Shit. His recent promotion, touted as a reward for his work on the border, required deeds he hated more than the cartels or the coyotes. Hand-holding. Meetings. Press briefings. He’d landed smack in the middle of a politicking world he’d carefully avoided for years.
Since he was sixteen, Bragg had gone his own way and learned it was best kept to himself. He didn’t rely on anyone and was careful to make sure no one relied on him.
His leather boots crunched against the dry earth as he took long impatient strides toward the scene. He wore a starched white shirt that itched, string tie, and creased khakis. His SIG Sauer gun hung on his right hip and on his left side rested his cell and cuffs. He sported a newly polished, albeit well-worn, Texas Ranger star on his chest.
Despite the heat, he resisted the urge to roll up his shirtsleeves as he nodded to more deputies, all curious about the suicide garnering a Texas Ranger the likes of Tec Bragg. He made his way toward the yellow crime-scene tape. Ahead he spotted county sheriff Jake Wheeler.
Tall and broad-shouldered, Wheeler wore his brown uniform, cowboy boots, and a wide-brimmed hat that covered a thick shock of white hair. The sun had etched deep lines in his tanned face. A belly rounded over the edge of a nonregulation thick silver belt buckle engraved with his initials. In his late fifties, Wheeler had been sheriff for twenty years but now faced a tough re-election next year. Though he didn’t fit the image of a politician, Wheeler was well practiced at avoiding controversy. Wheeler wanted to pawn off an explosive case.
The morning heat had already darkened Wheeler’s shirt with sweat. “Ranger Bragg.”
Bragg extended his hand to Sheriff Wheeler. “Morning, Sheriff.”
“Thanks for coming, Bragg. I think we might have an issue.”
Bragg glanced beyond Wheeler and the ring of officers surrounding the yellow tape to the crime scene. It wasn’t hard to miss the body. It hung from a tree.
A couple of hours, let alone a couple of days, in the Texas sun played havoc with the dead. The intense temperature triggered bloating and skin slippage within hours and the decomposition process drew black flies, which already buzzed. “By the looks he’s not been out here long.”
“I’m guessing not more than six hours. This time tomorrow he’ll be one hell of a mess.”
“I hear you found his wallet.”
“We surely did. It was at the base of the tree. If there’d been no wallet, I’m not sure how easy it would have been to identify him.”
Bragg glanced toward the tree and saw the forensic technician’s yellow numbered marker by the wallet. “Left it out so there’d be no missing it.”
Wheeler hooked his thumbs in his belt buckle. “Someone wanted it found.”
Bragg rested his hands on his hips. “I didn’t catch the victim’s name.”
“Didn’t want to say it over the radio until we were absolutely sure. Never know. Wallet might not belong to the dead guy.”
“Whose name on the wallet?”
“Rory Edwards.”
“Edwards? The oil family.” David Edwards was indeed a heavy hitter in Texas politics and explained Bragg’s summons.
“One and the same. Rory listed his brother’s fancy West Austin address on his driver’s license.”
“Old man was a wildcatter who struck it rich. Family has more money than God. Father died years back as I recall.”
“He did. Mother died last year but older brother still owns the family home. Controls the family business and has his eye on the governor’s office.”
As Bragg moved closer the buzz of black flies mingled with the growing stench of death and decay. “You think this is Rory?”
“Not one hundred percent sure. This guy doesn’t look like his picture so much.”
“Hell of a way to start the week.”
A faint smile lifted the edge of Wheeler’s mouth. “Yeah.”
“You wouldn’t just call me in for a suicide, Jake. I know you’ve an election coming next spring but a suicide is fairly straightforward.”
Wheeler’s brow knitted. “Look at the crime scene.”
Bragg let his gaze roam the site. First off he noticed there was no discarded chair, stepstool, or ladder near the body. Shifting his focus to the tree, he noted the rope snaked up from the dead man’s body, up and over a branch and to the base of the tree where it was securely tied. It wouldn’t have been an easy climb up the tree and out onto the branch dragging a rope but a motivated man could do it. Still, if Edwards had jumped from that height, he’d not only have broken his neck but the velocity of the fall combined with the body’s weight would have left a deep gash in the neck or, worse, decapitated it.
This wasn’t a suicide.
“Who found the body?”
“Surveyors. A vineyard owner recently purchased the land and plans to clear it and plant more vines. The surveyors were out here early just after dawn to beat the heat. They smelled him before they saw him. The buzzing of the flies drew their gazes up. They called it in.”
“Surveyors check out?”
“They did. Work for a local firm. I know both of them. They were pretty rattled so I let them go on. If you need them later I’ll get you their numbers.”
“What vineyard hired them?”
Wheeler cleared his throat. “Didn’t catch the name.”
“Find out.” Bragg rested his hands on his hips, studying the dead man’s boots, which were custom-made and would have set him back several thousand dollars. Fancy boots jived with the fancy address on the license.
“Want a closer look?” Wheeler said, offering plastic gloves.
“Sure do.” Bragg accepted the gloves and ducked under the crime-scene tape and waited for the tech to log him into the site. He nodded to the forensics technicians as he glanced around the area surrounding the body. Didn’t take more than a second to see the tire tracks. He knelt and studied the imprint. Judging by the depth of the tracks, the truck had backed up to the site under the body and then driven straight back out.
Bragg’s gaze trailed the tracks down the dirt road cutting through the brush and leading back to the rural route. “Rory might have driven a truck in here, but he didn’t drive it out.”
“I’m thinking he had a little help.”
Bragg rose, stretching his limbs. Too little sleep in the last months had left him stiff. “I’d bet Mr. Edwards stood on the flatbed of the truck when it pulled out.”
“And then he dropped and strangled to death.” Wheeler nodded. “Forensics also bagged two cigarette butts. DNA will tell us if it belonged to the victim.”
They might find Edwards’s DNA on one or both butts but Bragg’s gut said no. “I’m guessing it was the second person at the scene. Someone else was here and lingered to watch Mr. Edwards die.”
Wheeler rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Edwards had a history of trouble. Drugs. Drinking. Had a car accident in my county years back, and the family paid off the guy he hit. Problem went away. Heard similar tales of other such problems. He could have pushed the wrong person too far.”
“Maybe.” The dead man’s hands dangled at his side. Blood, no longer pumped by the heart, had settled in his fingers leaving them dark as if bruised. The nighttime heat, which had reached the low nineties, had also accelerated decomposition, causing the skin on his hands to loosen.
“I’ve seen murders like this before along the border. Cartels leave their victims out for all to see. Don’t see hangings as much as beheadings or shootings. And you sure don’t see folks from a family like the Edwardses getting strung up much.” Bragg noted the red rope bracelet on Rory’s right wrist. It appeared homemade. “Have you called the family?”
“Not yet. Figured I’d run it by you first. Didn’t want to stir a hornet’s nest if I didn’t have to.”
And being up for re-election, Wheeler wanted Bragg to do the stirring. “When will they be ready to cut him loose?”
“He’s good to go now. We were waiting for you.”