When Hostetler’s Jeep roared into the covered entrance to the ER, Sheriff Mobley rushed outside with the nurses pushing the gurney. He wanted to do all he could to keep anyone in his county from dying on his watch.
The medical team quickly moved the man into the ER treatment room. They began their work on the patient but not before they had to encourage remove Sheriff Mobley and his two deputies to leave the room. The three law enforcement officers looked upon the man they knew nothing about with concern and sadness. None of them expected the man to live.
A nurse handed Ochoa two bags containing the man’s belongings as she closed the curtain to block their view. The three law enforcement officers walked outside with the bags and laid them on the hood of the idling Jeep.
“We need to go back and fetch Ochoa’s Jeep,” said Hostetler in a somber tone of voice.
“Let me get the rest of the victim’s things,” she added as she opened the passenger door and reached into the back seat of the Jeep. She returned with the man’s thawed jacket and pants. She was also holding something that puzzled Sheriff Mobley.
“What’s with the car parts?” he asked.
“Strange, right?” replied Ochoa. She held them up for Sheriff Mobley and Hostetler to examine. “The vic had the radiator hose stuffed inside his jacket, and his arm was wrapped through the air filter.”
“Broken-down car?” asked the sheriff.
“Not that I recall seeing,” replied Ochoa. “You know, vis is limited. Plus, once I found the body, I focused on getting him here.”
Sheriff Mobley took the parts from her and set them on the still-warm hood of Hostetler’s Jeep. He dumped the contents of the man’s property bag on the hood and spread everything out.
“Let’s look for some sort of identification.”
The three of them rustled through the pockets of his clothing until Ochoa found something. “Hey, it’s a business card. I don’t know if this is the guy or not, but it makes sense.” She handed it to Sheriff Mobley, who studied it.
“Owen McDowell. Senior VP with Yahoo in Sunnyvale.”
“Should we let the docs know?” asked Hostetler.
Sheriff Mobley handed the card to him and nodded. “Take his things and tell them what you know. Ochoa, you’re with me. Let’s head up the highway and find this gentleman’s car.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thursday, October 31
U.S. Highway 50
Near Fowler, Colorado
“Sheriff, um, that was County Road 1,” said Deputy Ochoa hesitantly. “We’re in Pueblo’s jurisdiction now.” She kept her eyes forward, mostly, with only the occasional side glance at her boss as he continued up Highway 50.
“I’m sure they won’t mind. I wanna see where this McDowell fella came from.”
Sheriff Mobley relaxed his death grip on the Jeep’s steering wheel momentarily and adjusted his stout frame in the seat. He set his jaw and leaned forward, unconsciously causing him to propel the vehicle a little faster on the slick, snow-covered highway.
Despite the darkened daytime conditions, he wore his sunglasses to shield the glare produced by the white cloud cover. What little sunlight found its way to Earth’s surface reflected in all directions off the snow and the grayish atmosphere.
“Sheriff, up ahead. Bright blue. Looks like a classic Bronco or Blazer.”
“I see it!” he exclaimed as he began to decelerate. He’d already noticed patches of ice under the blanket of snow, and he didn’t want to make a bad day worse by plowing into the stranded truck in the middle of the highway. He slowed to a stop, and the two quickly exited the Jeep to approach the stalled Ford Bronco.
Sheriff Mobley noticed the hood wasn’t completely closed, and knew he had the right truck. He pulled his tactical flashlight from his utility belt and illuminated it. Despite it being midmorning, the interior of the truck was dark. Ochoa, as she’d done before, tried the door handles first, and then she scraped the ice off the driver’s window with her handcuffs.
The sheriff shined the light through the hole in the icy exterior and peered inside. “Looks empty,” he muttered.
Ochoa began to scrape away the ice from the rear windows of the two-door classic Bronco. Without saying a word, she began to do so more frantically. She rubbed the window with her gloved hands.
“I see a body! Wait, no. There are two!”
Simultaneously, Sheriff Mobley began pounding on the hood of the truck while Ochoa smacked the window.
“Hey! Are you guys okay?” she shouted.
“Sheriff’s department. Open up!” ordered Sheriff Mobley.
“I’ve got movement, Sheriff! I swear one of them moved.”
“Stand aside,” he instructed his deputy. He pulled his new service weapon and turned it around to be used like a hammer. He struck the driver’s side window with the pistol grip until it cracked. Then he turned sideways and drove his elbow into the breach, causing the glass to break before falling inside. He didn’t hesitate to pull up the door lock.
“Are you okay?” Ochoa shouted her question again.
Nobody responded.
Sheriff Mobley struggled to open the driver’s side door, which had frozen shut. He placed his boot on the truck’s nerf bar, the shiny steel tubular bars that served the purpose of a running board on older trucks. He grunted as he pulled on the door handle. It flew open, causing him to lose his balance temporarily. The sheriff caught himself before falling, and Ochoa quickly moved in to pull the driver’s seat forward. She raised the seat back to give her access to the rear passengers.
Despite her hyperactive state of mind, she slowed her approach to the two people curled up together in the back seat. If they were armed, she didn’t want to startle them into shooting her. She found a teenage boy on the edge of the seat, bundled up in winter gear. His face was barely visible through the hood of his jacket, which was secured around him with a drawstring.
She leaned in further and placed her ear next to his mouth. She managed a smile as she crawled backwards out of the truck. She made eye contact with Sheriff Mobley.
“He’s alive. There’s another person crammed in the seat under a pile of clothing and blankets. We gotta pull the boy out first.”
“I’ll get the Jeep and call it in.”
While Sheriff Mobley pulled the Jeep closer, Ochoa tried to revive the young man. For a brief moment he regained consciousness.
“Hey, buddy,” she began. “Take it easy, okay? We’re gonna get you some help.”
The young man tried to speak to her, but his mouth barely moved. Air exited his mouth; however, his words were stifled by his weakened condition.
“That’s okay. You don’t need to talk. Let me help you out.”
“Dad,” he said, the word barely audible but discernible by Ochoa.
“Your dad? Is that your father behind you?” She tried to reach under his arms to pull him out, but she couldn’t leverage his weight. Sheriff Mobley joined her side to assist.
The young man mouthed the words and spoke whisper soft. “My mom. Dad went for…” His voice trailed off.
Sheriff Mobley gently nudged Ochoa out of the way and asked, “Is his name Owen?”
Tucker McDowell nodded and then passed out.
The Otero County sheriff’s department sprang into action. While Sheriff Mobley and Deputy Ochoa raced back to the medical center with Tucker and Lacey, the other deputies gathered up the parked Jeep. Then they worked together to tow the abandoned McDowells’ vintage Ford Bronco to the sheriff’s department. Once it had arrived, they were able to confirm the family’s identity and provided the information to the medical staff.