where, specifically, did you drop the bucket in?” Smoke said.
“I’d say eight feet from the edge of the road, about straight out from where the excavator is sitting now,” Bart said.
“So you started the clean out, got one bucketful, and the second load held the victim.”
“That’s right.”
“Would you say the body had been laying in an east to west position, same as the road, or north to south?” Smoke said.
“East to west, with the head to the east.”
Smoke wrote that down. “Did any of you take pictures of the deceased with your phones?” When each stated he hadn’t, Smoke nodded. “Good deal. Until we figure out what we got going on here, I need you to do your civic duty and keep a lid on the details of this. We’ll release a statement about a body being found. But anything beyond that could compromise the investigation.”
Andy spoke up, “When I talked to Wendell, he asked questions about the body, and I told him it looked like a woman and that she had a weight tied around her.” Wendell Peltz was the Winnebago County Highway Engineer.
“We’ll talk to him when he gets here. Word will spread fast, so be prepared. Your co-workers will ask for a complete recap. But like I said, keep any particulars on the down low for now.”
They all understood.
Smoke softened his tone when he continued, “You have a right to be upset, and I know for a fact the sheriff will set up a debriefing for you guys, help you deal with this. We do that after we have critical incidents. And believe me, it does work.”
I thought of the debriefings I’d had. “The detective’s right. It helps a lot.”
The muscles in Bart’s face tightened and his fists clenched. “I’ve never had a worse scare in my whole life. For a split second, I didn’t know what I was looking at, what it was for sure. I wondered if it was one of those models that stores put clothes on. You know, those mannequins? I was thinking maybe some kids stole it, used it as a prank, something like that. And then when they wanted to get rid of it, they threw it in here. People are always dumping stuff in ditches.” He rubbed his hands together like he was warming them.
All sorts of things were tossed in highway and township road right-of-way areas, ditches, and other convenient places. Mattresses topped the list of discarded items with couches at a close second. Littering small things was bad enough but casting large items on others’ properties were thorns in the sides of those who had to remove them and pay to properly dispose of them besides.
Bart continued, “After it hit me that it might really be a person, it took me a few seconds to bring the arm of the bucket to a halt. And then when I got a better look and saw it was a human body, I got the hell off the machine, further away from it.” His eyebrows squeezed together. “Being that close gave me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Pretty shocking, that’s a given,” Smoke said.
Bart shivered.
Andy, the tallest and roundest of the three took over. “Nick and me were wondering what the heck was going on, but all Bart did was point. He couldn’t even talk. So we climbed up and had a look for ourselves. We couldn’t believe it. I mean, how could we? None of us stayed up there looking for long, that’s for sure. Andy here called nine-one-one.”
Andy nodded. “Thank God Sergeant Roth came a few minutes later.”
Bart’s shiver turned into the shakes and beads of sweat popped out of his pores. He pulled off his hard hat and swiped at the droplets with the sleeve of one arm and then the other. His face paled to an even lighter tone, despite a head start on his summer tan.
“Bart, let’s get you over to your truck so you can sit down for a while. Have you got water to get yourself hydrated?” I said.
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I should sit down.”
Andy put a hand on his shoulder and looked at me. “I’ll take him. We got extra bottles of water in our trucks.” Thank you, Andy.
“You know, it’s a good idea for all of you to go chill out in your vehicles for the time being. We’ll figure out the next steps when your boss gets here,” Smoke said.
They followed Smoke’s directive, but before they’d reached the blockade, the highway engineer’s sedan pulled up and parked a short distance away. Wendell Peltz and the highway supervisor, Ron Sutton, climbed out. They stopped by their men and talked for a minute. Their facial expressions switched from disbelief to solemnity. Peltz gave Bart’s shoulder a firm squeeze then he sent the crew on their way.
When Peltz and Sutton joined us, they didn’t bother with greetings. Peltz’s skin was pulled tight against his facial bones, and his jaw was locked. He’d left his gregarious disposition at the office. Sidekick Sutton wore a worried frown. They were a tense team, for sure. With valid reason, if there ever was one.
Peltz shook his head. “Bart dug a body out of Coyote Bog? Unbelievable.”
“That it is. I know your men gave you the skinny, but we need you to keep the details quiet for the time being. If you want to have a look in the bucket, see what your guys saw, I don’t have a problem with that,” Smoke said.
Peltz and Sutton looked at each other and weighed their options.
“I guess I should look. Maybe it’ll help me understand better.” Sutton’s words didn’t sound convincing, but Peltz nodded and they climbed up for a quick view. Back on the ground, they appeared far worse for the wear.
“I can barely comprehend what I saw was real. What do we need to do?” Peltz said.
Smoke’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Aside from putting your project on hold for the time being, nothing. I’m thinking we’ll need your equipment and a crew member or two to do some more digging around the site. See if we can uncover any evidence to help in the investigation. We’ll get some direction from the sheriff and medical examiner first.”
“They’ll be here shortly,” I added.
“Man, a simple clean out of the area off the road led to this. Why?” Sutton said.
“I’ve been in this
business long enough to realize when bizarre things happen, it’s not happenstance,” Smoke said.
Sutton worked his foot into gravel. Peltz watched him a moment then nodded at Smoke. “You could be right.”
I’d thought the same thing over the years. Like when a dog found a woman’s dismembered leg on a swim in a small lake. Or when the sheriff’s recreational vehicle and underwater recovery sergeant decided to test the new side view sonar technology in one of the county lakes and discovered an old car—occupied—on the bottom. That opened an unsolved case of a couple who’d gone missing decades before. We had many cases, not all of that magnitude, but important to solve, nonetheless.
Oftentimes, when we were in the throes of an investigation, we caught what was termed a “lucky break.” Methodical detective work was crucial, but many times the right thing happened at the right time that led to the right path. We couldn’t pass those incidents off as luck.
“Winnebago County, Seven-oh-three,” Communications Officer Robin called over the radio.
“Seven-oh-three,” Deputy Bob Edberg responded.
“We have report of two students fighting in the Oak Lea High School parking lot. No known weapons involved.”
“Seven-oh-three copies. ETA four minutes.”
Weber would fly solo at his post until Edberg cleared, or they recruited another deputy.
Sheriff Mike Kenner pulled up to the blockade and parked next to Peltz’s car. He got out and gave Weber a light punch on the bicep as he passed. Kenner had served as chief deputy under Sheriff Twardy for years and was the county board’s top candidate when Twardy retired. The vote was unanimous. A natural and effective leader, Kenner had stepped into the role as the county’s top law enforcement officer with relative ease. Even so, after ten months on the job his brown hair had started to gray, a sign that considerable stress had taken its toll.
Kenner was genial by nature and took a minute to see how everyone was doing before he climbed aboard the excavator for a gander at the victim’s body. One of the random things that popped into my head at crime scenes and death scenes was that victims had no choice who viewed their bodies, in whatever state they were in. Or what tests and procedures their remains might be put through in the course of the investigations. Even though they were beyond caring about anything in the physical world, I still felt compassion for the people they had been, and for any loved ones they left behind.
For a long time, one of my continued prayers was that none of my loved ones would disappear or suffer a tragic death.
Kenner shook his head on the walk back to us. “That’s about as bad as it gets.” He looked at Peltz. “How are your men doing?”
Peltz shook his head. “We haven’t had much chance to talk. Bart, the guy who was running the excavator, seems to be having the most trouble.”
“Understandable. Man, it’s one of those times when the M.E. can’t get here fast enough—for you folks, especially,” Kenner said.
“Sheriff, the highway workers are in two trucks over there.” I lifted my hand in their direction. “Like Wendell indicated, Bart is especially struggling. We told the crew to wait there until we got direction from their boss. But you and the M.E. will have the final say.”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“Sheriff, my suggestion is we do some more excavating, check to see if there’s any kind of evidence in the area where the body was found,” Smoke said.
“I agree, and that’s my directive. But no more digging for Bart,” Kenner said.
“That’s a given,” Smoke said.
“All our road crew guys are trained to operate the equipment. I’ll talk to them; see if one of them is willing. If not, I’ll pull in someone from one of the outlying shops,” Peltz said.
And if the willing worker had known what he’d be getting himself into, he might have taken a pass after all.
3
Mama and Rufus
“Mama, it’s bad.”
Mama looked at her son. She’d named him Rufus, the same name Simon of Cyrene gave to his son. Simon had carried Jesus’ cross. Mama struggled with the cross she had been given to bear, and thankfully had Rufus to help her carry out her mission.
Mama admired how he’d grown into a giant of a man. What Rufus lacked in brains, he made up for in brute strength. It made the burden lighter for both of them, and the mechanics of what they had to accomplish went much smoother. Mama couldn’t have completed the tasks alone, so she willed herself to be patient with Rufus when he said things that didn’t make much sense or did foolish things. She reminded herself time and again it wasn’t his fault he was on the slow side.
“What is it, Son?” she asked.
“They dug one of ˊem out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The road guys, they dug one of ˊem out with that big machine. I saw him,” he answered.
“Rufus, you aren’t making sense.” The tempo of Mama’s heart beats picked up speed. She didn’t know what to think and couldn’t fully comprehend the ramifications. One of the people they’d sent off on the spiritual journey had not made it to Heaven.
4
Both Sheriff Kenner and Wendell Peltz were on phone calls but ended them post haste when the Midwest Medical Examiner’s van arrived. Dr. Bridey Patrick, a woman I admired for her professional skills and no-nonsense manner, got out of the passenger side. I didn’t know the man with her. He climbed out of the driver’s seat, opened the back door, and pulled a black case from the seat.
The two were like Mutt and Jeff, size-wise. Patrick was short and thick-set, whereas her gaunt-looking companion stood two heads taller than her. They walked over to us, Patrick with noted purpose in each step ready for the challenge ahead. With his long legs, the man took one step for Patrick’s two. Her intense brown eyes briefly scanned over each of us, paused for a nanosecond on Smoke, and then settled on the sheriff.
“Morning, Doc,” Kenner said.
“Sheriff, this is Roy Swanson, the new death investigator for this area. He started last week.”
“Just retired as a Carver County deputy.” Swanson smiled and a dozen lines on each side of his face deepened. He reminded me of the fictional character, Skeletor, popular years ago.
“Welcome aboard. I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance,” Kenner said.
With Swanson’s distinctive looks, I would have remembered if I’d ever met him.
After Kenner shook hands with Swanson, the rest of us exchanged a few acknowledging words.
Patrick nodded then pointed at the excavator. “Let’s take care of the decedent.”
I’d been on several death scenes with the medical examiner, and when she honed in on a victim’s body, time stood still. If a breeze stirred in the air, it calmed to a mere breath. At least that’s what it felt like to me.
Patrick captured all of us with the complete attention and encompassing focus she showed deceased victims. Nothing in the world was more important to her at the moment. A good thing since her office was responsible to determine the cause and manner of death of those in her jurisdiction. Her first encounter with a deceased who died under suspicious, or questionable, circumstances started that process.
Patrick waved at Peltz and Sutton. “If you could bring the bucket down to ground level.”
It took Peltz a second to respond. “Oh, sure.” But he didn’t move.
“I can do that.” Sutton climbed aboard the excavator and fired up the engine. With some manipulation of the handles, he backed the machine from the shoulder into the westbound lane of the road then slowly lowered the bucket until it rested on the asphalt.
I’d had a good look at the body earlier, but being next to it up close and personal on ground level momentarily took my breath away. Wendell Peltz gasped behind me. Sutton turned off the machine and got out.
Smoke eased his way from the shoulder where he watched the progress and joined the highway men. “Gentlemen, Doc Patrick will do an initial check of the body, s
o we’ll need you to leave this area. Go ahead and wait on the other side of the blockade, if you want to hang around. Or we can give you a call when we finish up. The same goes for your workers.”
“We’ll stay, and check in with our guys,” Peltz said. He and Sutton headed to their crew’s vehicles.
The sheriff got another phone call, walked some distance away, and returned a minute later with a frown. “I need to take care of something. You have things under control here. But if you need me, I’m a phone call away.”
“See you, Sheriff,” Smoke said for the group.
Dr. Patrick paused a moment while she took in the overall view of the body. “My, my,” she uttered. She walked up to the bucket and then around it, carefully studying the details of the victim’s appearance. “I’ll be curious to learn how long she was in the bog. A month, a year, ten years?” she said, mostly to herself.
It was about impossible to tell at first pass how long the person had been dead. Especially if no artifacts, or clothing specific to an era, were found. Thankfully, scientific technology and testing continually improved and provided more accurate information to assist with that.
I was drawn back to the body, amazed it was not marred, at least from what I could see. Getting scooped out of the bog by a piece of heavy equipment could easily have done great damage. Maybe the underside was. The peat blanket around her had likely offered some protection. I couldn’t hazard a guess at her age, within ten years, that is. Her face was relatively unlined and thin, and her hands revealed she was elderly. Her fingernails were thick and had dark, lengthwise ridges, a fairly common condition among seniors. Like Smoke had questioned earlier, was she seventy or one hundred when she died?
If she had suffered a violent death, it wasn’t captured in her facial expression since muscles relax after death. Her mouth and eyes were shut, and her lips formed a half-smile. Either she’d had a natural upturn or the person that branded religious symbols into her forehead and wrists had manipulated her lips to present a peaceful countenance.
Remains In Coyote Bog Page 2