Strike Dog (15 page)

16

LEFT SHOULDER RIDGE, MISSOURI
MAY 26, 2004

Gasparino had a fairly new black Ford Expedition, and he helped Monica into the backseat so she could stretch out her legs. Service sat up front to navigate. Eddie Waco had shown him the road to Cake Culkin's place during the trip to West Plains to drop him off. He told Gasparino to turn north along the border between Oregon and Ripley counties.

“Jesus, are we there yet?” Monica asked repeatedly, the first time less than two minutes outside the West Plains city limits.

“Chill,” Service said the first time she complained. “It's about forty miles—and there's no interstate.”

Gasparino reacted by speeding up, but when he fishtailed around a curve, Service told him to slow down. “We don't want to end up in a ditch with the snakes,” he said. This reminded him that Nantz would have easily negotiated these roads, which were a lot more difficult than M-35.
Not an accident,
he told himself for the umpteenth time. What did he need to move the Troops off their conclusion and to reopen the investigation? More importantly, who would want to run her off the road?

“Goddammit, Larry,
listen
to the man!” Tatie Monica squawked from the backseat.

Cake Culkin lived about five miles from the Spargos' place, in the rocky saddle and shadow of a razorback ridge called Left Shoulder. They parked on the main gravel road, and Service led them on foot down the edge of a rutted dirt-and-gravel track that served as the man's driveway. The cabin was small and tidy, with a rickety carport and an older-model black Chevy pickup in front, the truck Eddie Waco had used to take him to West Plains. Service left the agents in the woods while he went to the house. The hood of the truck was cold. He stood to the side of the door, knocked, waited.

Eddie Waco answered the door, looked up, and nodded. “Back quicker'n I figgered,” he said, opening it. “Them feds lurkin' out yonder?”

“Two of them.”

“Best fetch 'em on in.”

Service looked back and waved.

Waco led them into a small kitchen. Cake Culkin was sitting at a small round table, his hands folded in front of him, his leg up on a chair.

“Cake, these folks want ta talk at ya'll some,” Waco said.

The man didn't look up. “They feds?”

“Two of 'em,” Eddie Waco said.

“You can wait outside,” Tatie Monica said dismissively to the Missouri conservation agent.

“We both stay,” Service said.

The FBI agent glared.

“Waco saved your ass,” Service said. “Literally.”

Monica shrugged with resignation and rolled her eyes. She couldn't communicate without facial punctuation, a lousy habit for a cop or a poker player. The more he saw, the greater his concern about her competence. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there were moments when she seemed almost desperate.

“You found Agent Spargo,” she began, a statement, not a question. Right to the point, no empathy for the man's potential discomfort or anxieties.

“I reckon I seen 'im,” Cake said. “And run.” His voice cracked as he sucked in a breath.

The FBI agent seemed to realize something was wrong and she suddenly switched gears. “Your name's Cake, right? I'm Tatie.” Off a beat and too late, Service thought. The man was going to turtle. Was it lack of skills on her part, or impatience?

Cake Culkin gave a pleading look to Eddie Waco, whose face remained impassive.

“Let's start again,” Tatie Monica said. “I'm Tatie, Cake. You want anything?”

Too late, Service thought. Her initial directness had put the man on his heels, left him tight and withdrawn.

“I hain't sick,” Culkin said.

“Cake,” Eddie Waco said, “these folks want to find who done Elray like thet.”

“I'll talk ta you'n,” the man said. “And him,” he added with a nod to Service, “but I already done took all y'all through this afore.”

Service brushed Monica's sleeve to let her know she should keep quiet. Apparently she got the hint.

“Memories kin be a might slippery sometimes,” Eddie Waco said. “'Member back whin you'n an' Elray an' me done chased thet ole boy kilt his wife over ta White Briar? Me an' Elray was sure it were a blue truck, but it weren't. Was black, jes like you said.”

“Had dirt all over it,” Cake Culkin said. “Coulda bin blue.”

“But it weren't, and been just Elray and me, we'd a' missed that ole boy, but havin' you along made the case. That's what we got here, Cake. More heads we got, better off we are, okay? We need to go over what you seen again.”

“Shoot,” Culkin said with a grin. “You been ta college and you got you a steel-trap mind.”

“The trap sometimes gets a mite rusty,” Waco said with a smile.

Service could feel Tatie Monica fidgeting and bumped her to settle her down.

“Seein' Elray that way spooked us all,” Waco added.

“You boys din't run,” Culkin said, running his hands through his hair and sucking in a deep breath. “Who you think wanna do somethin' like that ta Elray?”

“Don't know yet,” Waco said. “But you can help us ta help Fi and them young 'uns.”

Cake Culkin nodded emphatically. “I done said what I seen.”

“He had a meeting?” Waco asked.

Culkin nodded.

“Who did he meet, Cake?”

“Elray didn't say.”

“You and him went way back. You
knew
him.”

“Nobody knew Elray. Well, mebbe Fi. He was differ'nt to differ'nt folks. Always told me he was a
thespeen
. What's that mean?”

“Actor,” Service said.

Culkin grinned. “That was ole Elray.”

“You cain't work all them years with a man and not know him,” Eddie Waco said.

“You agents is all the same. Nobody knows all y'all.”

Eddie Waco said, “I take yore pint, Cake, but the way it is, you don't give us somethin', we gon' be plumb outta luck.”

“You mind if I ask a question, Cake?” Service asked.

“'Speck not.”

“You got good trout fishing around here?”

“Passable, I reckon.”

“You fish?”

The man said, “Whin I git the chance.”

“How do you know when the bite's on?” Service asked.

Cake Culkin rolled his tongue inside his cheek. “I jes keep my eyes open.”

“Weather, maybe?”

“Wind tells a man a lot. Warm rain fallin'. An' I kick the grass with my boots, see what might skitter about.”

“Spiderwebs under bridges?” Service asked.

Culkin grinned and raised an eyebrow. “I reckon you done some fishin' yoreseff.”

“Some,” Service allowed. “What we have here, Cake, is an empty web, and we're not kickin anything up in the grass. Did you and Elray plan to fish that night?”

“Nossir.”

A
change,
Service thought. Had the other dead officers been fishing, or were they just found near water? This wasn't clear and it bothered him not to know. “Was Agent Spargo's meeting with a man?”

Culkin's face darkened. “Not proper a married-up man meet private-like with a womarn not his'n.”

“Unless he had official business with her and needed to keep it private,” Eddie Waco interjected, picking up on Service's comment.

“Thet's so,” Culkin said. “But were a man got met.”

“You're certain?” Service asked softly.

Culkin chewed his lip and spoke haltingly. “I ast, all ya'll 'll tell Fi and them young 'uns it were a man?”

“We'd do that,” Eddie Waco said. “Sometimes ole Elray, he asked you to keep things in confidence.”

“Was how it were.”

“And if that was the case here, you'd keep that confidence no matter what. You'd not be able to say it.”

“A man's word's his word,” Culkin said.

“You understand how important this is,” Eddie Waco said.

“Yessir, I truly do.”

“It's good you keep your word, Cake. How about we bend this saplin' another direction?”

Culkin looked skeptical, but shrugged and said, “I reckon.”

“Just for now, let's jes say a man is a one and a womarn is a two. You with me?”

Culkin nodded.

“If a man's one and a womarn's two, what was the sum of the people at thet meetin' ole Elray had?”

“Four,” Culkin said without hesitation.

“Now, Cake, it cain't be four,” Eddie Waco said. “Gotta be two or three.”

“Were four,” Culkin insisted through clenched teeth.

Service intervened: “One plus one,
plus
two?”

Culkin nodded. “Thet's four.”

“At the same time?” Service added.

“Reckon not,” Culkin said.

“You saw one of them, Cake?”

“Could be.”

Waco took over again. “Let me guess. You seen a two, but not a one, on account Elray done made you think the meeting was with a one, only you seen a two and mebbe now you're a'wonderin if'n there was a one a'tall.”

Tatie Monica moaned and Service dug his heel into her instep, making her recoil.

Cake Culkin was sweaty and deathly still.

“You'n recognized the two,” Eddie Waco said.

“Reckon you'n would, too,” Culkin said quickly, “her wearin' a badge an' all.”

“Y'all seen a badge?”

“Not thet day.”

“But you know who this two is, am I right?”

“Rigmutton, I 'speck, not the sort you see at weekly meetin's.”

“This be a badge a body might see round the courthouse?” Waco asked.

“Could be,” Culkin said. “Hear tell there's a place on the Warm Fork, west end of Millstone Holler.”

“West of Koshkonong?”

“I just heard they's a place over thet way is all.”

“How long after you saw the two did you find Elray?” Service asked.

“Not long after the lightnin' done spit.”

“Lightnin' spit?” Waco asked.

“Seen the flash, never heard the boom.”

“When?”

“A while after Elray done went on by hisseff,” the man said, his hands shifting to palms up. Service suspected they'd heard all they were going to hear.

Service asked, “You didn't find Elray where he said he was going to meet?”

“Nossir. Found him over to the Hurricane.”

“How?” Eddie Waco asked.

“Blood trail,” Culkin said, hanging his head.

Service said, “You said the sum was four, but Elray and the woman make three. Are you counting yourself?”

Culkin shook his head. “I reckon they was another.”

“You saw another man?” Waco asked.

“Jes a peek.”

“When?”

“Jes afore I come upon Elray at the Hurricane.”

“Did you see the two?” Waco asked.

“Nossir, but Elray said he was meetin' her.”

Service intervened. “You actually saw just the man.”

“I reckon she was there somewheres.”

Eddie Waco walked Service and the feds outside. “A setup. I'm thinking she arranged for Elray ta meet someone.”

“Jesus,” Tatie Monica said. “Who the fuck are we talking about? Ones and twos?
Hello!
Jesus, is this
Earth?
”

“Laglenda Owens, deputy with Oregon County. Hired from Jeff City 'bout a year back. She calls us both with stuff she sees out on road patrol.”

Deputies in the U.P. did the same for Service. “They were friends, Deputy Owens and Spargo?”

“I reckon thet's all they was. Once Elray met Fi, that was hit for other womern.”

“How can you be sure she's the right woman?” Service asked.

“Only one female totin' a badge in the county, and I know where she lives, 'zackly the place Cake was talkin' on. Want, we can run on over there.”

Tatie Monica said, “Okay, Opie and Gomer, can we fucking do this now, or do we have to have a chaw and spee-it fest first?”

Eddie Waco held out a tin of Redman. “'Backy?”

Even Tatie Monica laughed.

Service found it odd that they had just learned the location of another possible kill site and she wasn't asking questions. How far was it to the Hurricane camp from where Spargo was supposed to meet the deputy—
if
he met her? He thought about Elray Spargo. It was one thing to drag the diminutive Wayno Ficorelli up a river. It was a whole different challenge for one man to drag a giant like Spargo over rough ground through brush tangles. And if Spargo had no intention of fishing that night, wasn't that a break in the pattern? Where were his clothes? Grady Service had endless questions, but Tatie Monica seemed to have none. He didn't know if her lack of interest made him angry or worried.

17

WARM FORK, MISSOURI
MAY 26, 2004

As soon as they got into the Expedition, Tatie Monica again demanded to know how long the drive would take.

Service said, “Let's wait for Agent Waco.”

The conservation agent drove his truck out to the gravel road, parked in front of them, and walked back. “I jes talked at Sheriff Hakes. Owens has herself four days off and Doug thinks she mighta run up to Jeff City ta see kin. I called out ta her place, but all I got was a dadblame machine.”

“We need to take a look,” Tatie Monica said. “How far is it?”

“Good sixty mile from where we sit now,” Eddie Waco said, “Twinny mile t'other side of Alton.”

Special Agent Monica leaned her head back and muttered, “Shit.”

Eddie Waco nodded Service toward his truck. “Join me?”

Service told Gasparino he was going to ride with Waco, and the two vehicles pulled out.

Waco drove at a steady, almost leisurely pace and Service wondered if it was intentional. He looked back and imagined he could see Monica fidgeting in the backseat. “Who actually reported findin' Elray?” Eddie Waco asked.

Service said, “You don't
know?
I assume it was Cotton Spargo. Cake Culkin went to him first, right?”

“Nope. I done talked to 'im, and he only tol' family. But Cotton hain't one to spit it all out. Could be he called Doug Hakes and Doug called the state.”

“Which agency got the official notification? We got our call from Bonaparte.”

“Where'd that ole boy get off to, anyways?” Eddie Waco asked.

“Beats me. You met him at the river site.”

“Never set eyes on the man,” Waco said. “Heard from the boys he's a nice-enough feller, not strung tight like your typical fed. You gettin' a feel for what's a-goin' on?”

On the contrary; it seemed like every few hours the case seemed to tumble into a flat spin. “I wish.”

“I can tell you this: Somebody got the jump on Elray, they's somethin' special.”

“Or they had help,” Service said. He'd seen Spargo's size. Even he would have a hard time in a scrap with a man that large. Maybe there was more than one attacker? No evidence for this, just a thought—but it took hold.

Eddie Waco looked over at Service. “Hit don't play, Laglenda Owens bein' in the middle of this. She's a solid deputy. She mixed up in this, I'm thinkin' she got herseff blutterbunged.”

“Blutterbunged?” Service repeated. “What language is this down here?”

“Means tricked, some say. The language ya'll hear some claim is close ta what got spoke in Shakespeare's day.” Eddie Waco winked. “It prolly done changed a tetch . . .”

“There or here?” Service said.

Both men laughed. “Both,” Eddie Waco said.

Service said, “If the Owens woman is out of town, we can still call her, right?”

“Doug's people don't leave town without leavin' a contact number,” Eddie Waco said. “Doug Hakes may be a country boy, but he runs his ship tight as a tick on a blade a' long June grass.”

“What's the Owens woman's background?”

“People in these parts don't put much stock in the past what was somewhere else. What matters is what a body does now.”

“Cake implied the deputy was . . .”

“Cake's a prude,” Waco said. “But she's a young 'un with fire in 'er belly.”

“You and Elray share Oregon County?”

“Mostly his. I got Ripley, and sometimes we worked together.”

Waco looked in the rearview mirror and smiled. “They close 'nuff to lick our bumper.”

Service looked back, saw Gasparino tailgating only a few feet behind them. Tatie Monica was gesticulating wildly from the backseat.

“The thing about breakin' in a mule,” Eddie Waco said, maintaining his speed, “you jes gotta baffound 'im.”

The Warm Fork of the Spring River, like the Eleven Point, flowed in a southeasterly direction, starting as Howell Creek in the town of West Plains. The water was cloudy with a grayish-green cast to it, and a rocky bottom. More limestone, Service thought, or clay. The flow was steady, down small steps into skinny-water pools, the banks heavily wooded near the deputy's small house.

They left the vehicles two hundred yards up the road from the house and moved down through scrub brush, tall Ozark cane, and small, tightly packed trees. The one-story house was small and narrow, facing the river, which flowed less than thirty feet from the back stoop. The main entrance was on the south side. Eddie Waco volunteered to go up to the house because he knew the deputy. Service watched the back of the place. Monica and Gasparino each took a side.

A grim-faced Eddie Waco stepped onto the back porch and waved Service in. Service smelled the odor before he got to the door, and accepted Vicks from the Missouri agent.

The woman was unclothed on the bed, a large hole in the peak of her head, the pillow, sheets, and backboard stained with brain tissue and blood. No defensive wounds. The only entry wound was under the chin. Had she known the killer? Her clothes were ripped and scattered around the room. Eddie Waco showed Service the body and shook his head. There were flies in the room, and a computer in the corner.

“Gunshot,” Service said. No weapon in sight. “Homicide.”

Waco nodded, and Service went out and summoned the FBI agents.

Tatie Monica took a deep breath and said, “Okay, first we isolate the house. Call the county to provide perimeter security—but
only
the FBI comes down the road this far. Second, get the crime scene team back from St. Louis.” She looked at the computer in the dining room. “Third, tell them to send someone from cyberforensics, Larry. Got it?” Gasparino nodded and dashed outside.

“Not my business,” Eddie Waco said, “but Doug Hakes ain't gonna sit second banana with one a' his deputies a-layin' here dead. This here's his deputy and hit's
his
county.”

“You're right,” Tatie Monica said. “It's
not
your business, and who the fuck is Doug Hakes?”

“Sheriff.”

“This connects to a federal case,” she said. “You send this Hakes to me when he gets here.”

“Won't have to send 'im,” Waco said. When Monica went outside to find out if Gasparino had gotten through to the St. Louis field office, Eddie Waco said, “Don't you jes love jurisdictional harmony.”

Sheriff Hakes arrived on the scene twenty minutes after the word went out. He came in talking and puffing, his face red with an adrenaline surge. “Okay, I got people settin' up a perimeter, and the state's got a crime scene team rolling,” he announced.

“That won't be necessary,” Tatie Monica said.

“I guess I'll be decidin' what's necessary,” the sheriff shot back.

They were nose to nose, their voices low, words clipped.

Service said, “Comforts one to see how 9/11's got law enforcement agencies operating as one team.”

“Sound as sweet as buzznack,” Eddie Waco said under his breath.

Tatie Monica attacked. “There's no debate here, Sheriff! The death of Deputy Owens is related to the Spargo case.”

“Says who?”

“A witness places her at the crime scene at or about the TOD.”

“Mebbe I ain't buyin' what you'n sellin', and we'll jes see what the county prosecutor has to say 'bout this.”

She brandished her forefinger like a sword. “You tampered with a federal investigation, you sonuvabitch, and you removed evidence without authorization. When you talk to the county prosecutor, make sure he knows there'll be a federal warrant coming down with
your
name on it. He can file it under ‘A' for asshole.”

Service watched Hakes take a half-step backward. His jaw was still rigid, but he had just retreated and given up ground. “You hain't heard the last word on this,” the sheriff said.

“I have from you, Ernest T. Bass. Just make sure your people keep the goddamned road closed off.” She turned to Gasparino. “St. Louis?”

“Chopper in the air in thirty,” he said. “Cyberforensics is sending Pappas.”

Tatie Monica stepped outside and looked up the road and pointed. “The chopper can put down over there. Tell them.” Gasparino took his handheld and stepped away. Monica muttered, “Glory Drophat, that airhead bimbo.”

Why was Tatie Monica directing the helicopter landing site and not examining the crime scene? “Where's Bonaparte?” Service asked.

Tatie Monica looked at him and tilted her head. “Don't tell me how to do my job,” she said, turning away.

Service caught her by the arm. “I'm not trying to tell you
anything
. I'm trying to figure out what
I'm
supposed to be doing here.”

Her attitude softened. “You're doing fine. Just stay close to me, and if you see something you think I should know, tell me.”

“What about Bonaparte?” he repeated.

“
My
case,” she said. “Not his.”

When she tried to turn away again, Service stepped in her path. “Who reported Spargo's body? Bonaparte called us and we came, but who told him and put all this into action?” He wasn't sure when the thought implanted, but his mind kept swinging back to Bonaparte, his role, his movement, his absence.

She looked at him and smiled. “Now
that's
the kind of question I like to hear asked.” Statement made, she walked away and, as usual, no answer was forthcoming.

Service studied the dead woman's body and wondered if there had been consensual sex, a rape, or no sex at all.

“Somethin' weighin' y'all down?” Eddie Waco asked.

Grady Service walked to Waco's truck and pulled latex gloves out of a box he has seen there. He returned to the house and leaned over the body. “You got a magnifying glass?” he asked.

“Got some cheaters I use ta tie on itsy-bitsy flies.”

“Mind if I borrow them?”

Waco brought them back and Service hovered over the dead woman's face for nearly two minutes, stood up, and handed the magnifiers back to Waco. “Did Cake actually see the woman that day, or did Elray just tell him about her?”

“Thet still hain't real clear in my mind neither,” the game warden said. “You see somethin'?”

“Not sure,” Service said. In fact, her eyes looked normal, an observation that strangely disappointed him. Why did the blood eagle killer take his victims' eyes?

They found the sheriff sulking up the road.

“Who gave you the word on Spargo?” Service asked.

“The highway patrol got a call from the feds and they called me.”

“You didn't talk to Cotton Spargo or Cake Culkin?”

“Jes at the fun'ral.”

Service and Waco looked at each other, but said nothing.
What feds?
How had the FBI learned about the body before local law enforcement? In previous cases, had anyone called the FBI directly, or had information about new killings come up through other law enforcement agencies? The longer this thing went on, the more questions he had, the less direction there seemed to be, and the more irritated he was getting.