“Nope,” Torrez said. “But we’re gonna know.”
“I have no doubt of that.” Adams knelt on the limestone projection just to the right of the entrance. “Interesting coincidence.”
“Which one?” Estelle asked.
“Fatality in the canyon sometime yesterday, and now this, right in the same neighborhood.” The state policeman looked around at the blue tarp, where Deputy Tom Pasquale, earlier relieved at the homestead site by Jackie Taber, had extended his shift to help instead of going home to bed, where he belonged. “The newspaper said that the jaguar was found over by Borracho. That’s not the case?”
“It was found right here.” Torrez pointed at the tarp. “Those bones above the tape are all the cat.”
Adams regarded the bones with a frown. “So why did the kid lie?”
“Because he found them here, ” Estelle said, “among other things. And right now, it’s the other things that we’re concerned with.”
“Found like what?”
“We found a Smith and Wesson semi-automatic pistol in the carry-all of the boy’s ATV. I’m ninety-nine percent sure it came from here.”
Adams stepped closer to the tarp and leaned over, examining the dusty holster. “In that?”
“No, sir. Not when he found it. Nothing’s been in that holster for a very long time. At one time, it’s likely that the gun was. That’s what makes sense to me.”
He stood up and walked around the tarp, punching Tom Pasquale lightly on the shoulder as he stepped around him. “You stayin’ out of trouble?”
“You bet, sir.”
Adams knelt and gazed at the skull, tipping his head this way and that, his fingers laced together as if to prevent the impulse to reach out and touch. “Somebody put one right through his brain.”
“It appears that way.”
The lieutenant looked up quickly and grinned at Estelle’s reticence. “Perrone’s on his way. We passed him on the way out.” He stood up and brushed off the knee of his black trousers. “What can I do? What do you need?”
“I think we’re set, unless someone hits the bank while we’re all playin’ around out here,” Torrez said.
Adams chuckled. “Mighty impressive ‘playing,’ folks. What tipped you off to this location?” He glanced down the hill toward the two ranchers.
“Freddy was here,” Estelle said. “We wanted to know why.”
“Ah. There’s that.” Adams nodded. “Tell you what, we’ll keep a car central until you tell us otherwise,” he said. “Is there anything from the mobile lab that you need?”
“Don’t know yet, but thanks.” The sheriff nodded toward the angular-featured Esquibel, who had yet to speak a single word. Fresh out of the academy, the young state policeman hadn’t yet acquired the easy self-confidence enjoyed by his lieutenant.
“Not much in the way of clothing left,” Adams mused. “Some little bits of shirt, maybe. Khaki trousers. Turn up a wallet?”
“Not yet,” Estelle replied. “No wallet, no rings, no pocket change, no pocket knife or utility tool. One boot.”
“One boot? You’re shitting me. Really? This is a hell of a country to be hikin’ around barefoot.”
“Coyote dragged one off, more than likely,” Torrez said.
The lieutenant looked down the hill at the two ranchers, both of whom had now settled on the tailgate of Herb Torrance’s pickup, enjoying their conversation with Bill Gastner. “What do the neighbors have to say?”
“That’s still to come,” Estelle said.
“This is Waddell’s land now, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” Adams pointed off into the distance. A small, dark shape meandered along the two-track, driving slowly enough that it raised little dust. “Here comes the good doctor,” he said. “Be interesting to hear what he has to say.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Making his only concession to the remote location, Dr. Alan Perrone loosened the top button of his white shirt, pulling his tie down a bit. He talked briefly with Bill Gastner before heading up the hill, and Estelle noticed that he didn’t bother with a medical bag.
He stopped halfway up to chat with Mark Adams as the two state police officers made their way back down. When he reached the little plateau behind the boulder, he stopped and held up both hands in mock impatience. “You couldn’t have found a spot a little farther out from anywhere? Here I was complaining yesterday about the canyon.”
“We try, sir,” Estelle said. “We try.”
“Well, this guy sure as hell is dead.” The medical examiner thrust his hands in his pockets, his gaze flicking from one end of the tarp to another. “And that’s the extent of my expertise.” He knelt and reached out with his right index finger, stopping just short of one of the long bones. “Critters have been helpful.” He looked up, toward the crevice in the rocks. “How deep?” He pushed himself to his feet, and as he approached the disturbed nest, the sheriff and deputy Abeyta shifted to make room. He held up a hand. “I’m not going in.” He knelt again, peering into the depths of the overhang, then looked toward the cave entrance.
“I’ll turn the spotlight on for you,” Abeyta said, but Perrone held up his hand again.
“Nothing in there that I need to see.” He twisted around and looked at Torrez. “Someone shot him and then stuffed the body in here? That’s what you’re saying?”
“Don’t know what happened. What we’re thinkin’ now is that he crawled in here somehow, and then got himself shot.” He pointed at the remains of the packrat palace. “Found a shell casing in here.”
“Just one? Casing, I mean?”
“Yup.”
“But the rat could have found it just about anywhere within an acre. Recover a bullet yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Suicide is possible, you know,” Perrone said, pushing himself to his feet. “I mean, it’s unlikely, but it’s possible.” He reached around with his right hand, easily putting his index finger against the back of his own skull, and letting his thumb mimic the hammer fall.
“It’s possible,” Torrez agreed. “But it ain’t likely.”
“Well,” Perrone added, “I agree with that. It ain’t likely.” Torrez ignored the little jab at his grammar.
“Can you estimate TOD for us?” he asked, and Perrone laughed.
“Ah, no. A long time ago, Bobby. That’s my best take. You’re not talking weeks or months with this. You’re talking years. And in part, it’s going to be deceptive, since the critters have been so active. Every beetle and his cousin has been and gone, and then the guys who like to chew just to pass the time? Well, they’ve had a field day, too. When we get all this packed up, I’ll be in touch with Leslie Toler, up at the university. She works with the state lab, and she’s the best osteologist we’ve got. There’s so little here…it’s going to be a real puzzle.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ve got one advantage. Inside that boot? Some of the remaining bones? You’re going to have a lot of available DNA. And you’ve got dental evidence, no doubt.”
“Got to be since 1989 or ’90,” the sheriff said, more to himself than anyone else. Perrone frowned at him.
“Because?”
“That’s when the forty Smith was developed.” Torrez shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable at having to sound as if he knew something the others didn’t.
“Well, that’s interesting, and I wouldn’t be surprised.” The physician took a deep breath, stretching tall, looking out across the prairie. “Folks find such interesting spots, don’t they.” He turned back and looked first at Torrez and then at Estelle. “And let me know where you find the other boot,” he said. “That’s interesting. No coat, either? No gloves.” He stepped back to the tarp and considered the scattering. After a bit, he bent down and with the eraser of his pencil lifted a small patch of fabric away from one of the vertebrae. “Shirt fabric, no undershirt. At least nothing that looks like the remains of one.”
“The cotton would rot quickly,” Estelle offered.