Murder on the brazos, p.1
Murder On the Brazos, page 1
Also By Bruce Hammack
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The Fen Maguire Mystery Series
Murder On The Brazos
Murder On The Angelina
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The Smiley and McBlythe Mystery Series
Exercise Is Murder
Jingle Bells, Rifle Shells
Pistols And Poinsettias
Five Card Murder
Murder In The Dunes
The Name Game Murder
Murder Down The Line
Vision Of Murder
Mistletoe, Malice And Murder
* * *
The Star of Justice Series
Long Road to Justice
A Murder Redeemed
A Grave Secret
Justice On A Midnight Clear
* * *
See my latest catalog of books at brucehammack.com/books.
* * *
Fen Maguire has one last case to solve before his illustrious career ends as Newman County’s sheriff.
Get your copy of Murder On Shinbone Creek, the prequel to the Fen Maguire Mystery series.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Murder On The Angelina Excerpt
Books By Bruce Hammack
About The Author
Copyright
Chapter One
All was as it should be… until the body floated by.
A sigh escaped from Fen Maguire as he put his 4B sketching pencil away and mumbled, “At least this one isn’t my responsibility.”
The lifeless form eased to a stop in a tangle of flotsam, anchored by a fallen hackberry in the muddy water of the Brazos River. A third of the tree’s roots clung to rusty earth, thirty yards from Fen’s interrupted workplace.
Instead of punching 911, he called the non-emergency number to the Newman County Sheriff’s Department and waited for a familiar voice to answer.
“Sheriff’s department. How can I help ya’?”
The mental image of a woman with big hair and an encyclopedic knowledge of everything going on in the county flashed in front of him.
“Brenda, it’s Fen. Grab a pen.”
“Sheriff Maguire? Is that really you?”
Fen sighed. “Yeah, it's me. If you want to keep your job, you’d best not let Sheriff Newman hear you call me sheriff. The last election took care of that title in front of my name."
“Ain’t much chance of Miss Lori sticking her head in here on a Sunday morning, or any other morning, for that matter.”
His gaze shifted back to the river; the body moved, turning face-up. Fen knew if he didn’t get Brenda on task, she might talk for twenty minutes. “I’m on my property, about a mile down from the bridge. There’s a body in the river, hung up on a fallen tree. Call Billy Ray. Tell him to get his team together and put in at the boat ramp by the bridge. There’s a clear spot on the bank where I’m standing. The ambulance crew can help them get the body out of here.”
“Do you want everyone to come to your place?”
“You know I don’t want them here, but it seems I don't have a choice. I’ll call Sam and have him open the front gate. He’ll direct everyone to where I am.”
“Any chance the victim’s still alive?”
“No sign of life, and I don’t swim in the Brazos. Call the justice of the peace on duty and tell him to come and make it official.”
“Expect a crowd. You know how everyone loves to run lights and sirens.”
The last comment didn’t earn a response, so Fen pushed the red icon on his phone and shoved it back in his pocket. He spun around at the sound of a voice speaking over his shoulder, and instantly regretted the sudden movement as a bolt of pain shot from his right knee.
From the ground, Fen looked up, shook his head, and spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s a good thing I don’t carry a gun anymore.”
Sam smiled and squatted beside him. “It’s like the old days when we used to play cowboys and Indians. I’m getting you back for all those times you pretended to win and I let you.”
Fen moved his bum leg, making sure it still worked. “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough. I spotted the floating body downstream from the bridge and followed it to here while you were setting up your easel.” Sam pointed. “It’s bad karma that the body got hung up on that hackberry instead of floating downstream. It could have been someone else’s problem.”
“It’s still not my problem, or yours. If anyone asks either of us, you were making your morning rounds, checking on cattle, and I found the body. That's all they need to know. There’s no use in both of us having to write a report.” Fen looked around. “Where’s your horse?”
Sam stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a piercing whistle. A saddled roan mare came running from behind a thicket of brush. Sam turned his attention back to Fen. “I’ll open the gate for your visitors. Do you need your cane?”
“And an ice pack, if you have one in your saddlebag.”
Sam went to Fen’s four-wheeler and brought back a walking cane. “You need to get that knee fixed.”
It was another statement that didn’t earn a response.
Sam reached under Fen’s arms and helped him to his feet. It took three steps for Sam to reach his horse and effortlessly pull himself into the saddle. The sound of hooves pounding earth gave way to a distant siren. The ranch foreman would make the first officers wait long enough to aggravate them. A small payback.
Fen hobbled to his four-wheeler and took the load off his leg by sitting in the passenger’s seat. It wasn’t long before a black-and-white Texas highway patrol SUV pulled alongside and the tall, lean figure of Sergeant Tom Stevens slid out, leaving his door open. He settled a buff Stetson on graying hair and spoke a single word greeting. “Sheriff.”
“Not anymore,” said Fen. “I’m glad you’re the first on scene.”
“Where’s the body?”
Fen pointed. “Follow your nose. You can’t miss him.”
Sgt. Stevens moved to the river, pulled out his phone and took photos of the body and the bank leading down to the water’s edge. He raised his voice enough to cover the distance to where Fen waited. “Did you get pictures of him before he got tangled?”
“Sort of. I took a short video. I also got still shots after the hackberry grabbed him. He was face-down until a little while ago.”
“What about photos of the bank?”
“Yeah. No footprints prior to mine and yours.”
A pickup truck from the sheriff’s department dropped into the river valley, several hundred yards away. Emergency lights flashed and blinked, but the deputy had at least turned off the siren.
The highway patrolman climbed the incline, turned when he made it to Fen’s side and looked at the river. “What do you think?”
“I’d start looking around the boat launch by the bridge.” Fen dipped his head toward the body. “By the looks of him, he’s been on the bottom for a while. It takes time for the gasses to form that brought him to the surface. I think he’d have hung up on something along the bank if he’d gone in farther upstream.”
“Are you going to tell Sheriff Newman your theory?”
Fen held up his palms. “Leave me out of this. You know Lori and her father would like nothing more than to see me face-down in the river instead of whoever your victim is.”
Tom placed a hand on Fen’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You honored Sally’s wishes. I would have done the same thing.”
A lump formed in Fen’s throat, making it hard to swallow. Tom removed his hand and announced, “I need to make a few phone calls and get a state trooper to the boat ramp before Lori...” His voice trailed off. “You know what I mean.”
“Do me a favor,” said Fen. “Put out a call over your radio that you need the justice of the peace to respond. I don’t want it known that I already told Brenda to call him.”
Tom issued a quick nod. The door to his SUV closed with a thunk. Muffled, unintelligible words came from the highway patrolman’s radio.
A pimply-faced young man exited the county patrol pickup. He was the last deputy Fen hired before his late wife’s sister took the oath of office as the new sheriff.
Instead of speaking, Fen pointed to a spot on the river. The deputy nodded he understood, walked down the sloping river bank, put his hand over his nose and mouth, and returned to where Fen stood. “What should I do?”
“Remember your training. Take things one step at a time and do what your supervisor tells you.”
“How do you secure a crime scene when it’s in the middle of a river?”
Fen lifted his shoulders and let them drop. The answer to the deputy’s question arrived as his radio came to life with the voice of Sheriff Lori Newman yapping like a Chihuahua. She demanded to know if any of her o
The deputy swallowed, gave his call sign, and told her he and a state trooper were there.
“Tape off the crime scene.”
“10-4. But, how? It’s in deep water.”
Silence.
Fen let out a groan. “Tell her to disregard your last transmission. You’ll handle it.” What Fen didn’t see was that the deputy had already depressed the transmission button on his radio.
“Who said that?” demanded Lori.
The deputy responded in a meek voice. “That’s Sheriff Maguire.”
The next radio broadcast came from Sgt. Tom Stevens. He began by stating his badge number, followed by, “I’ll take over securing the area until a supervisor from the sheriff’s office arrives.”
“My ETA is twenty minutes. Make sure no one contaminates my crime scene.”
Fen rolled his eyes, then directed his attention to the distant rise where two more vehicles from the sheriff’s department came with lights flashing. One still had his siren activated. Tom gave instruction to the first deputy to string yellow tape along the wooded river bank for about a hundred yards upstream and downstream.
A sheriff’s department lieutenant, new to the department since Fen left, approached and looked down on him. “What’s your name?”
“Fen Maguire.”
“Your full name,” he demanded.
Instead of answering, Fen pulled out his wallet and handed his driver’s license to the lieutenant.
After a thorough examination, the lawman raised his gaze to meet Fen’s. “So, you’re James Fenimore Maguire.”
Fen nodded.
With a smirk and a nod, the man said, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
License in hand, the lieutenant turned and strode to his vehicle.
Fen sighed. His gut told him he and the new sheriff’s right-hand man may not see eye-to-eye.
Chapter Two
More emergency vehicles arrived, including volunteer firemen, an ambulance, and three additional deputies. A Toyota Camry also came down the slope into the river valley. It pulled into a field away from the official vehicles. Fen watched the woman exit the car and come toward him.
It had been nine months since he’d last seen her. Still grieving his wife’s death at the time, and only days away from his tenure as sheriff ending, he’d not paid much attention to Lou Cooper’s looks. He guessed her to be in her early forties. She wore a navy jacket over a light-colored blouse, gray slacks and shoes that could pass for casual. She also had pretty eyes. A little too intense, but pretty all the same.
She scanned the crowd and honed in on the four-wheeler. “Mr. Maguire, it’s been a while.”
He nodded an affirmative answer. “You still look like a big-city reporter.”
“That’s because I am, at heart. Since this is your land, do you mind if I take notes?”
“It’s fine with me, but this is an active crime scene. Sheriff Newman will be in charge as soon as she arrives.”
Fen motioned for the reporter to come closer. She leaned in and he caught a whiff of her perfume. “Don’t get too close to any of the first responders and don’t ask questions for a while. Some of these deputies are new and don’t know to keep their mouths shut. You should get most of what you need by listening.”
She whispered back, “Why don’t you tell me?”
He grinned through the pain of his knee. “I know better. If I say anything, it will appear in print.”
About twenty-five minutes after Lori’s last transmission, her voice came over the multitude of radios. She directed the transmission to her lieutenant. “Where is everyone?”
The lieutenant responded, “Didn’t the ranch worker tell you where to go?”
“No one’s at the gate, only a map. I’m following the directions.”
Fen closed his eyes and wondered what Sam had done.
It didn’t take long before Lori’s sharp voice came over the radio again. “Lieutenant Creech, I’m stuck. Come get me.”
“Where are you?”
“How should I know?”
Fen looked at the hapless lieutenant. “Tell her to describe the terrain.”
Lori spoke of what sounded like a seldom used path that led to a bog. Fen knew right where she had gone, and it wasn’t anywhere near the river. “Tell her to stay in the car. It’ll take a tractor to pull her out.”
The lieutenant relayed the message.
“I don’t have time to wait on a tractor. Come get me now!”
Fen looked up at the lieutenant. “I’ll need to show you how to get there. It’s a rough, narrow trail. The four-wheeler is better suited for where we need to go.”
The lieutenant shook his head. “From what Sheriff Newman’s told me about you, I can’t trust you to tell me anything.”
Fen shrugged. “Suit yourself. Good luck finding her.”
The lieutenant stroked his thick, black mustache. “How ’bout I arrest you for obstructing an investigation?”
Sergeant Stevens took the number of steps necessary to invade the lieutenant’s personal space and issued an icy stare. “Back off before your mouth overloads your badge.” Without looking away, Tom spoke to Fen. “Where’s Sheriff Lori?”
“Blackman’s Slough. Not over fifty yards from where you killed that feral hog last winter.”
Tom gave the next command. “Your truck, Lieutenant. You’ll need a new paint job after today.”
Fen watched the two men drive away, then tested his leg and took a few tentative steps while leaning on his hickory cane. Not too bad, but he dreaded the swelling that was sure to follow. He watched from a distance as the men milled about, not knowing what to do until the rescue boat arrived. It was a disorganized mess, but they pulled the lifeless body out of the water and brought it to shore. Most everyone stepped up to view the victim, and because of the condition of the body, backed away with haste.
Judge Stone arrived, put on blue gloves, and motioned for Fen to join him. “Do you know him?”
“Hard to tell. Something about him is familiar.”
The justice of the peace asked the paramedics to roll the body over. A gloved hand lifted a soggy shirt as Fen and the judge examined the victim’s back. Nothing but a few abrasions. Next, the judge lifted a thatch of mud-stained hair from around the left temple. He continued to pull back the hair at the base of the skull. “Uh-oh. This is a homicide.”
Fen closed the distance and stared at a small hole, no larger than the diameter of the pencil he’d been sketching with. “That’s not just a homicide; it’s an execution.”
“No exit wound,” said Judge Stone.
Fen looked at the ambulance attendant. “Could you get a towel and clean off the mud from the back of his belt?”
With a few swipes, the belt revealed a hand-tooled name—Clete. Fen blurted out, “Cletus Brumbaugh. I thought he looked familiar.”
The announcement brought renewed interest in the body, and people formed a tight circle around him. “Turn him over,” came a voice from someone. “Yep. It’s Clete, all right.”
Fen took out his cell phone, called Tom, and gave him an update.
It wasn’t long before Lieutenant Creech’s truck barreled across the river valley. After sliding to a stop, a shrill voice overpowered all the others. “Everyone get back.”
Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Lori Newman’s command caused the first responders to make a path. She took a cursory glance at the body and then fixed her gaze on Fen.
He gave her a quick head-to-foot look. From the knees down, she was nothing but drying mud. She had another brown smudge that went all the way across her forehead and into a lock of sandy-brown hair. Other than a tear on the hip revealing pink panties, her designer dress looked unscathed.
