“Sir?” Estelle called, and Underwood stopped, looking at her questioningly.
“Sheriff,” he said pleasantly, but glanced toward the field where his services were obviously expected. “What can I do for you?” He waved a hand in gentle dismissal at the two student reporters who appeared eager to remain with him. “Let me catch you guys later.” He held out a hand and shook Estelle’s. “What’s up?” He had the habit of leaning close to his target when he spoke, as if huddling with a player who might not be trusted to listen carefully.
“I have a couple of follow-up questions, Mr. Underwood. You spoke earlier with Officer Posey, I understand.”
“Sure did. We in trouble again?” His smile was easy and wide.
“Again?”
“Posey told us that we needed to get a permit from the feds. We’ll do that, but it’ll be next week. I appreciated that the officer didn’t confiscate the skull right away. Many of the students haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”
“That’s good, sir.” She reached out and touched his elbow, steering him toward the end of the bench, well out of earshot of the students. “No, actually, I was wondering what day Freddy Romero brought that in to you.”
He puffed out his cheeks and looked up at the blank sky. “Would have been Monday. First thing in the morning. He told me that he didn’t want to leave it in his locker.”
“Did he want to take it back home with him after you’d had a chance to see it?”
“Originally, yes he did. But I told him that there was a possibility that the Fish and Wildlife Service wouldn’t allow it. Like eagle feathers, you know. And in fact, that turns out to be the case. They told us that we had two choices after everyone was finished looking at it. We could either give it to the feds, or get a permit for it and keep it here in the school’s collection.” He grinned again. “Well, in the maybe someday-to-be collection.” He held up four fingers. “We have a coyote, a raven, one broken prairie dog skull, and now this cat. That’s not really a rival for the Smithsonian.” The whistle shrilled again and Underwood looked toward the field. “What else can I do for you?”
“Freddy was in your biology class?”
“Was. When he was a sophomore. Great kid. I tried to talk him into taking chemistry and physics, but…” He shrugged. “Not his bag. He’s enjoying the vocational programs right now. Does well. Great kid.”
“He found the skull on Sunday, perhaps? Did he say?”
Underwood bit his lip thoughtfully and regarded the sod as he dug in a cleat. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You know, I didn’t actually ask him when he found it. You’ve talked to him, I assume.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but swung the whistle again and then caught it deftly. “What’s the department’s interest in all this, anyway?”
“May I see the skull, sir? I know that now isn’t the best time, but I’d appreciate it.”
“Well, sure. I guess so. But you’re right. Now isn’t the best time.” He nodded at the field.
“You’re the defensive coordinator?”
“That’s me.”
“Can you find someone to sub for you for ten minutes?”
He sighed. “Sure. I guess.” Turning, he surveyed the field, then bellowed, “Coach!” Out on the field, head coach Art Lucero turned and Underwood pointed first at Estelle, then flashed ten fingers. Lucero nodded and waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s do it, Sheriff.”
She followed him up the sidewalk to the rear of the gym, and they walked straight through the yawning cavern and out the front door, along the breezeway to the main high school building.
“Officer Posey said that the cat was shot.” Underwood selected a key from the enormous jumble latched to his belt with a retractable chain, then held open a hall doorway for the undersheriff. “Did he pass that on to you?”
“He did. We have the slug.”
“Interesting stuff,” Underwood said, and jangled the keys to select the correct one for Room 128. He let it close behind them. “I’ve got it over in this cabinet,” he said, and selected another key. “We need to build some sort of secure glass display cabinet for it. Maybe Freddy can find the time to do that in shop.”
Estelle frowned. The gossip vine hadn’t reached out its tendrils to Coach Underwood yet. Obviously Freddy, the solitary explorer of the Posadas desert and prairie, wasn’t a team player.
The skull was large and blunt, the size of an average cantaloupe. Underwood picked it up carefully, slipping his hand under the loose lower mandibles. “We’re lucky we got the whole thing,” he said. “Freddy said the jaw bones were scattered away a bit. Kind of expect that sort of thing with rodents doing their work.” He reached across and touched the skull fracture as Estelle turned the skull. “That’s the bullet hole that Officer Posey was talking about. He found the slug wedged into the heavy bone right here,” and he touched the skull just behind and below the left eye socket. “A lucky shot. Jackass who did that was lucky he wasn’t mauled to death.”
“An old cat.” Estelle touched a worn and broken canine tooth.
“That’s my guess. I told Freddy that it’d be amazing to have the whole skeleton. Rearticulate it and get it mounted properly. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Yes, it would.”
“You’ve talked to him? To Freddy?”
Estelle handed the skull back to Underwood. “Freddy Romero was killed on Thursday, sir.”
The teacher started backward as if Estelle had slapped him, and for a second she thought the skull might crash to the floor. But Underwood took his time putting the skull back in the cabinet, closed and locked the door, and then stepped to one side, leaning his weight against a heavy lab table.
“How?”
“He was killed in an accident with his four-wheeler, sir.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” he whispered. “Where was this?”
“Out in the ranch country southwest of here. Near the Torrance ranch.”
“Good God. Thursday, you say?”
“We think so. An associate and I found him yesterday morning.”
“Jesus.”
“Mr. Underwood, when Freddy brought this skull in to show you, where did he say that he found it?”
Underwood frowned. “That wasn’t altogether clear, Sheriff. But he said that it was a cave up above Borracho Springs. He didn’t say exactly where.”
“He said ‘cave’ specifically?”
Underwood nodded. “Although I didn’t think the rock formations up in those hills lent themselves to serious cave formations. Maybe just an overhang, you know. I was going to talk to Freddy about that.” His distress was obvious. “I was going to.”
“I’d like our department photographer to take a series of the skull,” Estelle said. “Sooner rather than later. If she comes over this morning, will you break away from practice for a few minutes? It’s important.”
“Of course, Sheriff. Sure. Anything you need. Anything at all.” He looked askance at Estelle. “Is this somehow going further than just a relic picked up in the boonies by a curious kid?”
“We don’t know yet, sir. We just don’t know.”
“Freddy was…we all liked him.”
“I understand that. He was my neighbor, Mr. Underwood. I’ve known him and Butch since they were little tykes.”
He shook his head sadly. “He was back up at the cave? Is that what he was doing?”
“It appears not.”
“Huh. And Butch? Now I heard from some of the kids that Butch got hurt, too. They got things mixed up, then? They meant Freddy?”
“No. Butch was playing with a rattlesnake. He and my oldest son. He got a piece of fang stabbed in his eye.”
“Oh, shit. How…”
“An electric string trimmer.” She spun one finger in the air. “An envenomed fragment pegged him in the eye.”
Underwood cringed. “Jesus, how do kids do it,” he said. “And this all happened before the accident with his brother?”
“Yes.”