by Terry Shames
“I knew them to look at, that’s all. Anna Kolajecko told me that girl up and left him. I said serves him right for marrying out of his race. It’s not right them that go outside their own people. Causes everybody trouble. I would have put my foot down if one of my sons had brought home something like that.”
This is a heavy trail for me to ride. “Did Mrs. Kolajecko ever mention the couple fighting?”
She sucks her lower lip into her mouth. “Can’t say that she did.”
“Do you remember if there was a big fuss over the wife leaving?”
“Why would he make a fuss? You ask me, she came to her senses before he did. I wouldn’t have known she was gone if Anna hadn’t told me.”
“Anybody ever figure out the reason for the house burning down?”
“Faulty wiring is what I heard. That’s no surprise—these houses is old. After it burned, my son came in and checked on my wiring and he said it was fine.”
“Anybody die in the fire?”
“No, Anna was gone at the time. I think she lost her cat in the fire, though.”
I thank her for her time and head back to the lot where the house stood. It’s a deep lot. At the back it borders on a fence that’s sagging badly. I walk to the fence and look around, considering the possibilities.
I used to work as a landman for an oil company and got to be familiar with the ways of terrain. I know what I’m looking for. I stand at the back and let my eyes scan the weeds that have grown up kneehigh. Besides the concrete slab that the house sat on, there are weathered boards lying in a pile and a lot of random trash—torn newspapers, paper cups, and soda and beer cans. I don’t see what I’m looking for, so I walk up to the slab and scan the area from there to the back fence.
From that vantage point, it’s easy to spot exactly what I suspected I might find. If anybody had taken more interest in Estelle Cruz being gone, they would have looked to see if she was buried in the backyard, and they would have found her. Or at least I suspect it’s her body buried back near the fence. The size of the plot is about right. What people don’t know is that if someone is buried in bare ground without a coffin, the grass will never grow properly where the body was buried. It’s like the land insists on displaying the evidence that a physical being has been abandoned there.
With the house burning down shortly after Estelle supposedly left, and Eddie moving out, it makes sense that attention never came in this direction. I could be jumping to conclusions. It could be that someone buried a big dog or some other animal back here, but one thing’s for certain—there’s a body of some kind here.
It’s late afternoon, and I’ll leave until tomorrow the task of persuading the sheriff that a forensics team needs to start digging.
CHAPTER 33
It will soon be summer, and we’ve seen the last of the early morning cool air. My cows are listless this morning, as if they know they’re in for a long, hot spell and they are gathering their strength for it. In the pasture next door, I hear one of the horses whinny, and I go to the gate to see what’s up. Mahogany is galloping around the pasture with Blackie watching. When they spot me, they both trot over to me, sticking their noses over the fence for me to pat. I don’t know that I’ll ever love horses, but since the incident with the snake, I’ve come to have more respect for them.
Back at the house, Loretta is waiting for me, sitting on the front porch in one of the two rocking chairs. I can tell by her face that the news isn’t good.
“Rodell?”
She nods. “Passed away early this morning without regaining consciousness.”
I sit down in the other rocker and lean over with my arms on my knees. “Well . . .” There’s a lot to say and nothing to say, and I’m caught between them.
“I’ll get us some coffee,” she says and goes into my house, easing the screen door closed behind her. When she comes back, she’s got mugs of coffee with her. “I left sweet rolls on the counter. I didn’t figure you’d want anything to eat right now.”
“We all knew this was coming,” I say.
“Still, you’re never really prepared,” she says.
We sit and rock for a few minutes without talking. Soon Loretta gets up and puts her hand on my shoulder. “I better get on. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
After she leaves, I get up, feeling a little older than I did before I heard the news. Rodell was several years younger than me, but I’ve known him most of my life. Didn’t like him much until recently. But still.
At work I spend a while returning phone calls. Mostly I talk to people about Rodell. Like me, everybody seems more shaken up than they ought to be. That’s the trouble with a town fixture: it seems permanent, for good or bad.
But there’s also a call from Wallace Lyndall telling me that on the advice of Jett they found out where to look for Scott Borland. “We picked him up about an hour ago. Figured you might want to have a word with him at some point. No hurry. He’s not going anywhere.”
“You sound amused. What’s going on?”
He chuckles. “I know it’s crazy, but I kind of like Borland. He’s creative. Most criminals are too stupid to think up interesting stories, but Borland always comes up with some doozies. Wait until you hear what he has to say about the meth lab that blew up.”
“Did anybody press him on whether he had anything to do with Jenny Sandstone’s automobile accident?”
“I forgot about that. We’ve got evidence that will get his parole revoked and tack on plenty of time besides, so I didn’t think it was urgent. You can ask him when you talk to him.”
“I was going to call you this morning anyway. I’ve got another matter I need to bring up with you.”
We agree to meet at the jail to talk to Scott Borland in an hour. After we get done with that, I’ll present Lyndall with my evidence that Estelle Cruz Sandstone may be buried in the backyard of the house she lived in when she disappeared.
Scott Borland comes into the little interrogation room where Wallace Lyndall and I are waiting. He’s looking pleased with himself. He’s got bandages on both hands and some burn marks on his face and neck from the fire at the meth lab. Because of the bandages on his hands, he’s got leg chains on instead of handcuffs. He’s also got a restraint on his upper arms chained loosely behind so that his reach is limited.
“I can’t seem to get any rest around here,” Borland says as he flops into his chair. “Everybody is so damn chatty.”
“There’s an easy way to fix that,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“Tell us what we want to know without fooling around. Then you can get all the rest you need.”
“If I’m going to have to talk to you, can I get a coke?”
Lyndall grumbles, but he gets up and goes to the door and asks the deputy in the hallway if he’ll get his majesty a coke.
“Maybe you can answer a few questions while we’re waiting,” I say.
“I don’t know if there’s anything I can tell that would be of interest to you,” Borland says.
“Why don’t you tell the story of what you were doing in that meth lab?” Lyndall says. “That’s kind of an entertaining story.”
“You might be entertained,” Borland says, looking pained, “but I’m the one who got hurt snooping around.” He holds up his bandaged hands.
Borland’s tale is that he and Jett were innocently walking around in the back of the vacant lot behind Borland’s place, and they happened to notice smoke coming from a little shed way back there and thought they’d better investigate. Who was to guess that some unknown person had sneaked in there and set up some kind of laboratory?
“I know now,” Borland says, “that I should have run out of there and called the police right away. But how was I to know somebody was out there doing something illegal?”
Lyndall laughs and slaps his leg. “That story gets better every time I hear it.”
Borland gets a puppy-eyed look. “I don’t know why you think I’m not telling the
truth. I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
“We’ll see.”
The deputy sticks his head in and has brought not only a Dr. Pepper, but some chips as well.
Borland says, “I didn’t want Dr. Pepper. That’s a girl’s drink. I wanted a Coca-Cola.”
“Cool it,” Lyndall says, an edge to his voice. “Take it or leave, but that’s all you’re getting.”
“If you don’t mind,” I say, “I’d like to get you back in your cell for your beauty rest as fast as we can. So how about if you answer my questions.”
“If I can, I certainly will.”
“How did you know where Jenny Sandstone lives?”
The question startles him. He was most likely expecting to dance around the subject of the meth lab some more. “What makes you think I know where she lives?”
“Because I saw you sitting outside her house in your car.”
“Oh, yeah, you said that before. What car are you thinking of ?”
“A white Chevy. Looks like the same car that was parked in your front yard the first time I went there.”
“Somebody must have borrowed it without me knowing it,” he says.
“I see. Well I’d like to revisit some questions I asked you before to see if I can get a different set of answers. Did you cut the lock on Jenny Sandstone’s gate and let her horses out?”
“I most certainly did not.”
I’ve promised not to bring the two boys Jett paid to dope the horses into it unless I have to. But if it’s necessary, their testimony will be bad for Jett Borland and will likely lead to Scott Borland. The vet who had the pills tested said they were pyrimethamine, and that a big dose could give a horse convulsions and even kill it. But for now, I’ll keep the boys out of it.
“Did you or your son pay anybody to let the horses out onto the street?”
“Why would we pay good money for something like that?”
“I can’t answer that. Did you?”
“Anybody says we did is lying.”
I’ll take that as a verification of the boys’ story. “How about putting a timber rattler into the horse’s stall? You ready to own up to that?”
“I didn’t do that,” he says, grinning, “But I sure wish I’d thought of it. Sounds like a fine idea. And even if I did do it, you’d never find out where I got that snake.”
“Well, one thing is for damn sure. We know you had something to do with attacking Truly Bennett with a pipe.”
Borland licks his lips. “I don’t know any Truly Bennett.”
“Black man. Keeping an eye on Jenny’s horses. There’s no way out of this one. Your fingerprints are there.”
“Somebody set me up. They got a pipe from my property that I’d been handling and took and put it there.”
Lyndall says, “Borland, everybody knows you hate anybody who isn’t lily white. You’re just the person to have done this.”
“How was I to know there was a nigger there?”
“So you admit you were there?”
“I don’t admit nothing. What I was saying is like a hypothetical.” He smirks. “Either of you got a smoke? I could use a cigarette.”
I gesture toward his hands. “Looks to me like you’ve had enough to do with fire lately.”
“Is that all? ‘Cause I’m ready to be done talking to you.”
“No, there’s one more thing I need go over with you again. You said you didn’t have anything to do with Jenny Sandstone’s car being rammed and run off the road. You sticking by that story?”
“You’re damn right I am. I’m not taking a rap for something I flat did not do. I’m not saying I don’t rejoice in it, and I think whoever did it is a hero, but it wasn’t me. I might mess around with a person’s belongings, but I’m not about to do anything that might get me an assault charge.”
“Except for Billy Hinton,” Lyndall says, referring to some case I know nothing about.
“That was different.” Borland frowns and glares at me again. “You’ve got to believe me on this. I didn’t have nothing to do with Jenny Sandstone’s car. And neither did my son.”
I think I believe him, so Lyndall and I decide that’s all we need for now. I tell Lyndall I have something else I need to talk to him about. We go out for a sandwich and while we eat I lay out for him the history of Eddie Sandstone’s two disappearances—first his daddy and then his first wife. And what led me to suspect that we’ll find her body buried in the backyard of the house they lived in.
“I have to go along with you,” he says. “You have one person disappear on you, it’s a shame. But a second person, you start to think maybe somebody’s getting a little careless.”
“Problem is, all this happened a long time ago. I’m worried that the sheriff won’t take this seriously. What do you think? We need to get a forensic team out to dig up the body. If the sheriff isn’t on board, that could be a problem.”
“Let me talk to Sheriff Hedges. He knows I’m usually not one to be impulsive.”
I started out not caring for Lyndall much, but it turns out that it’s his way to be cautious in the beginning. When we get to his office, he goes down the hall to talk to the sheriff and comes back with him.
The sheriff, Mike Hedges, is thin guy with a military haircut, mostly gray. He wears horn-rimmed glasses that make him look studious. I’ve met him a few times but don’t know him well.
“Wally tells me you think you’ve got an idea where a body is buried. Things must be pretty quiet around Jarrett Creek for you to be looking for bodies in Bobtail.”
“I didn’t go looking for trouble. One thing led to another.”
He laughs. “That’s what we get in our business. Tell me how this came about.” He pulls a chair up, sits down, and crosses his legs with one ankle propped on the other knee.
I tell him what led me to think I’ve found where Eddie Sandstone’s first wife, Estelle, might be buried, including my interest in Howard Sandstone’s disappearance.
When I wind up, he nods a few times. “One thing at a time. We’re not going to jump to any conclusions here, but it sure would be interesting to see what’s buried on that vacant lot.”
“Might be somebody’s German shepherd,” I say.
“You don’t think that any more than I do,” he says, getting to his feet. “I’ll call over to San Marcos and see if we can’t get a forensic team here pronto.” He disappears back to his office. I go get coffee for Lyndall and me while we wait. Hedges is back in fifteen minutes.
“They’re going to have somebody over here later this afternoon. You know how they are.”
We laugh. Any other law operation may have taken a while to send someone out, but the people who do anthropology forensics always seem excited by poking around in places where they might find old bodies. They drop everything for a good dig.
The first forensic man to arrive does a few bore tests in the soil and confirms there is biological matter somewhere down below. He says he’ll have a team out tomorrow morning to start digging. He’s like a hound dog on a scent, poised to go in for the retrieval. Sheriff Hedges and the forensic man discuss whether to set up crime scene tape overnight. Finally they decide they don’t even know yet if there is a body or a crime here, and either way after all these years one more night without marking the spot won’t matter.
I’m dog-tired when I get home and don’t want to have anything to do with anybody. I don’t have the heart to go to Jenny’s tonight. If I did, I’d have to tell her that we might have found her sister-in-law’s body, and I don’t know how she’ll react. I have to wait until I’m not so low about things before I break it to her. And by then there might be more to tell.
CHAPTER 34
I wake up the next morning with a question on my mind. Even if the body on the vacant lot is Estelle’s, how is anybody going to prove who killed her? I remind myself that first things have to come first.
I spend a short time in the pasture and then I dress quickly, in my short-sleeved uniform and k
haki pants. It’s going to be hot today.
When I get to the dig site where the forensics team has set up, I have to park down the street and wade through gawkers. A team of three men is already at work. Yesterday the forensic man told me their procedure. It’s tedious when they’re considering historical remains. They have to document everything found in the vicinity of the body. He said you never know what might show up that will be used for criminal prosecution if it gets that far. And the longer the body has been there, the more tedious the work.
There’s a tent set up over the suspicious area, but digging has not yet begun. First they photograph the area and gather all the artifacts. I know it will take hours before anything concrete emerges, but I’ve come to feel that I have some responsibility for Estelle Cruz, so I settle in to wait.
At noon they’ve just gotten around to digging when Lyndall comes by and takes me to get a sandwich. We kick around the situation with Scott Borland. It has been confirmed that the shed behind the property was being used to manufacture methamphetamine. Jett Borland was released from the hospital and immediately taken into custody, although the charges against him aren’t as clear.
I’m relieved to get back to the dig site. I don’t feel like I should be anywhere else right now. In the midafternoon they find the first bones. Human bones. Now the work proceeds more slowly, as they have to sift all the surrounding soil for anything that might give some answers as to what happened here. Within a couple of hours, though, they know that we are dealing with a young woman who was wearing a light dress when she was put in the ground. The fabric is almost rotted away, but there’s enough of it to get the general idea. The flesh is gone, and all that remains are bones, still arranged more or less like a skeleton, and snatches of brown hair.
One of the diggers brings me over to show me the most important part of the find. “You see the skull?” He points to the back of it. “Somebody hit her hard enough to crack it.”
The easy part has been done. Now the remains and surroundings have to be taken to a forensic lab for identification. At least I’m able to supply a possible ID, which makes their job easier.
