A couple of minutes later, she watched a man emerge from the house with a confused expression, carrying a bowl of dog food. Shortly there- after, he disappeared, then re-emerged heading directly for his parked truck. He fought off the dog’s attempts to join him in the cab, and the
subsequent attempts of the dog to stand directly in the path of the truck, and then drove in her direction.
The truck’s progress was slowed by the dog, which intermittently stopped in the middle of the road to continue jumping and barking at the gate and, in turn, the truck. She looked again at her dash-mounted monitor and saw that she’d soon be speaking with a David Reynolds. Reynolds requested help regarding a poacher, and had previously had issues with break-ins on the property. The dispatcher’s notes indicated that he was a weekender. “Great,” Deputy Evans thought, “another person with too much money and not enough sense.”
Reynolds opened the gate and swung it back to secure it on his side of the fence. The dog filled the view from Evans’ driver’s-side window every few seconds as it hopped up and down in frenetic attempts to get a glimpse of her. Dave waved her through the gate and got back into his truck. The road was too narrow for him to turn around and he didn’t want to risk sticking his truck in the field so he reversed his way back to the house while she followed. The dog ran between the vehicles, but still stopped occasionally to turn and bark along the way. She smiled a little as she braked to avoid running him over. There definitely wouldn’t be any intruders if this dog were out here full-time, although he appeared to be more of a licker than a biter.
As Dave backed up in front of the house, he silently cursed Sampson, who had once again stopped directly in front of the deputy’s car. The deputy again braked to avoid hitting him. After a few more seconds of determined barking, Sampson turned and ran the rest of the way back to Dave’s truck.
Dave turned off his engine and opened his door slightly. His phone again pinged and he slapped at his pocket, trying to figure out what was making him crazier—the decapitated deer, his failed marriage, his clients, his headache or his dog, who was once again trying to jump into his truck.
He used his leg to bar Sampson’s entry, and by the time he got out the deputy was out of her cruiser standing beside it. Sampson immediately switched gears and charged the deputy. Dave screamed at him to stop as the deputy tensed and switched to a defensive stance, automatically placing her hand on the grip of her pistol. Dave had flashbacks of a reality cop show he’d seen where the officers had shot a family’s overly active dog in front of them. Any move he made would likely only make the deputy even more nervous, so he froze in place and silently willed the dog to stop.
Sampson defused the tension by bolting right past the deputy and jump- ing into her car. Dave, relieved, shook his head as he walked over to the deputy.
Deputy Evans fought back laughter as she looked at the ridiculous dog now occupying the driver’s seat of her cruiser. Some of the humor im- mediately faded as she noticed the slobber being applied to her steering wheel and the neighboring monitor.
Reynolds walked up and extended his hand. “Deputy, I’m Dave Reynolds. I’m sorry about my dog. I’ll get him out of there.”
Deputy Evans nodded and extended her hand, “Nice to meet you Mr. Reynolds, I’m Deputy Evans.”
They shook hands briefly, Dave noting her long, slender fingers, before Sampson disappeared from view. Moments later, Sampson reemerged in the driver’s seat with the majority of the Whataburger bag in his mouth.
Dave’s stomach sank as he watched Sampson open his jaws to their fullest and swallow the fast food bag whole in three or four gulps. Momentarily sated, Sampson stared again at both of them through the windshield with what appeared to be a smile on his face.
“I am so sorry, deputy. I’ll pay for whatever he ate.” Dave hurriedly walked around the deputy and reached into the cruiser to grab the now- happy Sampson by the collar and pull him out. He force-marched Samp- son back to the house and squeezed him into the large kennel that sat just inside the front door.
Dave noted that the bowl of dog food, which he’d just set down on the porch a couple of minutes before, was now a crawling mass of ants. It was impossible to set any kind of food down outside the house without triggering a swarm of fire ants. Gingerly taking the bowl by the rim, he flung the contents into the grass. Sampson had already had more than enough food this morning.
Deputy Evans took all of this in while she stood stoically by the open door of her cruiser. She took out her notepad and waited for Reynolds as he returned, smacking his hands together to remove the remnants of the dog food and ants.
“I’m so sorry. How much do I owe you for the food?” “It’s actually fine. He did me a favor.”
Dave gave her a questioning look which she declined to acknowledge. He then decided, in the interest of time and to avoid giving the oppor- tunity for anyone involved to change their mind, to press on. Unfor- tunately, per usual, he’d already forgotten her name so he stared at the name badge pinned to her deputy’s uniform.
“Deputy…Evans…would you like to come in?”
Deputy Evans fought the automatic urge to become flustered at his ob- vious stare focused on her chest. That’s where her name badge was. It wasn’t his fault, but she felt uncomfortable nonetheless.
“Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. The dog is secure?”
“Yes ma’am, he’s in his kennel. I’ve got to leave for work soon, so please do come in and I’ll show you what I found on the game camera.”
He led Deputy Evans into the house and immediately saw that in his rush he’d forgotten all about the loaded shotgun sitting on the couch. His first instinct was to hurry over to the gun and put it away. His second, probably more astute observation was that handling a loaded weapon within ten feet of the police was likely to be perceived as an aggressive act. He stepped to the side as she entered and let her reach her own conclusion.
Her eyes immediately went to the gun, then to Dave, who held up his hands sheepishly and offered, “I got spooked.”
Sampson added to the mix by shaking and groaning from inside his large kennel, no doubt in some amount of discomfort as his body tried to digest an entire bag of fast food.
“Is it loaded?”
“Yes ma’am.” That felt stupid, so he tried to help. “The safety is on.”
She eyed him dubiously and cut to the chase. “What is it that you’d like to report Mr. Reynolds?”
“I think it might be easier if I showed you the pictures that came off the game camera.”
She nodded her assent.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Sampson again whined from his kennel.
“The pictures, Mr. Reynolds?”
He pointed to the Dell laptop on the table. “They’re on the laptop.” He paused and stated the uncomfortably obvious, “Across from the shot- gun.”
Deputy Evans projected an angry tone to Dave, while internally enjoying his dance upon the proverbial coals. “Why don’t you stow the weapon elsewhere Mr. Reynolds, so that we can get on with this?”
Dave nodded and hurried over to retrieve the shotgun. He was careful to immediately point it down, and he kept his hands well away from the trigger. He passed by the deputy, who once again reflexively put her hand on her hip, next to her gun. He picked up the pace and speed-walked the gun to the bedroom, holding it away from his body, like a vomitus child. He deposited the gun on the bed and returned to the deputy, who visibly relaxed once she saw that the gun was no longer in play.
He sat down on the couch and flipped open the laptop. The deputy continued to watch him from across the room, but her gaze was drawn to a framed photograph perched on the end table by the couch. The photo showed a slightly younger version of Dave with his arms wrapped around a tall, attractive woman holding a chubby, smiling baby in her arms. Deputy Evans didn’t know why, but it bothered her a little that the woman, who was likely his wife, was so attractive.
Stupid, she thou
ght to herself. It’s not a competition, and the last thing that you need is another man—particularly a married one.
Dave interpreted her silent pondering as an indication that she wasn’t going to sit next to him on the couch to view the pictures, so he shut the laptop again, pulled the plug from the wall, and carried everything over to the breakfast table. He motioned to the deputy that she could take a neighboring chair, and she did so.
Dave lifted the lid of the aged laptop and saw a dark screen. He hit the power button at the top right of the keyboard but there was no reaction. He then held down the power button with his thumb for a couple of seconds to no avail.
“I’m sorry. This is an old laptop and it’s cranky sometimes.”
He got up and plugged the cord from the laptop into a nearby outlet. He returned to his chair and repeated all prior efforts with the power button. The laptop was resolute in its darkness.
“Shit.” “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry deputy. It doesn’t want to turn on. It’s been acting up for a while now but usually I can get it to work by rebooting it a couple of times.”
Deputy Evans stared at him. He was, from her limited exposure, believ- able. At the same time, this entire event was teetering toward something that might be unpleasant for all parties. The tension was broken by a crackly call from her dispatch, which she answered by clicking on the shoulder mic attached to her uniform. She stood and walked toward the door, seemingly aware that the signal would improve the closer she was to the outside, and replied, “Evans here. Go.”
“We’ve got a bad wreck on 36 just north of Caldwell. Officer needs as- sistance. What’s your status?”
Deputy Evans stared at Dave, holding his gaze as she clicked again and replied, “I think we’re about done here. I’m rolling in five.”
Dave realized that this exercise was off the rails. He pushed back his chair and stood to convey his sincerity. “I’m so sorry, deputy. It was working last night. Can I at least show you what happened to the game camera?”
“What happened to the game camera?”
“It was shredded. Torn off the tree where it was mounted.” He pointed in the general vicinity of the pond sitting across the way. “Just over there. The lower pond.”
Deputy Evans pondered this for a moment, then had a thought. “Game cameras use a memory card, right? Where’s the memory card with the pictures?”
Dave realizes how stupid this was going to sound, but had to go with the truth. “It’s set up so that I can automatically wipe the card once the pictures have been downloaded.” She looked at him in disbelief, and he weakly added, “To leave room for the next round of pictures.”
Even Sampson looked embarrassed as he turned from his vigil at the door of the kennel and sighed heavily, lowering his head to embrace his confinement. Deputy Evans lost what little interest she’d had.
“I think we’re about done here Mr. Reynolds. If you get the laptop work- ing, please download the pictures and bring them by our office.”
“No, wait! Please! Just give me three more minutes to show you the spot where the camera was.”
She stared at him for several seconds, trying to figure out his motivation and where this was going. Despite the events of the past five minutes, he did seem credible—somewhat. She clicked her shoulder mic again. “Dispatch, this is Evans. Make that ten minutes.”
“Another unit is working the scene but does need your assistance.” “10-4. I’m rolling momentarily.”
She looked at Dave as she opened the door. “Show me whatever it is you want me to see. Quickly.”
They soon stood on the earthen wall of the pond. Deputy Evans slowly traced the cuts and scratches in the bark around the remains of the cam- era still attached to the tree. She then walked over and bent down to sift through the jagged plastic pieces of what was once the face of the camera.
Dave stood to the side, out of her way, taking in everything in the day- light for the first time.
“And you say the pictures showed the deer beheaded?”
“Yes ma’am. And then the head and the body parts were moved around for several minutes until the camera was destroyed.”
She stood and looked around at the tall grass. “And the carcass?”
Dave shakes his head. “I don’t know. The date stamp showed that the pictures were taken over a week ago.”
She walked through the debris field again, noting the scattered pieces catching the light of the morning sun. Mumbling to herself she pulled out her notepad, “No blood or carcass. Over six inches of rain in the past week.” She made a few other notations and then turned her back to Dave as she walked back to the house, and her cruiser.
“I have to go now, Mr. Reynolds. If you’d like I can take your laptop with me and see if my IT folks can pull the pictures from the hard drive. I’ll also need you to sign a formal statement, assuming we can verify what occurred.”
Dave pondered this as he walked behind her. “If your people can revive the laptop that would be great. I’m in and out of town the next few days but I can come by to sign a statement.”
They walked along for a few seconds, each lost in their own thoughts, then she stopped and turned to look him in the eyes. “Is there anything on that laptop that might be problematic? Assuming my people can get in to the hard drive we’ll have access to all information on it.”
Dave realized that she was giving him an out, but he didn’t need it— did he? It wasn’t like there was porn or secret files on it. It was just the laptop Marilyn was given when her old company shut down and her job
evaporated. Somebody had it before her, but if there was anything foul on it the IT folks would have scrubbed that before they handed it to her. Right? If he told the deputy he had changed his mind didn’t that scream that he was hiding something? Was she just doing this to mess with him
—some kind of cop game? Jesus Christ, how did he get himself into this mess?
Dave realized that there had been more than a typical lag in his response, by the look on Deputy Evans’ face. He decided to go with it. “It’s my wife’s laptop that she was given from her old job. I think they scrubbed any sensitive work files off if it before they gave it to her, and we’ve barely used it since. Take it.”
Deputy Evans nodded and continued walking. Dave followed along be- hind her and tried to figure out why he felt strange telling her that he was married. Whether he liked it or not, he was married, but this was the first time he’d had an active impulse to say otherwise.
That’s just what I need, he thought to himself. I’ll throw myself at this Deputy who already thinks I’m crazy.
They emerged from the tall grass and entered the zone closer to the house that Dave kept mowed. Deputy Evans reflexively shook off some of the dew and weeds that had collected on her black, leather boots. Dave couldn’t help noticing how that shake also moved her butt, which looked pretty good even hidden beneath the thick polyester of her uni- form. Deputy Evans turned as if she felt his stare, and he abruptly shifted his gaze to a point off to the side and smiled weakly.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Birds
Much later that afternoon the sun poured through the window-tinting behind him as he drove back to the farm from his appointment in west Texas. The day had been longer than the hours suggested, and he kept steady pressure on the gas pedal as he tried to make it back in time to let Sampson out while there was still some semblance of light. It hadn’t bothered him before, but the idea of pulling up to his gate in the black- ness of the country night was no longer appealing. He rubbed the same spot on his temple, trying in vain to reach the pain.
He was interrupted from his worries by the shrill ring of his cell phone via the ear-buds permanently perched in his ears on these long drives. With one eye still on the road he picked his phone up from its perch on the console next to him and saw a number he didn’t recognize. He hit the green button and offered a tentative hello.
“Mr. Reynolds, this is Deputy Evans. I was at yo
ur place this morning.”
Dave’s mind recalibrated from work mode as he stared at the mostly open road before him. “Yes, Deputy, how can I help?”
“I wanted to let you know that our IT guy wasn’t able to pull anything from your laptop.”
Dave let this wash over him as he changed lanes to pass the car in front of him that was fuzzy on the concept behind proper use of the left lane.
“Nothing?”
“Have you had problems with ants at your place previously, Mr. Reynolds?”
Dave mouthed this statement back to himself to ensure he’d heard it correctly, and was left wanting.
“Ants? I’m afraid I don’t follow, Deputy.”
“The inside of your laptop was full of ants, and my IT guy said…a lot of things that I didn’t quite grasp…but the short answer is that the ants fried your laptop.”
Dave stared out of his windshield to ponder this new, unwanted wrinkle in his life. First the pressure switch for the well, now his laptop? He’d gotten used to the idea that every day was going to provide a new chal- lenge, but this particular addition seemed to take it to a whole new level. He decided to take the approach used by the Marines: survive, adapt, overcome.
“I don’t have to leave my place until later on in the morning tomorrow. Should I pick up the laptop when I come by to sign the statement?”
He heard the deputy breathe deeply as she contemplated her reply. “Do you still wish to file a formal statement?”
“Are you suggesting that I shouldn’t?”
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