Murder on the colorado, p.1
Murder On the Colorado, page 1
To my long time friend, Janet. You have shared your table (and your encouragement) with me more times than I can count.
And to your mother, Eloise, who taught you well.
Thank you for loaning me her name for this book.
To my new friends, Tiffany and Joe. You have taken a place to stay the night and turned it into a ‘home away from home’ with your warmth and ability to make a stranger feel like a friend.
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Exercise is Murder Excerpt
From The Author
Also By Bruce Hammack
About The Author
Copyright
Chapter One
It’s not every day you see a kayak dragging a lifeless body toward shore.
Fen looked up from his sketch pad and took in the bizarre scene. A small flotilla of kayaks in a variety of colors approached a clearing on the banks of the Colorado River. Excited voices skipped across the ambling body of water that seemed too sleepy to bother with the grim goings-on.
Fen stuffed his artist’s pencil into the pocket of his shirt as he focused on the only green kayak. Most of the boats reached shore before the one with a rope tied around the face-down figure. That kayak, like the river, took its time.
Quick steps brought him down from a concrete observation platform that overlooked the muddy ribbon of water with towering trees and thick foliage on both banks. Willing hands lifted and pulled the body onto the shore as Fen scurried down the riverbank.
He reached semi-level ground and took a better look at the kayaks. There were eight, and they each held a large, clear, plastic bag partially filled with trash. Everyone in the group wore matching shirts emblazoned with Keep The Colorado Trash Free.
“Leave him there and don’t turn him over,” said the man piloting the green kayak. His voice had the tone of authority, like someone who was used to giving orders and expected them to be carried out.
The man slipped out of his life vest. Sweat stained both the front and back of his T-shirt. Salt and pepper hair poked out from under a baseball cap emblazoned with a logo Fen didn’t recognize. He looked at a woman and barked out like a drill sergeant, “Bonnie, did you call the police?”
“Not yet. My phone is in my dry bag. It was way behind me. You know how nervous I get when I’m on the water. I didn’t want to reach for it for fear of tipping—"
The man cut her off. “Who has a blasted phone?” Under his breath, he added, “Of all days to leave it in my truck.”
Fen spoke in a voice that carried. “I’ll make the call.”
The man shot him an accusatory look. “Who the heck are you?”
“Someone who knows how to talk to 911 dispatchers.”
“That doesn’t tell me a single thing. Give me your phone and I’ll call.”
Fen shrugged, closed the distance, and held out his phone. “Be my guest.”
The man punched in three numbers and turned his back. Fen heard only one side of the conversation as the man pressed the phone hard against his ear. “I just pulled a dead man out of the river… No, I don’t know his name… My name is Riley Eastham…What kind of stupid question is that? The Colorado River… The park with baseball fields and rodeo grounds… That’s right, there's a raised concrete platform at the top of the bank and a parking lot for cars. Get someone out here quick.”
He hung up the phone and was in the process of sticking it in his pocket when Fen extended his hand. The phone came back to its rightful owner. It rang within seconds of him reclaiming it.
“This is Fen Maguire.”
“Bastrop County 911. I’m verifying a call we received a few moments ago came from this number. Did you make it?”
“It came from my phone, but I wasn’t the one who called.”
“The caller said something about a body in the river?”
“That’s correct. He reported a body he brought to shore at the park on the outskirts of Smithville. It’s where the bridge crosses over Highway 71.” Fen took a breath. “By the way, I’m the former sheriff of Newman County. I can confirm this is a suspicious death, and this location is not the original crime scene. You’ll need to contact the sheriff’s department, City of Smithville P.D., and the state game warden. I’m sure state troopers will want to look, too.”
“Thanks, Sheriff. Help’s on the way.”
The call ended, but Riley Eastham’s blustering continued. “You should have told me you were a former sheriff.” His face clouded with a question. “Why did you tell the dispatcher to send cops from four different departments? Isn’t one enough?”
“The body was in the river, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Any crime occurring on a state river falls under the jurisdiction of the Department of Public Safety. That means game wardens and state troopers. If this turns out to be a homicide, the jurisdictional lines may get blurred. Let’s say the original crime scene is in the city of Smithville. The city police will need to investigate. If, however, the original crime scene is outside the city limits, the sheriff’s department will be investigating.”
“That’s inefficient.”
“Perhaps, but it works unless the various departments don’t get along.”
A wailing siren approached but was still some distance off. The booming voice of Riley Eastham sounded like a bullhorn as he turned to his team. “Don’t just stand there. Get the trash off your kayaks and into larger bags. I have things to do today.”
Fen spoke in his best cop voice. “Don’t touch anything. What you collected today is evidence until you’re told otherwise. First responders will soon be here and will need to take statements from you. The best thing you can do is get away from this area.” He pointed toward the bank. “Go to the platform and wait.”
Riley spun and stared. Fen pulled the corners of his mouth up into a smile. “Just a suggestion, Mr. Eastham.”
Half-closed eyes showed displeasure, but Riley saved a little face by bellowing out. “You heard him. Go to the platform and wait.”
“Can I get my phone?” asked Bonnie.
“No,” snapped Riley. “You missed your chance to get it out of your dry bag when you were on the river.”
Everyone made it to the platform before a City of Smithville police car arrived, and mercifully turned off the blaring siren. Fen determined that the officer in this city of four thousand souls didn’t run with lights and sirens often. Given the opportunity, he made the most of it. The man in uniform bounded out of the car and asked, “Is Sheriff Maguire here?”
Fen raised his hand. “Former sheriff,” but followed it with, “Your name tag reads West. What’s your first name?”
“John.”
“Well, John West, you’ll want to talk to Mr. Eastham. He brought the body to shore and knows much more about this than I do.”
The officer gave a nod of recognition to the man who appeared to be the leader of the group wearing identical shirts. “Good morning, Mr. Eastham. If you and Sheriff Maguire would come with me, I’d appreciate it.”
Riley led the way down the riverbank. He stopped about ten feet from the body and spoke in a soft, almost reverent voice. “He was in the water about three hundred yards east of the Highway 230 bridge.”
Fen asked, “Were you the one who spotted the body?”
“Yeah. I was leading the others, going from one riverbank to the other, pointing out pockets of trash that needed to be picked up.”
It was then that Fen noticed the bag in Riley’s boat had significantly less trash than the others. “Which bank was he near?”
“The north bank, away from town. There must be something under the water that makes it swirl. Trash gathers there. Only today, it wasn’t all plastic bottles, beer cans, and everything else you can imagine.”
Too late, Fen realized he’d overstepped his authority by asking questions. He looked at the young officer and gave an almost imperceptible nod. The officer took over. “Mr. Eastham, you can return to the platform. I’d like to speak to Sheriff Maguire alone.”
A grumbling Riley Eastham trudged up the riverbank. Fen and the young officer turned toward the river. In a hushed tone, John led off with a question. “What do you recommend I do first?”
Fen ran a hand down his face. “How long have you been out of the training academy?”
“Five weeks.”
“Do you have crime scene tape?”
“A fresh roll. I’ve never had to use it before.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” He lifted his head. “Those sirens tell me help is on the way. Do
these two things: Tell everyone from the trash pickup team that they’re not free to leave. I seriously doubt you’ll be the one to take their statements, but each one will need to give a statement before they can be released. Next, get the tape up as quickly as possible. That will save you from getting chewed out for forgetting the first things they taught you to do with a crime scene.”
The young officer swallowed. “Anything else?”
“Your supervisor will probably tell you to move to the street that leads to the parking lot. Expect a long, boring day of allowing emergency vehicles through, but no civilians. If you don’t have a few bottles of water, there’s some in my truck I’ll give you.”
A groan came from the young officer. “They told me to do that in training. I was in a hurry this morning and forgot.”
“You’ll remember the next time.”
The sound of tires coming to a sudden stop sounded from over the steep embankment. Fen didn’t envy the long, hot day the officer would have. The late June sun was rising over the trees and a sweltering riverbank wasn’t his idea of a place to spend the rest of the morning, let alone the afternoon.
Oh well, at least this wasn’t his case. He estimated his stay by the river might last another hour. Two at the most. Then, he’d enjoy a leisurely lunch in an air-conditioned restaurant. He’d follow that with a nice, long drive in the country. Perhaps the manager of The Katy House Bed and Breakfast would allow him to check in early and he’d get in a nap. It was worth a phone call.
Chapter Two
Fen noticed one of the trash pickers, a man with a full head of gray hair, pull his phone out to take a phone call. The man walked down from the raised platform and approached the group of lawmen gathered near the body. “I need to talk to whoever’s in charge.”
“What do you need, Dr. Fox?” asked a city policeman with captain bars on his collar.
“Doobie Rusk’s mule kicked him in the mouth. He’s been to the emergency room. They referred him to me to see if I can save his front teeth. He’s on his way to my office.”
A voice came from over Fen’s shoulder. “Let him go. He came to spy on me for his momma, not to pick up trash.”
Riley Eastham peered down from the platform, his hands gripping the rail.
The police captain shifted his gaze from Riley to the man Fen assumed to be a dentist. “You can leave, Clayton, but I’ll need a statement from you today. Call me when you’re free and I’ll send an officer to interview you.”
Fen’s questioning gaze was enough to prompt the captain to speak. “Clayton’s the town’s only dentist.”
“Riley Eastham doesn’t seem to be a fan.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
The desire to ask more questions almost set Fen’s tongue in motion. Almost, but not quite. He let the unspoken questions remain that way as he felt the first bead of sweat run down his side. Word must have spread that a former sheriff was involved. Volunteer firefighters and a curious constable with a belly that hung well over his belt joined the crowd that outnumbered the trash pickers. This led Fen to believe that major crimes were rare in Smithville, Texas. The beauty and barber shops would be abuzz with a combination of truths, half-truths, and embellishments by the time he found a restaurant with a decent hamburger.
The relatively cool morning had morphed into a humid, seemingly airless afternoon. The game warden was the last to arrive and made his belated appearance in a flat-bottom metal boat powered by an outboard motor. By this time, Fen had spoken with officers and supervisors from every other department he’d mentioned to Riley Eastham.
The game warden exited the front of his boat and tied the bow line to a tree. Fen immediately recognized him. Ben Crump nodded greetings to others wearing uniforms of various descriptions, then focused on Fen. The two shook hands. Ben had a Central Texas drawl thick as molasses on a frosty day. “Howdy, Fen.”
Fen nodded back. “It’s been a while. How’s Martha and the kids?”
“The youngest is finally out of A&M and Martha’s taking a belly-dancing class at the community college. I’m not sure if she lost her mind or is going through some sort of crisis. She bought the entire costume, including a metal belt with all kinds of things that jingle-jangle.”
A hearty laugh spurted out of Fen’s mouth. “You landed a keeper when you talked her into marrying you.”
“That’s a fact.”
With the preliminaries out of the way, a few seconds of silence followed before Ben asked, “What’s the story about the body?”
“A man named Riley Eastham found the body upstream on the north side of the river.”
Ben huffed in a way that communicated he knew Riley. Fen gave him the approximate location of where Riley found the body.
“I know the spot. It always collects trash. Passed it on the way here. Had to put in at the boat ramp under the 230 bridge. Has anyone identified the victim?”
“The justice of the peace had EMS turn him over. Everyone looked, but no one recognized him. It could be because he’s been on the bottom for a long time. No wallet or other I.D. on him. They bagged the body and hauled it off about an hour ago.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Jeans, boots, a black T-shirt.”
Ben looked toward the river. “That narrows it down to half the population in the county. Well, it’s better than finding a body stripped down to their birthday suit.”
Fen gave his old friend another ray of hope. “I took some pictures of Riley dragging the body behind his kayak. I’ll send them to you. You can add them to the photos taken by a city patrolman.”
Ben nodded his thanks. “It’s going to take a lot more than photographs to solve this one. I’m expecting some sort of multi-jurisdictional task force.” He sighed. “I’m too near retirement to endure any more of those.”
Fen extended his hand. “Good luck. I can honestly say I’m glad it’s you and not me.”
At that moment, a horse fly dined on Fen’s neck. He slapped it, resulting in a large stain on the palm of his hand. Ben chuckled. “Serves you right for not volunteering to help me. Don’t you want to go upstream and look at where they found the body?”
“Thanks for the invitation, but the only thing I want is a large glass of iced tea and a half-pound burger with fries.”
“Try Pockets Grille in town. Great burgers.”
“I saw it coming into town. I hope their air conditioner is up and running.”
“Are you staying long?”
“Only one night, but I’m coming back in September. The local artists’ guild wants me to teach a class on painting landscapes.”
“Plan to have supper with me and Martha when you come back.” He paused. “Are you still flying solo?”
Fen nodded as a stab of emotional pain hit him. “No change on that and I’m not looking.”
Ben offered a hand to shake and placed his left hand on Fen’s shoulder. “I don’t blame you. Martha’s all the woman I could ever hope for. I’m so used up, no one else would want me.”
Fen added what he could to lighten the mood. “It’s not every man that can come home to a jingling, jangling belly dancer.”
Ben’s smile parted his lips. “I need to get upstream. It’s going to be a long, hot day.”
Fen didn’t ask permission to leave as he’d already spoken with everyone he needed to. He collected his easel, sketch pad and pencils, and brought his truck to life. On the way out of the park, he passed the youthful officer he’d met hours ago. The young man raised a bottle of water as a salute. Fen turned onto Highway 71, lowered the temp of the air conditioner and pointed the vents his direction. He passed the airport and crossed the bridge spanning the Colorado, one of the longest rivers in Texas. Once past the bridge, it was only a few blocks before he turned left and swung into the parking lot of Pockets Grille. The diminutive size of Smithville made everything only minutes away.
