Hot, Shot, and Bothered

by Nora McFarland

  I must have sounded hopeful because he frowned. “No, ma’am.”

  He stepped back, effectively ending the conversation, so I drove through the barricade and headed south. The western shore, where I now drove, was home to the town of Elizabeth and had retained its low cost of living and working-class roots. Most of the residents lived in mobile homes or prefab houses. The eastern shore, also called Tilly Heights, had gentrified in recent years. The new, more affluent population had built expensive vacation homes along the lake and up Mt. Terrill.

  I passed the two large warning signs promoting water safety. The signs, one in English and one in Spanish, never failed to upset me.

  LAKE ELIZABETH

  63

  LIVES LOST SINCE 1955

  THINK SAFETY

  The running tally of drownings was creepy enough, but I also had personal reasons to be uneasy. Thirteen years ago I’d spent five months living at Lake Elizabeth. I was almost nineteen and beginning a downward spiral that wouldn’t end for several years. One of my many escapades involved vandalizing the THINK SAFETY sign. Seeing it always made me cringe.

  Truthfully, Lake Elizabeth stirred up a lot of unpleasant memories—most involving my own bad behavior—and I didn’t like spending so much time here covering the fire. My boyfriend, Rod, had noticed I was on edge, but I’d avoided telling him the reason. He knew that in polite terms I’d “lost my way” after my father’s death, but I’d never shared the trashy details.

  I drove for another fifteen minutes past mobile-home parks and unmarked private driveways. The Search and Rescue headquarters had been placed at the bottom end of the lake where the eastern and western shores met. This remote location was a compromise to appease residents of both shores. I reached the turnoff and followed a dirt road as it meandered down toward the lake. My headlights lit the tracks other vehicles had left in the ash.

  I saw bright lights and slowed. The facility was little more than a small dock and several garages for equipment. I parked outside a chain-link fence next to an Elizabeth Police Department cruiser, two pickup trucks, and the Sheriff’s Department cruiser I’d been following earlier.

  I reached for the door handle and instinctively braced for the smell. The bitter, charred stink filled the mountain air. It had already seeped into my clothing and hair earlier in the day when I’d been shooting video up here with Leanore.

  I stepped down from the truck and into the ash and soot. The cypress trees surrounding the facility were also covered in the stuff. The light gray flakes and fine, black grit combined to look like a dusting of dirty snow.

  “Hello?” I called. An air tanker flying in the distance rumbled, but no human voice responded.

  I paused and chugged half my water bottle to fight dehydration. Normally the temperature would be lower in the mountains than in Bakersfield, but the smoke was acting as a greenhouse and trapping the heat. I took a moment to straighten the ponytail keeping my long, dark, curly hair out of my face. I dusted off my cargo pants and straightened the red KJAY polo shirt worn by all the shooters.

  “Hello?” I called again.

  I thought I heard something inside the Sheriff’s Department cruiser, but I couldn’t see past the tinted windows.

  I collected my camera, sticks, and gear bag, then walked through the open gate. The main building was dark, but a floodlight lit the compound. Its powerful beam backlit the haze in the air.

  After calling out again and getting no answer, I continued toward the lake. At the bottom of a short slope, another floodlight lit the coroner’s van, parked with its back end open toward a dock. The doors looked like eager arms waiting for the corpse.

  Two deputy coroners standing toward the end of the dock were pulling on rubber gloves. Nearby, two men in wet suits and a male police officer stood inside a motorboat. The lake water and horizon both looked black, save for the flashing lights of a helicopter in the distance.

  “Hello. I’m Lilly Hawkins from KJAY.”

  The police officer and the youngest of the divers jumped at the sound of my voice. Their reactions startled the other three. It was a chain reaction of nerves.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” I took a step onto the dock. Water had sloshed onto the wood planks and turned the ash into a dark sludge. “And I don’t want to get in the way. I just need a little information and a quick sound bite. The sooner I get it, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Everyone looked at the police officer. He wore the brown uniform of the Elizabeth PD underneath his life vest.

  He looked around, as if waiting for someone else to answer, realized we were all looking at him, then jumped again in surprise. “I really don’t know.” He climbed onto the dock, walked around the deputy coroners, then continued toward me. “Media stuff’s not my line and the sergeant didn’t say a word about it.”

  As he approached the light, I saw he was Caucasian, but with darkly tanned skin that was cracked and scarred from age and too much sun. “You should talk to the detective from the Sheriff’s Department. He’s calling in on his radio, but you’re welcome to wait.”

  He removed a pair of rubber gloves. His right hand immediately moved to his back pocket, hovered there for a moment, then pulled away.

  Even if I was able to lure him on camera, this nervous, uncertain officer would be a nightmare to interview. I could also rule out the deputy coroners—they were never allowed to talk—and since all I wanted was to get out of there, waiting for the detective wasn’t a great option either.

  That left the divers, and as luck would have it, one of them was openly gawking at me and my camera. The young man stared, even as he lifted his end of a long, gray body bag from the bottom of the boat. His gaze only shifted for a moment, as he and the other diver awkwardly passed the bag toward the deputy coroners on the dock.

  I wasn’t surprised by the young man’s naked ambition. The chance to get on television can make even the most sober and dignified person act like a goofy jackass.

  “I’m sorry I can’t give you a statement.” The local officer reached for his back pocket again, but stopped himself from retrieving whatever was there. “Elizabeth PD has jurisdiction, but the Sheriff’s Department is taking custody of the body, and their guy is the senior officer on the scene.”

  Behind him, the coroners began carrying their unpleasant cargo down the dock. The officer and I retreated onto the shore and watched as they walked to where a black tarp had been laid out near the van.

  A special mesh body bag for retrieving submerged corpses had been used. The fabric clung to its contents like a wet sheet.

  I didn’t know who was inside. I didn’t know what his or her life story might be. I didn’t even know if the person would be missed—not everybody is.

  But I did know, absolutely, and without even a tiny bit of doubt, that I did not want to see what was inside that bag.

  TWO

  Thursday, 7:25 p.m.

  The deputy coroners gently lowered the body bag onto the black tarp.

  I glanced at my watch. “Where’s the Sheriff’s Department detective?”

  The local officer gestured up the slope. Even the back of his balding head was a leathery reminder to wear sunscreen. “He’s in his cruiser calling in on the radio. You’re welcome to wait, if you want.”

  Wanting didn’t enter into it. I wanted to go home to the house I’d been sharing with Rod for the last seven months. I wanted to take a long shower and scrub away the smell of the fire. I wanted dinner. I wanted to fast-forward to Rod coming home after the eleven-o’clock news and the two of us falling into bed.

  The two coroners checked their rubber gloves. “How’s the smell?” one called to the officer. “Has she been in the water long?”

  “I think my sergeant said about a day.” The local officer shook his head. “I’m not sure about the smell. She was bagged underwater by the diver and I sure as heck didn’t unzip her in the boat.”

  “You did the right thing. That’s p
roper procedure.” The second coroner knelt down. He was careful to avoid the trail of water leaking from the bottom of the mesh bag. It pooled on the black tarp and then ran in a thin trail down the slope to the lake. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He reached for the zipper.

  The officer and I both turned away and ended up staring at each other.

  “You must be short manpower because of the fire,” I said.

  “You know it.” He reached for his rear pocket, but stopped himself. “I’m not even full-time active duty. I retired up here from the Kings County Sheriff’s Department. I pick up weekend support-officer shifts, but that’s about it.” He again reached for the pocket, and again stopped.

  I suddenly realized what was back there. The charred odor of the wildfire had been masking his chain-smoker smell.

  “You like being a reporter?” he said.

  I doubted he really cared, but we each needed something to divert our attention from what the coroners were doing. “I’m a shooter, not a reporter, and I love it.”

  He removed his life vest. Dark sweat stains covered the shirt underneath. “What’s the difference?”

  “I shoot video, reporters don’t. Sometimes I do interviews when a reporter isn’t available—like now—but I’m never on camera and I don’t write stories.”

  “Hey, she’s got a lot of lacerations.” One of the coroners wrote something on his clipboard. “What can you tell us about where you found her? Were there a lot of rocks or sharp debris?”

  The officer avoided looking at them by focusing on one of the life vest’s clasps. “You need to talk with Arnaldo. He did the dive and bagged her.”

  As if on cue, the two divers came down the dock carrying their scuba equipment. The younger of the two, the one who’d been gawking at me earlier, had blond hair and blue eyes. His partner was older with deeply tanned skin and black hair. He didn’t look handsome in the conventional way the kid was, but he had a natural masculinity that was probably more powerful.

  “Are you both volunteers with Search and Rescue?” I said.

  The kid grinned. “You know it.”

  Elizabeth Search and Rescue was trained and supervised by the local police, but populated and supported by volunteers. Big cities probably had money to keep divers on the payroll, but not here. In fact, most of the equipment in the garages up the slope had probably been paid for through donations and bake sales.

  “I’d like to interview you both,” I said. “If you have time.”

  “Cool.” The kid’s grin deepened. “You mean for TV and stuff?”

  The local officer gestured to the coroners and the body. “First, they’ve got a couple questions about where you found her.”

  The kid started to turn. He was about to take a good, long, full look at the corpse.

  At the last moment, the other diver touched his arm and stopped him. “There’s no good in seeing that.”

  He pulled the younger man a few steps away, then they each set down their scuba gear.

  The coroner with the clipboard yelled over. “Have either of you had any experience with body retrieval before?”

  The lead diver nodded. “I wish I didn’t.” He knelt and began sorting his gear. “But at least once a year something like this happens. I guess you never get used to it.”

  Just as before, the kid started to look at the body.

  “Hold on.” I grabbed his arm and stopped him just in time.

  “I know it’s tempting to look.” The local officer kept his eyes on the small hole he was digging with the toe of his shoe. “But try and focus on something else.”

  The coroner wrote something on his clipboard. “What can you tell us about where you found her?”

  We all looked at the lead diver. He kept his back to everyone and focused on the equipment. “She was facedown in the rocks at the very bottom. It looked like the current and those rocks had been roughing the body up.” He went still. I could see from the way his back rose and fell that he was taking deep breaths. “And I had to break rigor mortis to get her in the bag.”

  Now it was my turn to take a deep breath. I told myself not to think about it.

  The kid clutched his stomach.

  “Anybody mind if I have a smoke?” The local officer was already walking up the slope. “I’ll just be up here if you need me.”

  The kid took quick, shallow breaths—not smart—and his cheeks had a waxy gray tint. That didn’t prevent him from trying to get on TV. “I promise to give you a great interview. I actually have some media experience.” He paused to take several more breaths. “I took Intro to Communications at Cal State Bakersfield last semester. I’m a biology major, but I may switch.”

  The coroner kneeling next to the body straightened. “Hey, which limb did you break rigor in?”

  The lead diver still didn’t turn around. “Right arm.”

  The kid started to look.

  “Still a bad idea,” I said.

  The kid stopped himself just in time. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek. “So anyway, I’d love to give you an interview.” He swayed a little. “I’m a great public speaker.”

  In my peripheral vision I saw the same coroner lift the corpse’s arm. “Her right or your right?”

  “Her right,” the diver called back.

  The coroner moved the arm back and forth.

  The kid finally turned all the way and stared. He must have seen everything. “Oh, man.” He leaned over and threw up.

  I jumped back in time to save my hiking boots, which wasn’t easy. Despite my five-four height, I wear size ten shoes. They made an easy target.

  Pukey the Kid pulled himself up. “I’m okay.” He wiped the corner of his mouth. “Really, I’m fine. I’ll be great in the interview, I promise.”

  The other diver rushed over and put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m really sorry, Arnaldo.” The kid was still pale and clutching his stomach. “You won’t tell my dad, will you?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if I did.” His voice was gentle, but certain. “You dove on a full stomach is all. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve gotten sick doing that.”

  The kid looked at me. “You won’t mention this in the interview, will you?”

  Before I could answer, Arnaldo shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea right now. There’s work to do.” Arnaldo reached down and picked up his gear. “We need to return the equipment and get changed before we do anything else.”

  It was a sign of how much I wanted to go home that I actually considered asking the kid to stay and be interviewed. But he needed to get away from the body and I couldn’t risk him puking again, this time on camera—or even on my camera, which has happened before. You don’t know aggravation until you’re cleaning someone else’s puke out of a mic jack.

  They picked up the diving gear, then retreated up the slope. The local officer passed them coming back down.

  He kicked some dirt and ash at several small lizards that had descended on the pool of sick. “Awful things. Get away.” The tiny, green bodies with distinctive red stripes bolted into the darkness.

  “They used to be worried about those things dying out around here,” I said.

  “I know. Crazy animal-rights people. Now we’re overrun with them.” He continued kicking dirt and ash to cover up what was left of the kid’s lunch. “You can’t light up a cigarette without blowing smoke on one, there are so many.”

  I joined him and kicked some dirt from the other side.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Stupid kid.”

  “Why’d he get sick now? He must have seen much worse under the water.”

  “Nah. The kid shot up to the surface right after they found the body. We’re probably lucky he didn’t throw up in his scuba mask.” The officer frowned. “Arnaldo only brought him along because regulations say nobody dives alone.”

  A bright flash momentarily bleached the immediate area. We both glanced over a
t the coroners, who’d begun taking photos.

  “What’s someone that young doing out here anyway?” I said. “Is he really with Search and Rescue?”

  “His dad is, but they live on the other side of the mountain. He’s trying to evacuate their cattle and horses ahead of the fire and couldn’t come.”

  Another flash exploded. I waited a second, then said, “At least somebody’s obeying the voluntary evacuation. I thought all the year-round residents were digging in.”

  He straightened a little. “Yeah . . . I guess.” He started back to the boat.

  I should probably have noted his evasive answer, but I was so focused on my next question that I missed it. “Are you sure you can’t give me a quick sound bite?” I followed him. “The sooner I get something on tape, the sooner I can get out of your way.”

  “I’m no good for that.” He passed the coroners, carefully avoided looking at the body, then walked down the dock. I noticed for the first time that a second boat was attached to the first, as though it had been towed.

  “You’ll be great,” I called. “Please.”

  He looked back at me, saw something, then pointed. “Ask him.”

  Another flash exploded as I turned.

  “Lilly Hawkins. I figured that was you following us.” The rotund figure of Detective Lucero walked down the slope, then around the side of the van. He wore slacks and a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His Sheriff’s Department ID hung on a chain around his neck and a gun rested in a holster on his belt. He was normally assigned to the Rural Crimes Investigation Unit covering thefts and vandalism on the many farms and oil fields in the county. I’d met him seven months earlier when I’d been involved with a murder investigation.

  “You’re the only shooter in town crazy enough to chase the coroner’s van up a mountain.” He stopped at the pool of sick. “Let me guess, the kid?”

  I nodded.