Skeleton Picnic

by Michael Norman

  “We need to find the Bucks,” said Tanner.

  “I was about to suggest the same thing,” the sheriff said.

  “Easier said than done,” replied Books. “Apparently the old man is homeless and lives off the land by poaching, among other things.”

  “Great,” huffed Sutter, “just what we need. Another outdoor survivalist who hates the government and is running around thinking he’s Kit Carson.”

  “I wouldn’t underestimate him or his son,” said Books. “Their military training alone makes them extremely dangerous, in my opinion.”

  “Are you planning to get warrants for them?” asked Sutter.

  “I think so, but I’m holding off for a few hours until Maldonado gets here.”

  “Didn’t know he was coming,” said Sutter, surprised. “What’s that about?”

  Books explained the decision by BLM brass to place Maldonado in charge of the investigation.

  Sutter started to say something when Books’ cell chirped. He glanced down hoping to see Becky Eddins’ caller ID. Instead, he recognized the number of probation officer Roslyn Jones.

  “Good morning, Agent Jones. Have you found our mutual friend?”

  “No, and I’m concerned about it. After we talked last night, I called the Buck residence in Blanding several times. Nobody ever answered. This morning I got up early and drove to Blanding. After pounding on the front door for ten minutes, I managed to roust Jason Buck.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Jason is James’ younger brother. He claimed he hadn’t seen his brother for a couple of days and didn’t know where he was or what he was up to.”

  “You think he was telling you the truth?”

  “Hard to say, but I doubt it. I thought he sounded evasive. I pushed him pretty hard but he stuck to his story.”

  “What happens now?”

  “Unless you can give me some reason to seek a warrant, I’m not sure there’s much I can do. If he doesn’t show up for his scheduled appointment next week, I can get a warrant for a technical violation of his probation.”

  “Maybe we can save you the trouble. I think there’s a better than fifty-fifty chance we’ll file state charges against both James and his father, Earl. Their prints were found all over the stolen Ford Explorer used in the hit-and-run on Joe Benally.”

  “Keep me in the loop,” said Jones, “and I’ll let you know if he turns up here.”

  They disconnected.

  “Wait a minute,” muttered Books to himself.

  “What….” said Tanner.

  Books held up a hand as he redialed Jones’ cell.

  “That was fast,” said Jones.

  “Got a question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You mentioned this Jason Buck. How old did you say he was?”

  “I didn’t, and I’m not sure. I’d guess eighteen or nineteen. Why do you ask?”

  Books ignored her question. “Does he have a criminal history?”

  “Hmm, if memory serves me correctly, I think he had several referrals to juvenile court—couldn’t tell you what for unless I look it up.”

  “Would you do that for me?”

  “Sure. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

  “What was that about?” asked Sutter, after Books disconnected.

  Books filled him in on the work he’d been doing with the Four Corners Task Force and probation agent Roslyn Jones.

  Sutter listened carefully and without interruption. When Books finished, he said, “You’re really convinced that the disappearance of Rolly and Abby is part of some larger criminal enterprise?”

  “Convinced might be too strong a word. Let’s just say that I’m curious and I wouldn’t rule it out, at least not yet.”

  Sutter shrugged. “Sure hope you’re wrong.”

  “Me too, Charley, me too.”

  The conversation lapsed as Tanner and Books went to work on their breakfast. Sutter pushed his coffee aside and slid out of the booth. “Gotta go, children. Thanks for the coffee.”

  Between mouthfuls, Books said, “He does that every chance he gets, the cheapskate.”

  “Lucky for you it was just coffee. He’s gotten me for lunch,” said Tanner. “By the way, are you buying?”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Books didn’t wait for the criminal history information from Agent Jones on Jason Buck. He had a hunch and decided to chase it. After breakfast, he drove to the Kanab Hospital, hoping Benally’s mother, Ruby Grant, was with her son. In the parking lot, he spotted Becky Eddins SUV. That was a good sign. Maybe now he would be able to interrogate Joe Benally, assuming the kid accepted the plea deal offered by the DA’s office. He suspected DA Virgil Bell was growing short on patience. Nothing prevented him from yanking the plea agreement off the table and Books hoped Eddins was feeling the heat.

  He found Ruby Grant in the hospital’s waiting room reading a magazine and drinking a can of diet coke. Books wouldn’t describe her greeting as exactly friendly, but at least it was devoid of the anger and hostility she’d greeted him with the past couple of days.

  “How’s Joey doing this morning, Mrs. Grant?”

  “Better, I think. They kept him in intensive care for several hours after the surgery, but moved him to a regular room around eight last night. He’s in some pain, but they tell me, that’s to be expected.”

  “Glad to hear he’s getting better. I noticed Becky’s SUV in the lot when I pulled in. Is she with him now?”

  “Yes. She asked to speak to him alone. He’s so drowsy from all the medicines they’ve been giving him. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he doesn’t fall asleep on her.”

  “Mrs. Grant, are you familiar with a young man who might be a friend of your son by the name of Jason Buck?”

  Grant hesitated. “Why do you ask?”

  “Jason is about the same age as your son, and I just thought….”

  “A lot of young men are about my son’s age, so what are you trying to say, Ranger Books?”

  Now it was Books’ turn to hesitate. “It’s possible, Mrs. Grant, that some members of the Buck family, not necessarily Jason, might have been involved in the attempt on your son’s life. Your cooperation might bring me closer to catching the people responsible. And you do want that, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  There was a long pause and Books wondered whether Grant was going to answer him. Finally, she said, “Jason has been to our home several times.”

  “How long have they known each other?”

  “I’m not sure, several months, I think. Ruthie would probably know.”

  The Ruthie she was talking about was Ruthie Todd, Benally’s girlfriend. Books thanked her and hurried out to the Tahoe. He fumbled through the case file until he located the phone number. Ruthie Todd lived in Escalante with her parents. He called and she answered.

  “Ruthie, this is J.D. Books. I’m the BLM ranger handling the investigation involving your boyfriend, Joe Benally.”

  “So.”

  “I’m at the hospital and I just spoke with Joey’s mother. Joey’s showing improvement today by the way.”

  Silence.

  “Ruby told me that Joey’s become friends in recent months with a kid named Jason Buck. Is that true?”

  “Why should I answer your questions? You’re the cop who busted Joey.”

  She had a point.

  “Wouldn’t you be interested in finding out who almost killed him?”

  Silence.

  “Look, I have reason to believe that some members of the Buck family may have been involved in the assault on Joey.”

  “Jason wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with anything like that.”

  “I didn’t say he did.�
��

  “So what exactly do you want to know?”

  “When was the last time you saw Joey?”

  “Last night at the hospital.”

  “Before that.”

  “Wednesday, last Wednesday.”

  “You’re sure of the day?”

  “Just a minute. Mom, what day did you take me to Grandma Brewster’s house, Tuesday or Wednesday?”

  Books heard a muffled female voice in the background shout, “Wednesday, why?”

  “Never mind. Yeah, it was Wednesday. I spent two nights at my grandmother’s house outside Kanab.”

  “So you stayed with your grandmother Wednesday and Thursday nights. Is that correct?’

  “Yes.”

  “Was Jason hanging out with you and Joey?”

  “Some of the time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like, Jason wasn’t with us every minute, but we hung out together some.”

  “What about Friday? Did you hang out together on Friday?”

  “Naw, I had to go home and Joey said he had stuff to do.”

  “What stuff? Did he say?”

  “He just said he had business to take care of or words to that effect.”

  “Was Jason planning to stick around over the weekend with him?”

  “I think so. I asked Joey to come see me in Escalante on Saturday, but he said he was too busy. We got into a fight about it. I told him that if he’d rather spend time hanging out with his buddies instead of me, we should just break up.”

  “And what did Joey say?”

  “He got mad—told me to fuck off.”

  “So you don’t know what he and Jason had planned for the weekend. Is that right?”

  “Uh huh. The next thing I heard he was in the hospital.”

  “How did you find out about that?”

  “Ruby called and told me.”

  “Have you heard anything from Jason in the last day or so?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you know how to reach him—cell phone number or something?”

  “He’s got a cell. I saw it, but I don’t have the number.”

  Books thanked her and disconnected.

  While he was talking with Ruthie Todd, a call had come in on his cell. The caller was Roslyn Jones. Books listened to the message.

  “Hey, J.D. I checked the juvenile court database and found that Jason Buck has prior arrests for retail theft, vandalism, burglary of a vehicle, and possession of a controlled substance. These offenses were all misdemeanors. He was on probation for almost two years. It looks like he paid some fines, victim restitution, and worked about two hundred hours of community service. When he turned eighteen, the juvenile court terminated his probation. He’s had no arrests since becoming an adult. Call me if you have any questions. Oh, and by the way, he just turned nineteen. His date of birth is 7-4-92.”

  ***

  Books’ hunch that Jason Buck might somehow be involved, either unwittingly, or by design, seemed to be gaining traction. It was possible that he participated in the burglary of the Rogers home. The timing was right. He may also have written the note to Benally telling him to go to the city park when he left the jail.

  Could Jason have been the driver of the Explorer that struck Benally? Possible, but highly unlikely, thought Books. The boys appeared to be friends, and there was nothing in Jason’s history to suggest he might be violent.

  If the authorities had a set of Jason’s fingerprints, they could be compared to the as yet unidentified third set of prints left on the note and on the unidentified latents Tanner had pulled from the home of Rolly and Abby Rogers. Unfortunately, like most states, Utah law prohibited the police from taking the fingerprints of arrested juveniles. Hence, there were no fingerprints on record for Jason Buck.

  For the first time, Books felt a note of optimism in what had otherwise been a frustrating case.

  Chapter Thirty

  When Books returned to the hospital waiting room, he found Becky Eddins seated on a couch next to Ruby Grant. She looked tired and drawn, he thought. The women were deep in conversation. He stood off to one side and waited until they finished. When they were done, Grant grabbed her purse, got up, gave Books a curt nod, and left the hospital. Becky motioned him over to the couch.

  “Mrs. Grant headed home? She looks exhausted.”

  “Nope. She won’t leave his side—been here round the clock since Joey was admitted. She just ran to the pharmacy to fill a couple of prescriptions.”

  “Have you spoken with him this morning?”

  “I have, and so did Ruby.”

  “And how did it go?”

  “Not the way I expected.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean my client has refused to accept the plea offer.”

  “I think that’s incredible considering what’s happened to him.” Books shook his head in disbelief.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “You think his decision is final?”

  “For his sake, I hope not. Ruby was pretty hard on him and so was I. He was crying when I left the room. I think he’s confused and really afraid. He’s never been in this kind of trouble before. When I explained the possible prison sentence he faces if we go to trial and lose, his eyes became the size of silver dollars.”

  “So you’ll continue to try to get him to reconsider?”

  “Absolutely. I think accepting the offer is clearly in his best interest.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  She glanced at her watch. “And the clock’s running.”

  Books gave her a puzzled look. “I don’t understand.”

  “Virgil Bell called me at home last night. He told me I had until noon today for Joey to accept the offer. After twelve, the offer comes off the table.”

  Eddins had to walk a fine line in her representation of Benally. If she put too much pressure on him to accept the plea bargain, it might come back to bite her later on. In his Denver P.D. days, Books had seen more than one defendant march into court demanding a change of plea, or in some instances, a retrial based on what the offender claimed was coercion on the part of his lawyer to force him into accepting a plea agreement.

  “Listen,” said Books. “I want to apologize for how I acted yesterday. I’ve thought about it and come to the conclusion that I was being unreasonable. You were right. You’ve got your job to do and I’ve got mine. We’re going to have to be patient with each other so we get through this with our relationship intact.”

  She leaned into him, kissing him lightly on the lips. “Thanks for saying that. It means a lot to me.”

  He walked her down the hall toward Benally’s room. They parted with the understanding that Books would remain nearby, and that Eddins would call if Benally had a change of heart. As he turned to leave, Books heard the phone ring inside the room. The uniformed officer sitting outside the door was reading a newspaper and didn’t react. Books was concerned because calls from outside were not allowed. Books reached the phone before Benally did. He handed it to Benally, but listened in.

  “Hello”

  “Joey, it’s me….”

  It sounded like Mrs. Grant, but Books wasn’t sure. Abruptly, a male voice came on the line.

  “If you ever want to see your mother alive again, you’ll keep your fucking mouth shut,” said the caller. “Do you understand?”

  Books nodded at Benally, encouraging him to acknowledge the threat.

  “Yeah, I understand. Let me talk to my…”

  The line went dead, catching Benally in midsentence.

  Books was already out of the room running to the Tahoe. As he drove out of the hospital parking lot, a disturbing thought occurred to him. What if this incident was
a ruse designed to distract the police from their primary responsibility of protecting Benally? He radioed dispatch and requested that additional officers be sent to the hospital to increase security around the man.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Books realized almost immediately that they’d gotten lucky. A witness had dialed 911and reported seeing two men force a struggling female into a van in the Kanab’s drug store parking lot. The caller didn’t see the license plate number but described the vehicle as an old, beige Volkswagen bus.

  Books made a decision, a decision based solely on a hunch. The kidnappers could try to lie low somewhere in town until things quieted down, but he doubted they would. Instead, he figured they’d make a run for the place they felt safest, the desert wilderness of the Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument. If they could make the Monument, there were innumerable places to hide.

  With his emergency lights and siren engaged, Books sped through Kanab and turned south toward Page on U.S. Highway 89. On the outskirts of town, he shut the siren off but left the emergency lights flashing. The Tahoe raced through open, rolling terrain with sage and stands of piñon and juniper passing in a blur.

  Police radio traffic in Kanab had turned up nothing so far, Books noted. He radioed the dispatch center and informed the on-duty dispatcher where he was and what he was doing. He was told by the dispatcher that a Utah Highway Patrol trooper and a Kane County Sheriff’s deputy were headed toward him on 89 from somewhere near the town of Big Water.

  His hopes were dashed each time the Tahoe crested a hill and nothing but empty highway stretched out in the distance. If he’d guessed correctly, the kidnappers would make a dash for the Johnson Canyon Road exit. That road was about ten miles out of town and served as the gateway into a maze of Monument trails, byways, and slot canyons.

  As Books approached a quarter-mile from the road, he eased off the gas. A sense of disappointment filled his gut. Either his hunch had been wrong or he had been too slow reaching the turnoff.

  Disappointment turned to hope and adrenalin pumping energy when he glanced up the road and observed what looked like the rear of a van in the distance. Books made the turn and punched the Tahoe’s accelerator. The road, he knew, was paved for about two miles and then became a washboard dirt affair that would worsen the deeper he drove into the Monument. An even greater worry was that after the road changed from asphalt to dirt it went another two miles before abruptly splitting. One fork, the Glendale Bench Road, headed west while the Skutumpah Road traversed the Monument in a northeasterly direction. If he didn’t have the vehicle in sight before it made the fork, he’d have no way of knowing which direction it went.