Death at the Black Bull (4 page)

“Maybe a cat hiding near the tank in the shadows, waiting for them to come near.”

“Could be,” Virgil said, not quite convinced himself. “Well anyway, I'd better sleep out just in case. See you in the morning.”

“Be careful that cat don't sneak up on you while you're dreaming about your last amorous adventure.”

“Don't let it keep you up, old man. Hell, I can't even remember that far back. I'll snuggle with my rifle.”

“That's a pretty sad picture,” Cesar said. “See you in the morning. I'll have breakfast ready.”

Virgil closed the phone and put it back in his saddlebag. Before he got off the mare, he stood in the stirrups a couple of times, scanning the landscape, seeing nothing unusual. But the herd stayed huddled, seventy-some-odd head with their calves bunched together.

Finally he slipped his thirty-thirty from the scabbard and dismounted. From the back of the saddle he untied a bedroll and dropped it on the ground alongside the rifle. Then he led the bay over to a cottonwood where he tied her. He didn't bother with a fire. He smoothed out the ground in a flat area not far from the horse and spread a blanket. Then he went back to the mare, unsaddled her, and set the saddle at one end of the blanket. It would not be the first time he had used a saddle as a pillow. He took a cloth from the saddlebag and a medium-sized leather pouch which doubled as a nose bag. For the next ten minutes he grained the mare with the few scoopfuls he had thrown in before he had left the barn. While she ate, he took the cloth and rubbed her down. He was pleased to see she was only truly wet in the saddle area. As he dried her, the moisture rose in the night air.

When she was rubbed down and finished eating, he untied her and led her carefully down to the branch for a drink. It was obvious she wanted no part of the stock tank. While she drank, he chewed on an energy bar. Then they carefully climbed the grade, where he tied her again to the cottonwood and sat down on the blanket.

The night was so bright that when he lay back, he felt like he was looking at the whole universe. A soft wind occasionally dusted the little knoll. He heard the far-off call of a coyote. His eyes were getting heavy and even though he hated to acknowledge it, his lower back was aching from his nighttime ride. It was a solemn reminder of how long it had been since he had climbed onto a horse. One last time, he rose up on his elbow to listen and scan the area. Nothing but the night and a flooded moonscape. The mare was a silhouette against the night sky, her head dropping slightly as she shifted her weight. His last thought was of the long-ago nights when he had done this as a child with his father. The ground had seemed softer then.

*   *   *

First light brought Virgil to his feet. He stood, a little bent over, trying to throw off the stiffness. There were just enough morning chills to bring on a shiver. A cup of hot coffee would have been welcome, but that would have to wait. He walked over to check on the mare, who was still standing with a droopy head and shifting weight so she balanced on three feet, her left rear hoof slightly cocked and just resting on the ground. She was so deep in her trance that Virgil didn't bother her. Instead, he walked over to a nearby bush and relieved himself. Then he walked over to the edge of the little knoll to check on the cattle. Most had settled in and around the creek bed where some were eagerly drinking. Even from this distance he could see the flow was way down and they had to be real careful to reach the water. He saw no sign of a cat or other predator and knew that no predation had occurred, for he surely would have awakened. On the other side of the creek, more than a quarter mile away, stood the unused water tank.

He decided to have a closer look. Picking his way down the hillside and across the creek, he hit the flat ground. It was only a ten-minute walk to the tank. His throat was dry. The cool water would be welcome. Many times during his childhood, alone and with friends, he had shed his clothes and plunged into the cool depths. This morning he'd settle for a face wash and a cold drink.

He finally reached the tank and grabbed the metal side, already warming in the morning sun. He reached over to splash the cool water on his face. Then his knuckles tightened on the rim.

He could feel the retch rising like a tide in the back of his throat. An involuntary gag choked him as his eyes fixed on a swollen, bloated carcass that floated in the tank.

He had just found out why the cattle wouldn't come to drink.

But even more important, he had just found Buddy Hinton.

H
ayward Memorial was a regional hospital serving a population of about a hundred thousand people, spread over three counties. Besides Hayward Ranch and Trucking, it was the area's largest single employer. Virgil knew that if you lived within fifty miles of Hayward, chances were you worked either for one or the other. He was all right with that, except that it felt like a company town and he knew for a special few there was a sense of entitlement that went along with that. He had experienced that the first time he incurred Audrey Hayward's wrath.

He drove around to the back of the hospital and parked in front of an unmarked door. It was a little after eleven. He pressed the buzzer outside the door and waited, his hand on the knob. As soon as he heard the expected clicks, he pulled the door open and stepped inside. He walked down a short hallway, then turned left. He stopped at the second door on his right. He hesitated a moment, sucked in a deep breath, then opened the door.

Viola and Bud senior were seated in the small room. Virgil saw how much they had aged in a day. As often as he had been part of this scenario, he had never gotten used to it. Usually, it was for victims of the road, occasionally drownings, rarely homicides, but they generally had one common denominator: they were all young. Buddy Hinton's viewing would be about as bad as it gets. He knew this going in. The Hintons stood up when he entered.

“You both don't have to come.”

“He belonged to both of us,” Viola said.

“Yes, but I know how hard . . . I mean, I only need one of you for the identification.”

“It's all right, Sheriff. We kinda prepared ourselves for this. We saw Buddy into this world together. We'll see him out, too.”

Bud senior put his arm around his wife.

“We're ready.”

“Give me a minute,” Virgil said. He left the room, then came back a short while later. The Hintons followed Virgil into an even smaller room. There were a couple of chairs facing a large viewing window, which was curtained.

“Why don't you just have a seat? I'll let the attendant know you're ready. He'll draw the curtain. Buddy will be lying on a gurney. Only his face will be visible. I'm afraid because of the heat and the water his face is somewhat swollen, but I've been told that will lessen over the next twenty-four hours. All you have to do is nod. That'll be enough for me.”

As Virgil left the room, he couldn't help noticing how Viola was reaching out to her husband, like she was supporting him even more than she was looking for support herself. A minute later, Virgil returned and stood alongside them. The curtain finally began to draw open. Virgil looked at Viola, then her husband. Their eyes were fixed on the gurney. On the exposed face.

“That's our Bud Light,” she said.

Virgil cocked his head.

“It's just a nickname he got early on,” she said, “instead of Bud junior.”

Her husband didn't move. He didn't say a word.

Virgil nodded to the attendant, then he slowly drew the curtain closed.

“Thank you,” he said.

Viola nodded. “Come on, Dad,” she said to her husband. “Time to go. We got things to do.” She tugged at her husband's arm until he turned his face from the closed curtain. Then she led him from the room.

Virgil saw them out of the building and stood in the open doorway watching until their pickup pulled out of the parking lot. Then he went back inside. A few minutes later, he was sitting in the medical examiner's office.

“It's a little early, Virgil. I can't give you much. Toxicology will probably be a week or more. Cause of death at this point, a blow to the head. This is strictly preliminary, of course. There was water in the lungs. My thoughts are he was probably struck unconscious, dumped in the stock tank, and then ultimately drowned. I'm afraid unless something different comes back from the tox screen, that's about it. I might also add, there's little or no retrievable DNA. The water pretty much took care of that.”

“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you taking care of this right away. I know you have a lot on your plate.”

“No, something like this goes right to the top of the pile. Just wish I had more for you. If he'd been found out in the brush or even been buried, I'd probably have had something, but . . .”

“I understand. I don't know whether it's because it's been so dry and the hardpan is too tough to dig in, or if this was the plan all along, but the result is, my job got a little harder.”

“If I learn anything different, I'll call. One thing we know, Virgil. This wasn't done by some transient. Whoever did this knew that stock tank was there.”

“Doesn't exactly make for a good night's sleep, does it? Knowing that the person who pushed Buddy into that water may be sitting next to you in Margie's place, drinking a cup of coffee. Thanks again, Doc.”

It was a little after two when Virgil got back to the office. Rosie had gone out for a bit. Her husband, Dave, was minding the store.

“How are the Hintons holding up?”

“About as well as you'd expect.”

“Good people. Viola was in my class in high school. Married Bud right after. Glad they got that daughter with the new baby. Maybe help them down the line to put this behind them.”

“I don't know that you ever put something like this behind you, Dave.”

“Yeah, I guess. A lot of crazies out there.”

Virgil sat down and picked up some paperwork. Then he looked at Dave.

“Guess that's why we're here doing this job,” he said. “To take care of the crazies. Maybe without the crazies we wouldn't even know what normal is.”

*   *   *

Audrey Hayward looked out the window of her upstairs bedroom, pleased with what she saw. It wasn't the scenery. It was what it represented. Her view went way beyond the thousands of acres dotted with pecan trees and herds of Black Angus, even beyond Hayward Trucking. She had worked hard to enjoy this view.

The fleeting reminiscence over, she was about to turn from the window when she saw a car pulling into the long driveway. She recognized the official vehicle as it came closer. Her son Micah and two of the ranch hands had just gotten out of a pickup by one of the barns, and now Micah walked over to the car. Whoever was inside never got out, just rolled down the window. She watched as the window went back up and Micah stepped back. He stood as the car turned around. He continued to watch until the car had driven the entire length of the driveway, dust clouds rising in its wake, until it reached the main road. Only then did Micah turn away and start heading for the house.

By the time Audrey came downstairs, he was on the phone.

“Yes. Well, do the right thing and send a spray of flowers to the funeral home. No, send two, one from the family and one from the employees. Okay.”

Micah hung up the phone and turned to see his mother standing in the doorway.

“One of our drivers was found dead,” he said to her. “Buddy Hinton. That was Virgil's deputy outside.”

“Why didn't they just call?”

“I don't know. I guess because it was one of ours. Maybe Virgil thought a personal notification would be more appropriate. He also said he wanted to see Cal. I told him he was probably down in Redbud.”

“Why is he bothering Caleb with this? People die. Even if he worked for the trucking company.”

Micah looked at his mother. “A little sensitivity would be nice.”

“Just like your father,” she said. “Remember, it's a business. Cal knows that. That's why we've done so well these last few years. An employee dies, we send flowers. Why should he have to get any more involved?”

“Buddy Hinton was a nice guy. His father works for us and he's been with us since he got out of high school. Besides, he didn't just die, Mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“Virgil found his body floating in a stock tank. He was murdered.”