Steven Havill: Scavengers

“No, ma’am.”

“What a hike. Who called it in?”

The deputy looked up at the blank sky and then grinned at Estelle. “A student pilot was flying over here this morning on a flight from Las Cruces to Lordsburg. She saw it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, ma’am. She reported it to Jim Bergin at the airport.”

“She just looked down and saw him?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what she said.”

“It’ll be interesting to hear just how she did that,” Estelle said.

“She’s still at the airport. After Jim called us, they flew back over here in Jim’s plane. I drove out and she was able to pinpoint the spot for me from the air. Saved us lots and lots of time. I could have been walkin’ around out here for a long time. I asked if she’d stick around for a little bit…that you’d want to talk with her.”

“We’ll see,” Estelle said. “How did you approach?”

“Right from here, ma’am. Straight in. Straight back. I didn’t touch the body or the clothing. I haven’t checked for ID or anything like that.” They heard the growl of vehicles and turned to see a red Jeep join the impromptu parking lot, followed by a small station wagon and one of the Posadas Emergency units.

“We have a few minutes before they make it over here. Let’s take a look.”

Before she’d finished the sentence, the radio on Deputy Taber’s belt squelched. “Three ten, can we drive over there?”

Estelle shook her head.

“That’s negative,” Taber said into the radio. “The ambulance may want to work its way over, but that’s all the tracks we want at the moment. Take your time.”

Estelle set off at a tangent, turning to walk a circle with a fifty-foot radius around the body. When they completed the circle, Estelle stopped, once more standing beside her camera bag. She frowned and turned to face west, toward Posadas and the two figures making their way across the prairie in front of the rocking and bouncing ambulance.

“The county road in to the MacInernys’ is the only access from State Sixty-one. Am I remembering right?” Estelle asked.

“Yes, ma’am. There’s an old two-track south of here. I would guess a good two miles. It goes over to an abandoned windmill and stock-tank.”

“So this guy walked in here,” Estelle said. “I didn’t see a single track from any kind of vehicle. Not even a mountain bike.”

“It’s pretty rocky.”

Estelle nodded. “Not enough to hide vehicle tracks, though.” She nudged a football-size rock with the toe of her shoe to show its light-colored underside. “Not a single rock out of place.”

With one camera slung over her shoulder and another in hand, she stepped toward the body, scanning the ground. “Let’s see what he can tell us,” she said.

At first glance, the corpse looked like a Halloween prank, a suit of clothes stuffed with rags or crumpled newspaper for exaggerated form. The black nylon windbreaker was unzipped, falling away on the sides to reveal what had once been a white T-shirt. The jeans were worn and faded with the cuffs beginning to show signs of fraying, pulled up just far enough to reveal white athletic socks.

“Fancy shoes,” Deputy Taber said. The man’s multicolored running shoes were the sort of off-brand imitations that discount stores sold for nine bucks during special sales.

“We’ll want Linda to take close-ups of the soles,” Estelle said. “Cactus spines, pebbles, that sort of thing.” She said it more as a reminder to herself, and the deputy turned at the sound of voices and the idling engine of the ambulance.

“I’ll keep ’em back until you’re ready,” she said.

“Right where you were standing when I walked up,” Estelle replied. “But have Linda come over.” She knelt by the corpse’s head. Much of the soft tissues of the exposed face and neck were gone, leaving just the jagged, vague suggestion of features. Prairie scavengers might have accounted for much of the facial damage, but not the condition of the skull. From the prominence of the left mastoid, that bony protuberance just behind the ear, to the upper temporal ridge of the parietal bone, the upper left portion of the skullcap was missing.

Estelle settled back on her haunches and frowned. The frown deepened at the sound of a siren in the distance. A marked county unit arrived by the gravel pit in a cloud of dust, and she could hear the bark of Deputy Taber’s radio as the new arrival announced his presence. Deputy Dennis Collins liked to talk on the radio, the telephone, over E-mail, or a cup of coffee. Jackie was quick to cut him off, and in a moment, Estelle saw him jogging across the prairie, leaving the county car behind. Fortune had smiled when airport manager Jim Bergin first called the Sheriff’s Office and Deputy Collins hadn’t been in the building to respond first to this call.

Estelle beckoned to Linda Real, and when the photographer joined her, said, “Sorry to tear you away on a Sunday morning.”

“Is okay, is okay,” Linda said, eyes flicking over the corpse and the surrounding prairie. “This is gross.”

“Yep. And really interesting.” Estelle knelt and pointed at the skull damage with the tip of her pen. “We can blame the ravens for a lot of the soft tissue loss, but not for the open fractures.”

“That’s more than I need to know already,” Linda said, but her hand was opening the cover of one of her camera bags. “Do we know who this is?” Linda wrinkled her nose and avoided kneeling down for a closer look.

“Not yet.”

“Gunshot?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t look right, somehow. With a gunshot, there’s usually some wound of entrance that’s more or less obvious. I don’t see that. Of course, with most of the face missing…” She shrugged. “It’s just hard to tell. Gunshot is the most likely thing, I suppose.” She straightened up and looked at Linda. “I took a few general quick shots. What I’m most interested in are closeups of the victim’s shoe soles, this head damage…before he’s moved.”

“You got it.”

“And anything else that you can think of,” Estelle said. “Film’s cheap.” She lowered her voice another notch. “And by the way, I think I’ve got a good photo of Jackie for February.”

Linda flashed a lopsided smile. “Neat,” she said. “And I got an unbelievable shot yesterday of Tommy. He was in his grubbies, up to here”-she tapped her left elbow with her right hand-“working on his motorcycle.” She glanced around to make sure none of the others were within earshot. “Just the sheriff, Collins, and Abeyta to go, and we’ll have the whole gang.” She flashed a wider smile. “So neat.”

She gently placed her voluminous camera bag several paces from the corpse. While she rummaged for her equipment, Estelle motioned for the others to approach. Dr. Alan Perrone, the Posadas County Coroner and assistant state medical examiner, walked with his hands in his pockets, one click faster than a shuffle. His eyes were glued to the rough prairie under his feet. Dennis Collins hustled.

“What, did some wetback get lost?” Deputy Collins said as he started to step past Estelle. She reached out a hand and caught him by the sleeve of his uniform jacket, gently bringing him to a halt. He shot a puzzled glance at her, but she waited until Perrone, Deputy Taber, and the two EMTs had joined them.

“Nothing’s been disturbed, sir,” she said to the physician.

“Just my Sunday morning,” he replied. “Who’s this?”

“I have no idea.”

Perrone nodded and surveyed the landscape. “Huh,” he said at length. “How’s little Carlos, by the way?”

“A miserable little kid,” Estelle said. “And now mother is down with the same crud, I think.”