Secession: The Storm Page 8

  Still, he wouldn’t accept the cold, harsh reality of life. He scolded them, “I can’t believe you two. I can’t believe any of this is happening.”

  “I’ve known this prosecutor for years, Abe,” the lawyer stated in a firm tone. “He believes you are the dangerous element here, honestly sees you as the ongoing threat to society. He will pursue the listed charges, and no one knows how a jury will find if the case goes to trial. It’s not worth the risk. Take his deal and go on with your life. The only thing worse than the men who killed your family going unpunished would be you losing your freedom.”

  “What freedom?” Abe grunted.

  The Orleans Parish, Office of the Prosecutor had charged Abe with numerous felonies and misdemeanors, including resisting arrest, conspiracy, assaulting a police officer, sedition, and accessory to attempted murder.

  When Abe’s allegations had first surfaced, the NOPD had claimed that no record, report, or other evidence existed. Later, the city prepared a virtual menu of excuses for the missing documentation; citing the state of emergency, flood-damaged police stations, lack of computer access, and general mayhem. But to Abe, the answer was much simpler; the authorities were trying to cover up the events after Katrina.

  Abe kept digging, the effort rewarded as small details began to emerge. Sergeant Ford had indeed filed a full report, including the death of Charles and Edward Hendricks. The officer’s account of the incident included statements by two other policemen and two members of the National Guard. Ford claimed that the resulting fire had been ignited during the gunfight.

  Abe had pressed hard, poking copious holes in the handwritten report. The case seemed to finally gain momentum when his attorney was granted a subpoena to depose the witnesses. Abe was confident the felons’ accounts would never match given the pressure of formal interviews and statements.

  But then the prosecutor struck back, filing an exhaustive list of charges that resulted in Abe’s arrest. The momentum of Abe’s lawsuit never regained traction again. Instead, the legal contest raged for over six months like two men arm-wrestling to a draw.

  And then there were the legal bills. The government lawyers had filed a cacophony of meaningless motions, maneuvers designed to bury Abe’s legal team in a flood of paperwork deeper than Katrina’s storm surge had ever been. Whoever postulated that, “You can’t fight city hall,” must have realized that the government has much deeper pockets than its citizenry. Despite the insurance money from his father’s policy, if the dispute went to trial, Abe and Kara would face bankruptcy.

  Abe sighed, shaking his head in disgust while reaching for the papers. He peered at Kara, wanting one last confirmation that she supported his signing of the offer. She smiled and nodded, whispering, “I love you, Abe. Let’s go back home and get on with our lives together.”

  Abe began signing the papers, the scratching of his pen the only sound in the room.

  He was putting his signature on those documents for a variety of reasons. Kara and he needed a life without an extended legal battle. What kind of marriage could they have if she were lying awake every night, worrying about her husband becoming a convict? They had dreams of a home and family, not an empty bank account and looming jail time.

  Abe continued in silence, signing page after legal-page of paperwork.

  Old Tom Henry didn’t believe in all-terrain vehicles, choosing instead to put his faith and trust in horseflesh, a well-worn saddle, and a bridle in his hand.

  “Them gull-dern, gas-powered machines got no place on a proper ranch,” he’d informed Zach at the corral. “I know every mother’s son south of the panhandle uses those buggies to work their ranches, but I just can’t see it. Their constant buzzing commotion disturbs the livestock, and fuel is more expensive than hay.”

  The old timer paused, moving to the other side of his mount to adjust the stirrup. “Two winters ago,” he continued, “a diamondback snuck up and kissed me on my right leg.” The ancient rancher then patted his mare gently on the neck, “Ole Daisy Mae here got me back to the house even though I was passed out in the saddle. Ain’t no fancy contraption from Japan going to do that for a man.”

  It had been a while since Zach had ridden a horse, even longer since he’d steered one of the beasts over rough terrain. And rough it was.

  The Lazy H ranch occupied some of the most cantankerous topography in Company E’s region, the property occupying a space near both Big Bend National Park and the Black Gap Wildlife Management Area.

  “How did you find the body?” Zach asked.

  “I didn’t,” replied the weathered, old rancher. “I lease this section to hunters from back east now and then. You should’ve seen those two greenhorns, racing up to the farmhouse like they were being chased by the devil and a herd of demons, all pale and shaky after finding the deceased. They were like a couple of schoolgirls who’d never seen a dead body before.”

  Zach grunted, easily fashioning the image in his mind’s eye.

  “Then they had the gall to look down on me, like I was some coldhearted, senile fool because I didn’t go rushing around like a freshly branded calf. I told ’em… we find corpses all the time around these parts. Ain’t no big deal. Ya know, the coyotes cut and run if they see the border patrol closing in, and sometimes they can’t round up all of their sheep again. We find them later… when the vultures are circling.”

  Zach wasn’t surprised. Ranchers along the Rio Grande frequently happened across dead immigrants whose chosen path to freedom wound through some of the most desolate landscapes in North America. Most died from dehydration; some succumbed to violence.

  The two men rode along silently, climbing ever higher into the craggy, steep cliffs. The trail was narrow, barely wide enough for a single mount to pass. Tom caught the ranger peering over the edge, a 70-foot sheer drop just inches away.

  “Don’t you worry none, Mr. Texas Ranger, sir,” the rancher chuckled. “White Lightning is as sure-footed a steed as any. Ya know, I’ve seen lots of tenderfeet toss their cookies on a ride like this. Don’t reckon many folks got the stomach for this kind of trail.”

  “Well, I have to say, it doesn’t look like this path sees a lot of traffic,” Zach responded, his back beginning to ache from bumping along at the steep angle of ascent, his mouth dry from inhaling trail dust.

  “See what I mean? That’s what is so odd about this corpse,” Tom mused. “This trail dead ends up on Apache Ridge. There’s no way anyone could have walked in from the south. This person had to come in from the north or west. Either that or this traveler was a mountain climber of some skill. Or maybe he was part goat.”

  Scanning the surrounding vista, Zach had to agree. Water wouldn’t be the primary challenge here – the unwelcoming terrain would deter most interlopers, a high percentage of those who forged forward anyway being claimed by the desert. No question now why the county deputies had called in the Texas Rangers. Standard procedure would have been to simply let the county bury the dead and hope some next-of-kin eventually came looking for a lost loved one. But this… this was a puzzle.

  The two riders continued their trek, passing through narrow canyons and traversing through fields of black, volcanic rock. Zach lost count of the switchbacks, at one point questioning if he could’ve found his way back to the ranch.

  Eventually, they entered flatter ground, the plateau offering a splendid panoramic view including the distant Chisos Mountains. Emory Peak, the 7800-foot centerpiece of Big Bend Park, was clearly visible on the horizon.

  Tom wasn’t in the mood to sightsee, turning Daisy Mae and pointing toward a low formation of rocks, he announced, “It’s over there.”

  A few minutes later, Zach dismounted, his eyes focused on the yellow bones and scraps of clothing still surrounding the body. The elements, birds, and insects had scoured every bit of flesh from the skeleton. The ranger knew that in this unforgiving environment, only a few weeks of exposure could have produced this result, but estimated these remains had been here f
or a much longer period of time. Windswept dust had partially covered some of the smaller bones, and the lightened hue indicated a year or more of bleaching by the sun.

  He slowly circled the remains, not expecting any investigational epiphany, more so to get a feel for the position of the body and its surroundings. His methodology was to construct a story that explained the scene, but what lay before him contradicted the stereotypical demise of an undocumented alien. He noted the conspicuous absence of any satchel of clothing, empty water jugs, or food wrappers in the area – garbage that typically accompanied those trying to sneak across the border.

  She had somehow hiked to the spot, an almost certain fact. Given the nearly flat surroundings, this outcropping would have been the only shady spot in the area. It was easy to imagine a thirsty, hurting woman struggling with each step. The sun, combined with her ever-thickening blood, would cause an extremely painful headache. To escape from the heat would have appealed to her.

  She sat down to rest with her back to the rocks. Allowing for the position of the body and the respective angle of the sun, Zach estimated her arrival at late afternoon. She had never managed her feet again.

  The lawman pulled his camera from the saddlebag, powering up the device and snapping a series of photographs from every vantage.

  Moving in closer, his eyes scrutinized each small section of her skeleton, starting from the feet and moving up. The first thing he noticed was the absence of any shoes. Even the poorest, most desperate border crashers know not to attempt a desert crossing without protecting their feet.

  Zach squatted down for a better view, clearly intrigued by the deepening mystery.

  Maybe someone robbed her and took her shoes, the ranger reasoned.

  She was young, he guessed, that determination gathered from a pelvis that displayed no telltale indicator of childbirth and the condition of her teeth. There was no way he could determine her actual age without lab results.

  A faded swath of cloth caught the ranger’s eye. Removing a pencil from his pocket, Zach gently brushed aside a thin layer of dust and sand, finally exposing a two-inch length of material. Holding the decomposing fabric in the light, he could identify a strip of elastic bordering a thin, almost sheer material. There was still enough dye left to detect a colorful pattern… a pattern with balloons.

  I’ve seen this before, he suddenly realized. The hooker… Tusk… the woman I accidently shot.

  Shaking his head, Zach dismissed the thought. Hundreds, if not thousands, of female panties may have been manufactured with that design. It was probably just a coincidence. Still, she was probably about the right age…

  He continued examining the body, his next discovery even more troubling. She wore two rings on her right hand, one of them containing a sizeable amount of gold. Well, whatever happened here, this definitely wasn’t a robbery, Zach pondered. Thieves would have snatched that jewelry before her body was cold.

  The ranger finished his work, returning to the packhorse and retrieving a thick, plastic body bag and a shovel. They would haul her back down and send the remains to Austin for a complete autopsy.

  With the body bag riding unceremoniously in the bed of the truck, Zach placed a call the minute he had cell service.

  “Officer Hinton here, how may I help you,” answered the polite voice.

  “Hey copper, it’s Zach Bass. How’s tricks?”

  “Well, my, my…. What a pleasant surprise, Ranger Bass. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Do you remember that woman I turned over to you in Alpine a few years back? At the hospital? The one I found with all that cash?”

  There was a pause, the state trooper trying to recall. “Yeah! Sure do. You were off to solve the problems of the world, and I was supposed to clean up after your messy ass. Why?”

  “Whatever became of her?”

  “Your boss bailed you out, Bass. About 10 minutes after you left me carrying your bags, Major Alcorn showed up and took her off my hands. He said he was taking over the investigation, and I should resume my regular duties. That was the last I saw of her.”

  Zach was a little taken aback by Hinton’s answer, his mind swirling as it assimilated the new information.

  “Zach? You still there?”

  “Yeah, sorry Hinton. I just wasn’t expecting that answer. No biggie, though. Hey, thanks, man. Talk to you soon.”

  Zach continued driving into Alpine, wondering if his morbid cargo had made the same trip two years ago, chauffeured by the same ranger.

  The riddle bothered him so much, that he decided to go out on a limb and dial Major Alcorn.

  “What can I do for you, Ranger Bass?” came the gruff answer, the major no doubt having figured out how to use caller ID.

  “Sir, sorry to bother you, but I am working a case and had a quick question. Do you recall the incident with that cartel goon named Tusk about two years ago?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “I just talked with Trooper Hinton, and he informed me that he turned the witness over to your custody that day. I was wondering if you could fill me in from there?”

  Across the cell connection, it was difficult to be sure, but Zach sensed Alcorn was uncomfortable with the question. After clearing his throat, the ranger commander responded with a question of his own, “Where are you now, Zach?”

  “I’m bringing a body into the morgue at Alpine. A rancher down by Black Gap found the deceased yesterday, and the circumstances were unusual enough that the deputies called me in.”

  “I’m in Fort Davis,” announced Alcorn. “I can meet you there in about an hour. Is it the same girl?”

  Zach actually pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the device in shock. How could you possibly know that? Zach marveled.

  “Ranger Bass, are you there?”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, I lost you there for a second. Cell signal out here is spotty,” Zach lied, trying to buy time to think.

  “Is the body you found the same girl?”

  “There’s no way to be sure, sir, but there is some evidence pointing me in that direction.”

  “I’ll meet you at the diner in Alpine in an hour,” the senior man stated and then disconnected the call.

  “This day is going to be more interesting than I thought,” Zach mused.

  Major Alcorn strolled into the greasy spoon right on cue. Zach had dropped the female remains at the morgue, signed the paperwork, and was swallowing his second cup of coffee.

  The two peace officers checked the menu, both ordering the lunch special of chicken fried steak, green beans, and mashed potatoes.

  “On the day you left for New Orleans, I changed my mind about assigning the case to Trooper Hinton. He’s a good man and a fine officer, but since there was a shooting involved, I thought it best if we handled the case inside our own department.”

  “Makes sense,” Zach replied, trying to appear casual about the whole affair.

  Alcorn continued, “I took the witness back to the scene. She walked me through what had happened so I could give the most accurate report possible.”

  Sipping his coffee, Zach met his boss’s gaze over the rim of the cup. Alcorn seemed pissed.

  “Why did you feel it necessary to taint the crime scene, Ranger Bass?”

  Zach’s heart stopped, a perceptible streak of icy cold surging through his core. “Sir?”

  “Oh, come now, Ranger. Do you think I’m a fool? It was your bullet that hit that woman,” the supervisor demanded, swallowing a bite and noisily flinging the fork on the ceramic plate. “And while that’s not any big deal, your sloppy attempt to modify the evidence could have been. Thank gawd that cartel enforcer died; I can’t imagine exposing your story to the scrutiny of a trial. You fucked up in so many ways, son. You should consider yourself lucky that I did the follow-up and not someone else.” Alcorn paused his lecture, sipping from the mug before initiating somewhat intimidating eye contact with his charge.

  Zach shifted his gaze to his lunch, ch
oosing that moment to carve the rest of his meat, opting not to respond. He couldn’t tell where his boss was going with all this, couldn’t judge how much trouble he was in. Yet, the incident had been two years ago. Why hadn’t Alcorn said something before now?

  Realizing his subordinate wasn’t going to comment, the major continued. “I corrected a few of your mistakes, Zach. It took a bit of work and time. When I left the trailer, the girl was gone… and so was the money.”

  Zach’s pupils dilated as big as his coffee saucer, but he still kept his mouth shut.

  Alcorn grunted at the younger man’s reaction and then pushed some green beans around with his fork. “So I inherited quite a mess, Ranger Bass. I found myself with a rookie ranger who’d clearly screwed the pooch, but seemed to have done it with good intentions. My witness was missing, wandering the desert and probably making a run for the border. Given she had enough cash to retire to the Mexican Riviera, I wasn’t overly worried about her safety. I was in possession of a dead cartel assassin, a fine gentleman who was carrying what appeared to be a down payment for causing my ultimate demise. You, sir, were in New Orleans and completely out of reach for consultation.”