by Irving Munro
“The detective team initially assigned to the case did find the tattoo, and like you, Tommy, they speculated that it was the ace of spades. It’s all in their written notes. They have been trying to track it down but to date they have found nothing. They did say that it’s a strange place to have a tattoo, hidden under the arm. I came at it from another angle and found some interesting stuff.”
“My first thought was perhaps a gang insignia, but I dismissed that pretty quickly as most gang insignia are large and in full sight. They are displayed as a sign of pride to be in the membership of a particular gang and also to provoke others who do not belong to their crew. My second thought was military, and after some crawling around military insignia websites I hit pay dirt. It’s Special Forces, U.S. Special Operations Command, specifically Marine Corps Force Recon.
“We have to find out who killed this guy,” said Bill, almost in tears.
“If we’re right, this is a man who served his country and put his life on the line every day. For someone to do this to him and for him to die in this way on the very soil he fought to protect is despicable. When we find these scumbags, I’ll throw the switch myself!”
Chapter 3: A strange message
Bill Ross was stuck in the end-of-day, nose-to-tail commuter traffic that had become the norm in Austin. The city infrastructure was struggling to keep pace with the huge influx of people from all over the country attracted to the capital city of Texas by the lifestyle the city offered. The music scene was world-renowned and kept vibrant by students of the University of Texas. It was also a great place to raise a family, with excellent school systems and inexpensive housing. It was God’s country, and very liberal when compared to the rest of the state.
The stop-and-go traffic gave Bill time to reflect on the day. He and the team had only scratched the surface of the burning-cross file, but even this first day of analysis suggested that it was a real hornet’s nest and he guessed that in the days ahead, with continued prodding, who knew what might fly out.
It was early November, and as he drove into his neighborhood the trees were starting to shed their leaves. The rain had stopped but the wind was blowing and the leaves were swirling around like early winter snow. Bill loved this time of year and the lead-up to Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving holiday was not celebrated in his native Scotland, so he had no experience of it until he brought his family to settle in the U.S. in the 1980s. He was looking forward to having most of his family around the festive table, but also sad that his daughter, Jenny, and her family from California would not be able to make the trip this year.
Elaine was setting the table for their supper when he walked in. The smell of roast chicken hung in the air. Bill poured himself two fingers of Glenmorangie, his favorite single malt, sat down in his La-Z-Boy, leaned back and let out a deep sigh.
“Tough day?” asked Elaine.
“Not really, just a case that we have been asked to take a look at. I can’t discuss any of the details, but my sixth sense is telling me that it will be a real tough nut to crack,” replied Bill.
“You, Tommy and Marie will figure it out, I’m sure,” said Elaine as she added a little more butter to the garlic mashed potatoes.
~
After dinner, Bill put on his favorite sweater and went out into the backyard and fired up “Vesuvius.” Bill had the huge natural gas fire pit built a few years back, and ten people could sit around it with ease. It ignited with a whoosh, and he put his feet up on the firewall surround, enjoying the heat of the fire, as the flames danced into the night air.
He ran through the burning-cross file page by page in his mind’s eye. Tommy had prohibited him from taking the file home given the sensitive nature of the investigation, but his police training over the years had been honed into a unique ability to store relevant facts in little corners of his brain and allow the effects of the Glenmorangie to do its work. He mused that he had probably done this a thousand times over the years and it had never failed to produce a result; tonight was to be no exception.
Bill’s mind raced.
The initial investigating team had searched the immediate area thoroughly. There had been blood spatter and pieces of flesh all over the gravel road for hundreds of yards. They picked up and bagged for evidence bits of clothing that had been ripped off the poor guy. They didn’t find the hands, or the lower part of the jaw.
Why was there no wallet, no money, no keys, no rings or bracelets, none of the normal stuff that we all carry with us every day? He had been fully dressed when they dragged him, as the bits of clothing picked up at the scene suggested. According to the notes in the file, forensics had identified some of the clothing as being top-quality wool worsted, light grey in color, used in the manufacture of fine suits and pants. He had also worn a white silk shirt. One black shoe had been found wedged under a large rock. It was a size ten Italian Bacco Bucci sports shoe that retailed for about $300 a pair.
Bill was convinced that whoever did this had tried to clean the site to ensure that the dead man could not be identified. The fact that they had missed the shoe was a huge mistake.
Bill remembered that there had been a message left by the body. It was on a large piece of heavy-duty cardboard, the type used to package household appliances like refrigerators and washing machines. It had been nailed to an adjoining tree, and scrawled across the board in heavy black marker were the words:
Stop illegal immigration - Close the border - Kill Wetbacks.
As Bill repeated the words there was something that didn’t make sense.
His mind took him back to the KKK lynchings:
Kill the Niggers! Only good Nigger is a dead Nigger!
Stop illegal immigration - Close the border - Kill Wetbacks. This was too perfect. The use of these words was strange. This was not written by some white supremacist full of liquor and spitting nails. Apart from the Kill Wetbacks phrase the rest of the statement could have come from a sign on the floor of a Republican convention. This was another piece of the jigsaw puzzle that didn’t fit and just one more piece of evidence to suggest that this whole thing had been staged.
Another glass of Glenmorangie, then off to bed. I’m going to get you lot, as God is my witness, you are going down!
Chapter 4: The Tattoo
The following day they were all back in the conference room. The room would now be locked off from all other officers and administrative personnel in the department. They would update the white board regularly with what they knew or, in some cases, just suspected or speculated. This would form the roadmap and audit trail for their work going forward.
“I got a call from Bill Dunwoody at home last night,” announced Tommy. “I have to provide him with an update on where we are at four o’clock today. So let’s get to work.”
“I think that we can say with a fair degree of certainty that this was not a resurgence of the Klan. I don’t think that we are going to see anyone anytime soon walking down 6th Street dressed in white and with pointy hats unless they are off to a fancy dress party,” said Bill.
“Do you agree, Marie?” asked Tommy.
“Yes,” replied Marie.
“Okay, so we are coming from the angle that this was a murder not a lynching. So who was this guy and why was he killed? We need to focus our efforts on establishing his identity. So what do we have?” said Tommy.
“We have DNA from blood and hair and the lab work results are in the file. The medical examiner concluded, of course, that the cause of death was blunt force trauma. There was no evidence of any drugs in his system from the toxicology screening.”
“His assessment is that this guy was in great physical shape before he was killed. He was roughly six feet tall and weighed 180 - 190 pounds. The evidence gathered at the scene, which was mainly fragments of clothing and pieces of flesh, would suggest that he wore high-quality, high-end merchandize. We also have the single size ten Italian shoe, and the initial investigating team has spent hours checking sales outlets trying to find a purchase t
ransaction for the shoes, with no success. That’s all I know at this time,” said Bill.
“Based on the DNA, can we check if he was Mexican or from Central America as the sign found at the scene suggested?” asked Tommy.
Marie jumped in. “I did a course on DNA matching a couple of years back and as I understand it you can’t get that specific with DNA. There are basically two types of DNA: nuclear DNA and mitochondrial DNA. We inherit half of our nuclear DNA from the male parent and half from the female parent. However, we inherit all of our mitochondrial DNA from our mother. The nuclear DNA is what we typically use in law enforcement primarily; however, mitochondrial DNA is helpful in determining what group—not race—we evolved from going back thousands of years. We could get a mitochondrial DNA test done if it has not been done already. That could narrow it down a bit.” concluded Marie.
“Pretty impressive, Marie, you get a gold star!” joked Bill.
~
They checked the file and found that the nuclear DNA test results had been run through the Texas State Combined DNA Index System (CODIS) and also cross-checked with the FBI’s national CODIS database. No match was found for anyone in either system.
A mitochondrial DNA test had been done. It indicated that it belonged to the Type B group. Marie did some online research and found that Type B is more prevalent in North American Central Plains Indians than in Mexicans—not conclusive but likely that the victim was Native American.
“There is also a footnote in the DNA analysis,” said Marie. “They appear to have found evidence of an allele, which is a variant form of gene. It is the 9RA allele that is found in Native American DNA. It is another marker that indicates that the deceased is Native American.”
“Nothing much we can do with this information at this time, but it’s another piece of the puzzle,” said Bill.
“I agree, Dad. I suggest that we concentrate our efforts on the shoe. We must try to find where and when it was purchased, and then we would have something to get our teeth into,” replied Tommy.
“Before we completely focus on that I want to get a few other things up on the board that are gnawing at my gut and just don’t make any sense,” said Bill. “Why did they choose Whispering Hollow as a site for the killing? It’s at the end of a long finger of land that sticks out into Lake Travis with one road in and one road out. They would have to drive through upscale neighborhoods to get there, and it’s not like the general public would be driving past the site, see the burning cross and get the message. So I am going to write up here on the board LOCATION?”
Bill continued on, “Then there is the MESSAGE they are trying to convey. The way they wrote it is strange. They could have just said - Kill all wetbacks! So why use the words Stop Illegal Immigration - Close the borders!
“I don’t think we are dealing with redneck types here, which is what you would expect in a lynching. I think these people are educated and articulate, at least the person who wrote the words on the sign is. This murder was not about killing Mexicans, or even Indians for that matter. This murder was about something else. So I’m going to write up on the board MOTIVE?” concluded Bill.
“Marie, anything you want to add?” asked Tommy.
“What about the type of clothing and the type of shoe?” replied Marie.
“I agree that we should focus our efforts on finding where and when the shoe was bought, but it’s the way this guy was dressed that doesn’t seem to fit. Silk shirt, top-quality wool pants, Italian shoes. What does this tell us?
“One thing is for sure, he wasn’t a wetback, or he had just won the lottery. So not only who was he, but also what was he?
“I want to write up - WHO WAS THE VICTIM? WHAT WAS HE?” that’s it from me.”
“Then there’s the tattoo,” said Tommy. “Dad, your research suggested that it was Special Forces. So I would like to write up on the board - MILITARY? TATTOO? SPECIAL FORCES?
“I need to get to the meeting with the Sheriff. Let’s meet here again first thing tomorrow. Good work today!”
Tommy left for the briefing with Bill Dunwoody.
Chapter 5: Meet the Governor
Tommy knocked on the chief’s office door and immediately Bill Dunwoody bellowed, “Come on in, Tommy!”
Dunwoody was seated behind his huge oak desk that had been a gift from his granddaddy Harold Dunwoody, a well-known local car dealer in Austin. He sat below the Travis County state seal mounted on the wall behind him. Off to his right hung the U.S. flag and to his left the state flag of Texas.
The first chief of police of Travis County was Wayne Barton, who took the office on March 14, 1840.Since then 33 officers have served in the role of police chief to the good people of Travis County. Bill Dunwoody was well aware of the great history of the office and served in the role with great pride. Tommy held Bill Dunwoody in the highest regard and aspired to be sitting in his chair one day.
“Take a seat, Tommy, I’d like to introduce you to a couple of folks you might recognize,” said the chief with a little grin on his face.
Tommy’s legs almost went out from under him before he could reach the chair. Standing off to the side by the conference table was Raymond Shaw, the governor of Texas, and Gavin McMullen, the governor elect.
“Very pleased to meet you, sir,” said Tommy with a quiver in his voice as he extended his hand to Governor Shaw.
“Good to meet you, son” said the governor with typical Texas informality. “Let me introduce Gavin McMullen. I asked Gavin to tag along today as he will be taking the reins from me soon.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. McMullen”
“Good to meet you, Tommy, and please call me Gavin!”
~
Raymond Shaw had been the governor of Texas for 14 years and was stepping down to make a run at the U.S. presidency. Gavin McMullen was a Republican and the state attorney general and had recently won election, defeating Shirley Walters, the Democratic challenger. Gavin’s father, Garrison McMullen, was a huge real estate developer and owner of one of the largest ranches in Texas. He was an Austin icon. Not only did he own large tracks of land in the state, he also owned the Travis Tower, the tallest building in Austin, and the entire top floor was his residence. He was listed in the Forbes 400 at number 105. He was one of the richest people in the U.S.
Tommy had only seen Gavin McMullen on TV and thought him to be very charismatic; in person he was even more so. Gavin’s mother had died when he was young and it was obvious that he had inherited her Spanish good looks. This had helped him win the governor’s race by carrying the majority of the vote of the growing Hispanic population. He was seen by many as an example of the new breed of Republican politicians: articulate and well versed in the issues facing a more culturally diverse Texas.
“So Tommy, what update do you have for us today?” said Bill Dunwoody.
“We have only begun to scratch the surface of this,” said Tommy. “We’ve had the file for a couple of days and we’ve drawn some very preliminary conclusions that have given us a way forward for further detailed work. We believe that the evidence doesn’t support the assumption that this was some type of lynching or hate crime.”
When Tommy said these words, there appeared to be a collective exhale from the others around the table.
“Well, that’s good news,” said Governor Shaw.
“Carry on please, Tommy,” said the chief.
"Our preliminary thoughts are that the killing was staged to look like a lynching. If this proves to be the case, then why did they stage it in this way out at Whispering Hollow miles from anywhere? The original investigating team did a good job collecting the evidence at the scene. There was a single shoe found wedged under a rock. It’s a very expensive sports shoe and we will focus our initial work in trying to track down where and when it was bought and hopefully who bought it. There are other pieces of evidence that we will research and there is also the DNA. That’s about it for now.”
“Good work, Tommy, and pass my c
omments on to the team, please,” said the chief.
“I echo that,” said the governor.
“Yes, good work, Tommy,” said Gavin McMullen.
“What’s your plan of attack from here?” asked the chief.
“As I said, we will focus on the shoe. It’s the one solid piece of evidence we have to help identify the victim. We know the original investigating team has spent hours on this with no success, but we must give it another go. We will also get back out to Whispering Hollow and re-interview the residents of the community there.
“Why did the killers choose that location? We need to find an answer,” concluded Tommy.
“Great report, and as we have all said, good work, and keep the pressure on with your team. I will expect another update next week at the same time, but, of course, if there are any significant breakthroughs before then, please keep me informed,” said Bill Dunwoody.
Chapter 6: Belhaven beer
While Tommy was off hobnobbing with the sheriff and the governor, Bill and Marie continued to update the white board in the conference room.
“Would you like to have a beer before you head home, Marie?” asked Bill.
“Okay, if it’s just a quick one, I promised Shelly that I would be home before eight tonight. She’s getting a bit annoyed with the long hours of late.”
Shelly was Marie’s long-time partner and worked as a paralegal in one of the largest law firms in Austin. It was their dream to marry and they hoped that Texas would change the gay rights statute someday that would allow them to do that.
~
“This place just opened about three months ago,” said Bill as they walked in to the Bull’s Head Tavern just off FM 183 and Mopac.
Mopac is a main artery of the Austin road system running north/south. The road was built parallel to the Missouri Pacific railroad track connecting Austin with Dallas; hence the name Mopac.
“Have you ever had British beer, Marie?”
