No Good Deed (3 page)

She unwrapped the candy, thinking that as bloodstains went she'd seen better. But this one belonged to a fifteen-year-old girl, and Sonora sighed deeply and stepped closer. She bent down, squinted. Blood had pooled thickly, soaking up loose dirt and making a puddle like black-red gelatin in an area about the size of a football. A worn black riding boot, knee-high, English, lay sideways about four feet away.

‘More here, on the fence. We figure she fell off her horse, hit her head good, and went down.'

Sonora stepped sideways and looked at the top of the fence line. The wood had an indentation, and the top was soaked with blood and clotted with bits of tissue and long brown hair.

‘Just to confirm, but Joelle Chauncey
is
a brunette?'

Sam jerked a finger toward McCarty. ‘He says so.'

‘What does the
father
say?'

‘He was in the office with the shakes and McCarty was handy, okay?'

‘Fine. Okay. He just seems to be wandering pretty freely around my crime scene.'

‘It's my crime scene too.'

‘Yeah, Sam, but it ain't no party. He ID the boot?'

‘Not definite.
You
notice shoes?'

‘Sure.'

‘Yeah, but you're female.'

Sonora looked over her shoulder at Mickey, strong, squat, working moulage impressions of something about a hundred yards away. Tire tracks? She flicked a finger at the fence line, the clots of hair, blood and tissue. ‘CSU get samples of this?'

‘Gosh, no, Sonora, nobody does any work till
you
get here.'

‘Fine, but we got a track, Sam, and I don't see Shepherds. You call Canine?'

Sam put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Please don't be hurt when I tell you I took care of that already.'

‘How long till they get here?'

‘Not coming. The Shepherds look for broken grass, anything to tell them where the trail goes. This place is full of tracks – horses heading every which way. Impossible for the Shepherds. We do have a chopper on the way. Infrared heat sensors and NVGs. They might spot something.'

‘And they might not.' Sonora looked up at the sky, thinking about rain. A lot of acres here and it was coming dark. The child could be anywhere.

She heard the horn of a train, the background roar of wheels on tracks. It sounded a long way away.

‘We need Bella, Sam.'

‘That's a hell of an idea. Doesn't Mickey have an in with her handler?'

‘Related, I think.' Sonora looked at the downed section of fence, trying to imagine the scene. A young girl on horseback. Something had crashed through the wood. Spooked the horse, maybe, causing the fall. She looked at Sam, inclined her head. ‘What caused that, do you think?'

Sam shrugged. ‘Big enough for a pickup to go through. The ground's pretty soft from the rain we had over the weekend. Mickey's got tire tracks.'

‘Any chance the horse kicked it through? I bet a horse could break a fence down, if it really wanted to. If it was scared.'

Sam looked at her. ‘If a horse could break a fence through, then why are all these horses still penned up?'

‘I think a horse could kick a fence down if it was really scared, Sam.'

‘Okay, girl, come see for yourself.' He headed for the fence and she followed. He handed her another Starburst. Lemon.

‘You got tire tracks leading up to the break here – looks like the tread of a Dually pickup, there's two tire prints side by side there.' He touched a splinter of wood. ‘Streaks of green paint, Sonora, which horses rarely leave. Plus, the wood is splintered on both ends.' He held up a board that had been torn away. ‘The break is symmetrical. Similar lines of breakage on both sides, so the force of the impact is pretty evenly divided. A horse is going to break the wood on one side. And if you look closer here, there's no sign of mane or tail hairs, like a horse smashed a slat, then squeezed through, breaking the board off.'

Sonora bent over, studying the wood. ‘And the break goes inward, toward the field. So somebody just drove up and crashed on through.' Sonora looked at Sam. He was chewing. She smelled oranges.

She straightened up, touched the small of her back. ‘Did you notice McCarty?'

‘I notice you did.'

‘His sleeve, Sam. Looks like blood to me. A few hours fresh. Go check and see what you think. I'm going to talk to Mickey.'

‘About the tracks?'

‘About Bella.'

Mickey was on his knees with a tape measure, inspecting a tire track. ‘Shoulda done this one. Would have come out crisper.' He saw Sonora, got up. ‘What?'

‘What do you mean “what”?' Sonora asked.

‘Don't mess with me, kid, I had a cavity filled this morning and the Novocaine is wearing off.'

‘Talk to me, Mickey.'

He tilted his head to one side. ‘Big old Dually pickup. Four tires in the back, two in the front. And what looks like a new patch on the left front tire. Might check the repair places in the vicinity. And Sonora, pay attention. From the depth of the tracks, back ones in particular, I'd say the truck was pulling a load.'

Sonora looked at him. ‘Load. As in … horse trailer?'

Mickey shrugged. ‘What better way to get rid of a horse?'

‘So what you're saying is a truck and trailer ran through that fence.'

‘I'll get you the make, year and model by tomorrow.'

‘You work miracles. Get it by tonight.'

‘Tomorrow at the latest. Looks like there's at least two sets of tracks here, both trucks. And I got paint traces. Teal green. Paint can narrow the make down to two years, at the worst. And, clearly, the truck that went through that fence is damaged.'

‘You're good, baby, I got to say it.'

‘If I had a dollar for every time a woman has told me that.' He gave her a second look. ‘Wait a minute. That's the same tone of voice my ex-wife uses when she wants an advance on the child support.'

‘Do you give it to her?'

‘Always.'

‘Did you know that you look down and then sideways to the right when you lie?'

‘No kidding? I got to fix that. Usually I look to the left.'

‘You know Officer Murty, don't you? Isn't she a cousin of yours?'

‘Daughter-in-law.'

‘She still working Bella?'

‘Uh huh.' Mickey rubbed his chin. Looked out over the back paddock. ‘You know they got a chopper coming?'

‘I heard that, yeah.'

‘But you want Bella?'

‘I need her tonight. I can call Crick if you want, I don't mind going through channels. But you could get to her faster. If there's any chance this kid is still alive—'

He checked his watch. ‘Lucy will know where she is. Give me five.'

She wanted to be sassy and say ‘five what?' but part of the detective's art was knowing when to shut up.

Chapter Five

Sam had McCarty cornered by the fence and was waving Sonora over.

She went slowly, hands in her pockets. Looked pointedly at McCarty's rolled-up sleeve. Some killers can't resist being part of the investigation, she thought.

‘Mr McCarty able to explain the bloodstain on his sleeve to your satisfaction?'

‘
Doctor
McCarty,' Sam told her. ‘Guy's a vet.'

‘That makes it all better.'

McCarty was unrolling the sleeve, holding it away from his arm so they could all take a look. ‘It's blood.'

‘Cut yourself shaving this morning?'

McCarty gave her a look. ‘And you looked so bright. This is Joelle's blood. I was the first one on the scene, remember?' He looked from Sonora to Sam. ‘You have a problem with this? Let's put your mind at rest. Search my house and barn. Feel free, I've got nothing to hide.'

Sonora waited for him to say ‘Trust me' but he didn't. She smiled at him. ‘The last guy who told me he had nothing to hide kept a frozen torso in his Sears deep-freeze. So, thanks very much, we will search your house and barn.'

‘You talking about that district attorney?'

Sonora nodded. She almost felt like they were talking shop.

‘In the meantime, you might want to put out an APB, or even set up roadblocks, to stop every horse van between here.' – McCarty stopped to look at his watch – ‘and about a two-hundred-mile radius.'

‘That's a hell of a radius.' Sonora cocked her head sideways. ‘What makes you think a horse van went through here?'

‘It's a possibility, don't you think? With a horse missing? You got a guy looking at tracks, what does he think?'

‘I want your shirt,' Sonora said.

‘Fine. If you wind up stopping vans, ask for a Coggins test. Anyone transporting horses is supposed to carry one. Very possible that whoever came through here won't have one.'

‘Thanks for your help,' Sam said.

Sonora gave McCarty a hard stare. ‘We'll take the shirt, for now. And take you up on your offer to show us around. Your house and barn.'

He held out his wrists. Smiled at Sonora. ‘You can handcuff me if you want.'

‘Some other time.'

Chapter Six

McCarty paused outside a small and dingy cinderblock house that sat no more than fifty yards from a small concrete barn trimmed in red, about a third the size of Delaney's barn.

‘It's not locked.' McCarty waved a hand toward the front door of his house.

Sonora motioned the two uniforms she had grabbed to step back off the porch. ‘Take him on in,' she told Sam.

McCarty nodded at her, and walked in ahead of Sam without looking back.

Something about him.

Sonora turned to the uniforms. Both young, male, short haircuts and on testosterone overload. She wished she hadn't sent Renquist off with Dixon Chauncey. She could use two or three of that man.

She started with their names, making them introduce themselves since she didn't know them. Majors was the black one. Hill was white.

‘Officer Majors. Officer Hill. Let's start with what you already know. Female, fifteen years old, brown hair. You saw the blood. Likely severe head injury and God knows what else. Dr McCarty is “assisting” us in our investigations. That's information you will keep to yourselves.'

Both of them nodded. Brows knit and on their toes.

‘We have the owner's permission and we have probable cause. What we don't have is a warrant, so don't take an ax to the place, you got me? But you make sure that there is no chance that a fifteen-year-old girl is in there listening to you walk through the halls, praying that you'll have the imagination to open the right door, or check under the cellar stairs. That make sense?'

They nodded, heads synchronized, like puppets on a string.

‘Go. And Hill?'

‘Yes, ma'am?'

‘Holster your weapon.'

The house disappointed her. It was not the kind of house she would have pictured for McCarty.

The kitchen was small and would have been state-of-the-art in the early sixties. The cabinets were yellow enamel over metal, and there was actually a dusty red-checked curtain over the small window over the sink, which was full of dishes. The counter tops were clear, and there was an old-fashioned mixer that gave Sonora a pang. It was a big Bobbie, white enamel, with black trim. Her mom had one just like it when she was growing up.

McCarty waited for them on the front porch, leaning against the rust-stained cinder block, arms folded. He had surrendered the denim shirt, and now wore a sweatshirt that said Hawley-Cooke Booksellers on the front. He waited with no sign of impatience while they went through the depressing bathroom, rust stains around the drain, and the small bedroom, which was dusty, and held nothing more than a double bed, walnut frame, white chenille bedspread, a small dresser and a red braided throw rug over the battered wood floor.

He did not seem concerned at the number of times the uniforms tramped up and down the short hallway and went back through rooms, cabinets and hallways they had been through minutes before. He waited with infinite patience until the uniforms were satisfied. Raised an eyebrow at Sonora when she followed the uniforms back out on to the porch.

‘Right this way, officers. Part two of the evening tour. McCarty's barn.'

The barn was small, eight stalls, well lit and clean, with a freshly swept asphalt breezeway. Sonora breathed in the tang of horse and fresh hay. Three of the stalls were occupied, and the horses nickered low in their throats when Sam and Sonora walked in. The doors were open on either side and the wind blew through, making her shiver.

She opened a door into a tack room. Curious bits of leather and rope dangled from hooks on the wall. Pitchforks and shovels were wedged in a corner. A dark green feed bin hugged the front wall. Sonora lifted the lid – both sides were full of a yellow mixture of oats, pellets and corn. She picked up a sticky handful and smelled it, tasted it with the tip of her tongue.

Sam looked over her shoulder. ‘Eat up, Sonora, I'm all out of Starbursts.'

She rolled her eyes at him, wandered back into the aisleway, and slid a stall door open slowly, peering around the edge.

‘Horse?' Sam asked.

Sonora gave him a look over her left shoulder. ‘Quit following me around and search the other side.'

‘Why? What do you think is in the stall across from this one? A pig?'

Sonora moved across in front of him and slid the door open.

The horse, ankle deep in pinewood shavings, looked at them over his shoulder, then went back to munching from a rack of beige-gold hay. The stall was cozy, well bedded. Beads of water lined the lip of a bucket that had recently been filled with fresh water.

Sam opened the next door. ‘Another horse, Sonora.'

‘Stay with it, Sam. I'm going up in the hayloft.'

She headed up wood slats nailed to the wall outside the tack-room door. The ladder was made for longer-legged people than Sonora – she had to stretch to make each rung. She kept going, slowly, thinking maybe she didn't like heights.