Serendipity_Animal Heros From The Land Of Manyana

by Summer Foovay

  Kathy noticed the Sergeant had a deep dimple in one check that flashed for a moment when Kathy mentioned that the Sheriff's department was the local law. She figured that meant the Sergeant had been around long enough to know that the reason for that was the scandal a few years back when the town police were found to be selling AK-47s to the drug cartels across the border. The dimple briefly flashed again when Kathy mentioned the puking.

  By that time Deputy Dawg had managed to puff his way over to the two women and was standing behind Morales with a face like thunder. He had fully intended to blame the puke on Kathy, and now was feeling like these dumb broads were ganging up on him – a man just trying to do his duty in a hard world.

  Following Kathy's gaze, Morales turned on him. "Deputy, were you the ranking officer on the scene when it was called in?"

  "Yes ma'm!" he stated, snapping more or less to attention and all but saluting.

  "So why isn't this scene secured, and do you have a list of everyone who is here, when they got here, and why they are here?"

  The answer to that, of course, was no. Deputy Dawg didn't want to say that though.

  "Well...ma'm... Officer Tyler was here first."

  There was a significant pause while Morales simply stared at the Deputy. His red face grew even redder under his big off white cowboy hat.

  "Will you please keep the rest of these people off the property and start clearing out all non-essential personnel?" Morales asked, icily polite, before turning back to Kathy. "And will you please lead me to the scene, Officer Tyler? Oh, and Deputy – " Morales stopped herself abruptly and Kathy could have sworn she was about to call him Dawg – "there will be more State Police officers arriving shortly. Until then, maybe you can get a list of everyone here and get them sorted out and moved out. Hold the paramedics and local fire department for now, in case we do need them. Everyone else can go. The neighbors should be sent home and told to stay there until an officer arrives to interview them. Thank you. Officer Tyler – " Morales gestured for Kathy to lead on.

  Kathy nodded and led Morales through the gate, up the beaten path to the house, then around the side and down the back to the big patch of prickly pears. By then the smell was enough to make even seasoned cops eyes water and the Sgt. paused and reached in a pocket for a small jar of mentholatum. She dabbed a bit under her nose and held the jar out to Kathy, who gratefully dabbed a bit on her own upper lip and returned it. Then they stepped around the cacti and looked down on the scene in the gully.

  Morales gasped, and then regretted it. They had nearly stepped on the first body coming around the corner. It was clearly human, and although she had been there long enough for the critters to have chewed on her there was enough left to judge by her stature, clothing and long black hair that she was a woman, probably Hispanic or Native American. Two strides away there was another body, and then strewn along the gully several more. Morales closed her eyes a moment and gathered herself, then opened them again and counted a total of twelve bodies in various states of decay, simply thrown into the little arroyo like trash. She figured there might be more once they started a proper search. She touched Kathy's wrist and together they turned away and retraced their steps.

  Most of the locals were still milling around outside the gate. Some of them pushed up to the State Police Sergeant as soon as she emerged, asking questions, demanding to know what was back there, and what they were to do. Morales stopped long enough to tell the paramedics and fire department volunteers their services would not be needed. When she got to her car and reached in for the radio, she realized that Kathy was still on her heels.

  "Officer Tyler, you seem to be a little less bothered by this than some of these fellas. Can you do me a big favor and take this crime scene tape and start securing the scene?" Morales looked the situation over and added, "Just get across the gate and if there is enough go all across the front along the fence."

  Kathy nodded and asked, "How about if I walk along to the back corners, tie a few bits here and there along the sides and back as well – would that do?"

  Morales nodded, "That would be perfect, thank you. Also can you send the Deputy to me once he gets all those guys out of there?"

  "Of course." Kathy took the crime scene tape Morales offered her; stopped at her truck to grab the pocketknife she kept in the glove compartment, and headed to the gate. She shouldered her way through the men and started wrapping the crime scene tape from fence post to post after giving Deputy Dobermann the message to go see Sgt. Morales. He glared at her through slitted eyes, but finished waving off the rest of the locals and headed over to the State Police car.

  Officer Kathy Taylor busied herself with the crime scene tape. She walked down the front of the fence, tied it off at the corner, and then began to walk carefully down the side fence. Keeping an eye out around her feet for rattlesnakes, she counted off her strides and tied a ribbon of tape long enough to show the "crime scene" lettering every twenty feet or so. She thought about how Morales had singled her out. It was true that the smell of death was something she had learned to bear.

  For a solid year she drove the "dead truck", serving as an Animal Control officer in the midwestern city they had left. Hired in the 1980s as part of a citywide effort to get more women into highly visible city jobs she had been thrilled to become an Animal Control Officer. She believed she would be able to serve people as well as the animals she loved by gathering strays, finding their owners, stopping dog fighting and investigating cruelty cases. In reality she worked under a misogynist boss who didn't want any women in his army. Faced with nine new officers, all female, he set out to either break them or run them out. They found themselves assigned to the most distasteful duties. Those were supposed to be rotated, but somehow they became all women's jobs and if anyone dared to complain they simply got put on whatever duty they complained about the most as their full time position.

  Kathy spent the hottest, most humid summer on record driving a one-ton dump truck around the city picking up dead animals. Because of the weather, it was a bumper year for ticks, and many of the animals were pets who had simply been drained of their last drop of blood. When Kathy got there, they were crawling with ticks who were now deserting their host. She stopped at the Animal Control Office two or three times a day to take the truck through the wash and use the pressure hose to get the thousands of ticks off of the bottom of the truck where they hung in masses. Although it was illegal at the time, the City had no other way to get rid of the bodies, so she drove the corpses to the dump when the truck was full and simply poured them into the landfill. The operators of the bulldozers hurried to get them covered up. Each morning she was greeted with a full truck to be dumped – the excess stray animals that had been killed in the gas chamber before the shelter opened – over a hundred a day, dogs and cats.

  Determined not to be run off, she forced herself to deal with the smell of death constantly in her nostrils. When she stopped at a traffic light, the cars around her would back up, turn around, and sometimes even run the red light to get away from her truck. On one especially memorable occasion she had a dead skunk on board and had to stop for a train. By the time it was done going past, she was the only vehicle left on her side of the crossing. Getting lunch was impossible, since she obviously couldn't pull up to a restaurant, go through a drive through, or even stop in a city park and have a bag lunch like most of the Animal Control Officers driving regular cage trucks would do. Even though it was against the rules, she simply worked right through her lunch. By the end of the year a shot of vodka to help her sleep at night had turned into a half pint, then a pint, then sometimes a fifth. But she managed to get up every morning and return to work. To the dead truck.

  The supervisor's harassment worked, and he was soon down to only three female officers – one of which was Kathy. So he rotated her onto night security duty. Little did he know that was a blessed reward to her. Kathy was naturally a night owl. Left alone at the shelter all night long – long before
the days of surveillance cameras – Kathy spent most of the time petting and comforting all the animals that she could, especially those she knew were due to be killed in the morning as soon as she left.

  The supervisor's final blow was to have each of the women officers come to his office for a private chat. A very private chat. Little did he realize that they got together later and discussed the contents of that chat. It was pretty standard and had to do with physical services that could be performed for him that would get the female officer out of the most onerous duties and into the regular rotation. The three women went to the City Employees Union and was told, gosh, that's terrible, but you know we agreed not to sue the city for anything if they would not cut pay this year. One of the women was married, and finally left the job in tears. The other single woman succumbed and starting taking very long private lunches with the boss in his office, behind locked doors. Kathy refused and was put back on the dead truck. Now and then he had to rotate her through regular duty to keep up some sort of appearance of fairness, but he generally managed to sandwich those rotations between night security rotations to keep her sleep pattern interrupted. She didn't complain and looked forward to the brief relief of security duty.

  After four long years, Kathy finally gave up on what was once her dream job and gave notice. The City did not hire any more female Animal Control officers for years because "they couldn't cut it".

  Kathy realized she had walked the entire perimeter of the property, and she was back at the gate. A polite, and rather handsome, young State Police officer took the tape off her hands and got her contact information. Sgt Morales was a little ways inside the gate and waved her over.

  "Thanks for doing that for me. Sorry you had to see this, guess it isn't really part of your job."

  "It's okay, and actually, I am a reserve Sheriffs Deputy. They found out I had been a Police Reserve when I was an Animal Control Officer in the city, so they certified me here, too."

  They stood together for a moment, watching the now steady stream of people in and out dressed in white scrub like uniforms and street clothes or overalls.

  "Did they- " Kathy hesitated, then rushed on, "Have they found the old man who lived here?"

  Morales nodded. "Finally knocked down the door. Not that it took much. If it makes you feel any better, looks like he died some time before, asleep in his own bed."

  Kathy took a deep breath and nodded. "I didn't know him or anything. But-"

  "Yeah. Natural to wonder. Looks like he, at least, simply died of natural causes. I'll need you to come by the State Police office in Deming for a formal interview. At your convenience." Sgt Morales stated.

  "Of course. I'm sure they won't mind here if I drive up there during office hours tomorrow."

  "Good. Ask for the detectives in charge."

  "What do you think happened?" Kathy finally managed to ask.

  "Are you worried we have a serial killer in our midst?" the Sgt asked, the elusive dimple making a brief appearance before she went on. "Looks to me more like a coyote – the human kind – or someone involved in human trafficking. It happens. They get in a situation, think they are about to get caught, or they put too many people in a hot truck and they all suffocate and they just dump them. In fact, I already called Border Patrol in on this, so they may want to interview you as well."

  Unexpected tears suddenly sprang to Kathy's eyes and she had to turn away while she swallowed and blinked them away. She felt the Sergeants hand touch her shoulder briefly in comfort and understanding.

  "When you find out – " Kathy paused.

  "You want me to let you know? You sure about that?"

  "Yes. I'd rather know."

  They stood in silence that was both a little awkward and at the same time companionable.

  "Well."

  "Yeah."

  Kathy dug in the back pocket of her uniform and got her wallet, pulling out one of the business cards she had printed with her office number.

  Morales took it and tucked it into her notebook. "I guess you are pretty familiar with most of the people around here, and the wildlife?"

  Kathy nodded.

  "I might call you later. Pick your brains for information about that."

  "Feel free."

  "Alright. Well, you don't need to hang around here. I don't know what your shifts are, or what."

  "Yeah." In fact, Kathy wasn't looking forward to radioing in, or going back to desk in the City Hall. She really didn't feel like talking about this, and she knew she would be swamped with eager gossip vultures the minute she showed up.

  A white with green stripe Border Patrol SUV pulled up to the gate and Sgt. Morales turned to look at it. Kathy got the message and nodded at the State Police Sergeant, then turned to go.

  "I'll stay in touch." Sgt. Morales called after her and Kathy turned and flashed her a smile in surprised gratitude.

  As much as she didn't want to think about all those poor people back there – Kathy couldn't' help but wonder who they were, and how they ended up there. She hoped they found the bastard who dumped them, locked him up and threw away the key. But justice rarely worked that way this close to the border.

  Kathy was surprised to see the time when she got back in and started up her truck. It was after four pm and she could legitimately radio in and check out. She was allowed to drive the cage truck to work and home if she wanted, although she rarely did so. There weren't any animals in the truck, so there was no reason at all for her to go back to City Hall or the vet’s office in Deming that served as the town’s shelter. All she really wanted to do was go home and take a very long, hot shower. Her husband, Curtis loved to cook, so he would make them something good for dinner and then they would sit together and watch the old sitcom TV shows he loved to stream on Netflix until bedtime. She'd read herself to sleep and start over in the morning. And tonight, maybe just a shot of vodka in some hot tea before bed. To help her sleep.

  Who Are You Again?

  Kathy pulled up to the cute little yellow hexagon shaped adobe home and climbed wearily out of her cage truck. All she wanted was to be in the warmth and safety of her own home. She was no more than one step into the door of their little one room house (two if you counted the bathroom) when Curtis enveloped her in a long hug. She relaxed into his arms and tried not to cry. What in the world would she do without this wonderful man?

  Taking a step back, Curtis held her arms gently and took a good look at her.

  "I heard about the bodies. What an awful thing to find. I'm so sorry." He gave her another quick hug and then let her go.

  Kathy took a deep, shaky breath. "Yeah, well, I guess it's good that someone found them. Those poor women – at least I think they were mostly women."

  "Do they have any idea what happened yet?"

  "The State Police Sergeant – Morales – she's nice – she said it was probably a coyote – the human kind that is – or human trafficking. You know, for..." Kathy paused.

  "Yeah. I get it. Why don't you go stand in a hot shower for a while? I'm sure you want to. I put out your favorite towel and your robe and that clove scented soap you love. What do you want for dinner? I have a stew I can heat up, or I've got a pound of hamburger defrosted. I can do meatloaf or whatever you want with that."

  "My angel." Kathy sighed. "Meatloaf sounds wonderful."

  "With creamed corn and mashed potatoes. As you wish." Smiling, Curtis sketched a bow and headed to the kitchen nook.

  The rest of the evening was all that Kathy could have asked for. A long, hot shower, a comforting meal, and a few hours watching old sitcoms on Netflix with a comfortable silence between friends. Without a word, Curtis mixed her a screwdriver to enjoy while they watched TV, and when she finished that one, another. When he lit his nightly pipe of legal medical marijuana, he offered her a hit and she accepted. Both of them slept well until the alarm clock rang Kathy out of bed in the morning.

  Curtis was already awake. He was a habitual early riser all his life, and now
that his back pain often made it impossible to sleep, he was up early most mornings even though he was retired by his disability. So it was that Kathy rose to the delicious smell of coffee already brewing, and bacon in the pan.

  It was a good thing she got a good breakfast in, though, because the minute she sat down in her work truck and radioed in the dispatcher gave her a ration of messages. She expected the State Police request for an interview, but now the FBI, Border Patrol, and Homeland Security all wanted interviews, too. As soon as possible, of course. The dispatcher added that since the interviews were all case related, even though Kathy was hardly on the investigative team now, the Mayor had told her to pass on the message that Kathy could drive the cage truck and gas it up with her city credit card. Good thing since the interviews were either twenty-five miles away in Deming, or closer to one hundred miles away in Las Cruces.

  It was nearly four pm when Kathy fell back into the truck's wide bench seat for what she hoped would be the trip home. Five separate interviews by five separate agencies and seven separate investigators (some agencies put more than one agent on the case). Even more annoying, each of them started about the same way.

  "Who are you again?" or "Why are we talking to an Animal Control-slash-Code Enforcement Officer?" and then she got to repeat her story of finding the bodies. Deputy Dawg had apparently already been interviewed by most of them, and told them that she had puked on the scene before he got there. She corrected them. Not that it mattered. But most of them got a chuckle out of it. The Sheriff's department's investigator found it especially amusing. Yes, they had called halfway through the day and decided they needed an interview, too. The State Police also took samples of her DNA and hair for elimination purposes, although fortunately her fingerprints were in the system already as a law enforcement officer. They joked about how that would settle who puked. Kathy didn't really care any more. At the end of each interview she asked if they were any closer to knowing what happened and got various condescending versions of "Well, it's early in the investigation" which she knew what cop speak for "don't have a clue." Literally.