Remains In Coyote Bog

by Christine Husom

  My arm hairs stood on end. Had the victim been maltreated by someone she trusted? Had she known her fate, but didn’t have the ability to escape or fend him off?

  Dr. Patrick’s voice roused me back to the business at hand. “Roy, let’s get some photos.”

  Swanson went over to the black case he’d set on the roadway and knelt down beside it. He unlatched the locks then opened it, revealing dozens of see-through pockets with a treasure trove of items for any given death scene. I saw a variety of evidence bags, gloves, shears, marking tents, measuring tapes, a compass, and much, much more. Swanson removed a camera then rose and made his way to the body where he snapped pictures from different angles.

  “We know she didn’t die in the bucket of this excavator nor was she intentionally placed there, but we’ll take samples of the water and whatever particles are in it. She has organic matter clinging to her, of course, and the lab will analyze it. We’ll find out if there is other material present not consistent with what we find in this peat bog. The decedent was in the bog for an undetermined period of time and the chances of finding anything remarkable is remote, but not impossible,” Patrick said.

  “I’m thinking slim to none,” Smoke said.

  Patrick raised her eyebrows and nodded. Swanson collected samples, put them in glass containers, marked them, and secured them in the case.

  “We’ll do some more digging here, look for evidence, see if we can find any possessions that might help identify the body or give us clues,” Smoke said.

  “Good.” Patrick nodded then turned in Swanson’s direction. “Roy, you can get the gurney.”

  “Doc, if you have a few sets of impervious suits for us we’ll help you lift her out of the bucket,” Smoke said.

  “Of course. Roy?”

  “Sure thing.” He put the camera back in the case then started toward the van.

  “I’ll help.” I fell in with him and picked up my pace.

  Weber did his best to keep traffic moving, but a large number of vehicles had pulled onto the shoulder. The occupants milled around, watched the action, and waited for more. As people gathered closer, Weber called out that they needed to stay back.

  The medical examiner’s van on a scene attracted decidedly more attention than our squad cars. People wanted to know who died, and how. Deputy Amanda Zubinski drove up and pulled in beside Weber’s car as Swanson and I approached the barricade. “Well, Vince, it looks like your partner has arrived,” I said.

  “Yeah, and a good thing, too. All the folks trying to close in are makinˊ me kinda claustrophobic.”

  His comment, given the wide-open space, brought a smile to my face. When Zubinski got out of her car, I nodded from Weber to her. “Vince is glad you’re here.”

  She lifted her hand and pointed backward with her thumb. “You are drawing quite the crowd.”

  “You know what they say about timing. We have a built-in audience with the hundreds of morning commuters that take this route. The good news is, this stretch of Thirty-five was already closed and the barricades were all nicely in place before the discovery,” I said.

  “Yeah well, somebody’s gotta look on the bright side, I guess.” Weber switched his attention to Swanson. “New guy in town?”

  “Yep, Roy Swanson. Deputy from Carver who retired and now is a death investigator. Roy, Vince Weber and Amanda Zubinski,” I said.

  Swanson nodded. “Good to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Weber said.

  “Yeah. And good luck with your new career,” Zubinski said.

  “Huh. Maybe that’s what I’ll be when I grow up,” Weber said.

  “You think that will ever happen?” she retorted.

  We headed to the van to take care of our assignment. Swanson opened the back door, pulled suits and a body bag out of a side compartment, handed them to me, and then rolled the gurney out onto the ground. I could almost visualize antennae sprouting from the heads of our audience members.

  We got back to the team by the excavator and I handed the suit-filled bags to Smoke. “Maybe we should pull Weber in for this,” I said.

  “Sounds like a plan. First off have them attach crime scene tape to the barricade, alert folks that not only is the road closed, they’re officially ordered to stay out,” he said.

  “I’m on it and will be back with Vince.”

  I retrieved crime scene tape from my squad car’s trunk and we had it stretched and attached to the barricade in minutes. “Mandy, holler if you need help,” I said.

  “Ten-four.”

  Weber and I reported for body-removal duty. Dr. Patrick, Roy Swanson, and Smoke had donned protective jumpsuits. He handed over suits. A small one for me and an extra-large one for Weber. Swanson gave each of us a pair of goggles and two pairs of gloves. We were ready to go. Members of a team prepared for a far from typical operation.

  All of us—and I was certain that included Swanson—had helped move and remove bodies from unlikely places and under strange circumstances over the years. I wished some of the more gruesome removals I’d been on would magically disappear from my memory bank, banished forever into the stratosphere.

  Per Dr. Patrick’s instructions, Swanson rolled the gurney over to the south side of the bucket then picked up the body bag. He and Patrick stretched it open on the gurney to accommodate the remains.

  Smoke cleared his throat. “Doc, if I can make a suggestion? You and Corky position yourselves to help make the initial lift, then you can go around to guide the victim onto the gurney. Vince, you slide your arms under the shoulders. Corky, the upper ribs. I’ll get the middle and lower back. Roy, how about you take the upper legs, and Doc the lower legs.”

  Patrick nodded. “That should work well.”

  We all moved into position.

  The strong, dank smell of swamp from the peat-filled water in the bucket both escaped from, and clung to, the body. I held my breath against the olfactory assault for as long as possible. Then I took in a shallow mouth breath before holding it again.

  “I shoulda grabbed some mentholatum,” Weber said. I made a closed-mouth sound in response.

  We got our arms and hands into the appointed places then Smoke said, “On the count of three. One, two, lift.”

  The victim was small in stature. Coupled with the dehydration process, her body had little weight. We lifted her with relative ease then let some of the water drain off her body. “Okay, let’s move. One, two, go,” Smoke said.

  The men had it under control, but I slid around to the opposite side and back into position to keep support on the victim’s body balanced. Dr. Patrick did the same. After a few short steps, we set the body on the gurney. Patrick was the only one who didn’t take a step back. She put her hands on the body and conducted a brief tactile exam. I knew the skin and tissue felt a lot like dried clay.

  “We’ll take the decedent back to the office and start the initial tests. The autopsy should provide answers to most of our questions.” Patrick started to zip up the bag and Swanson stepped in to help her complete the task. I closed my eyes as they neared the face. I’d had trouble with that final closure since I watched it done to my grandmother.

  Although vaguely aware the group of onlookers had grown, I was surprised at the crowd that stood on the shoulders of the road. Zubinski had done a good job keeping them at bay.

  “Roy, there’s a trash bag in the case to dispose of the jumpsuits,” Dr. Patrick said.

  I was relieved to strip off the suit and gloves and stuff them in the bag. The doctor sealed the bag of waste then passed around a bottle of antiseptic cleaner. We took turns squirting it on our hands and rubbing it in.

  Smoke and Roy Swanson wheeled the gurney to the van. I opened the back door and they rolled it inside. Weber followed with the black case. When everything was secured, Patrick and Swanson left on their journey with the unidentified remains.

  5

  Mama and Rufus

  They sat in their older Dodge Caravan on the right shoulde
r of County Road 7 south of County Road 35 and watched.

  Mama’s heart pounded faster and harder with each passing minute. She was caught in a nightmare. A black van with the words “Midwest Medical Examiner” on the door meant that Rufus was right after all. They had found a body in the bog. She could only hope and pray it wasn’t one of theirs.

  She tried to think of something besides what the officials were doing by Coyote so she counted the sheriff’s cars and matched them with the number of people in uniform. She’d seen three of them. Two were inside the fenced area and the other was standing guard on the outside of it. Other people were there, too. A detective with the medical examiners? Two men had been inside and now were sitting in a car this side of the fence. Why? Trying to figure it all out left her dizzy and discouraged. Her breaths quickened, audible in the small space.

  “Mama?”

  “Hush now, Son. Mama needs to think.”

  When Rufus’s head dropped, she reached over and patted his arm. He had always been a sensitive boy, eager to please. She had to stay mindful of that. Making sure he felt needed and appreciated was important. She needed him at least as much as he needed her.

  “I’m sorry, Son. I have to believe that everything will turn out just fine.”

  But she didn’t believe that at all.

  6

  Smoke phoned Communications. “Hey. Mason and Carlson on Major Crimes this week? . . . We’re ready for them at our location. Thanks.” He disconnected. “They’re at the office and will be out here shortly.”

  “They will be thorough,” I said.

  “No doubt.” Smoke signaled for the highway engineers and road crew to gather near the barricade with us. The group emanated a sense of teammanship, of camaraderie. They were involved in a traumatic incident and needed to stick together. Bart’s skin color was back to normal, and his muscles were more relaxed. Thankfully. The medical examiner had assumed custody of his unearthly find so that worry was over.

  “Wendell, your crew was doing some clean out of the swampy area in preparation for the construction project?” Smoke said.

  “That’s correct. But they’d barely started.”

  “Then it looks like the clean out going forward will serve a dual purpose. We need to look for articles that may have belonged to the victim,” Smoke said.

  “I see what you mean. At least we’ve got one thing on our side this spring—the water levels are low, not like the last two years,” Peltz said.

  “Yeah, that helps all the way around. If I remember right this road was under water about this time last year,” Smoke said.

  “Yes, it was,” Sutton said.

  “I can run the machine,” Andy offered.

  “If you’re sure,” Smoke said.

  He lifted his chin. “Yeah, I mean we were all pretty freaked out before, but I’m okay now.”

  “You good with that, Wendell? If not, we can call in someone else.”

  “No, we’re good.” Peltz turned to Bart. “If you need to take a personal day, I’d encourage you to do that.”

  “No, I think I’ll feel better if I keep working,” Bart said.

  “All right. Nick?”

  He nodded. “I’ll stay. I’ll drive the dump truck.”

  “Vince and Mandy, the observing crowds have dwindled but it’d be good if one of you can hang out for a while,” Smoke said.

  Weber raised his hand. “That’d be me. Mandy’s gotta do an interview when she clears from here.”

  “I’ll let Communications know.” I pulled out my phone and made the call. “It’s Corky. Assign calls in Weber’s area to another deputy until he clears from here. . . . Thanks.” I hung up and looked at Weber. “You’re here, unless things get too crazy.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Crazier than here?”

  “You got a point,” I said.

  Smoke clapped his hands together. “No time like the present to figure out our strategy. The crime scene team will join us shortly. We’ll dig through the collected peat and search for any evidence—”

  Before Smoke finished, a Ford minivan pulled up near the barricade and parked. I recognized the vehicle. “Someone tipped off our trusty Oak Lea Daily News reporter,” I said.

  Paul Moore got out of his vehicle with a pen in his right hand, its natural place. I’d never seen him without it. A digital camera hung from a strap around his neck.

  “Let’s go talk to him, Sergeant,” Smoke said.

  We met him before he reached the barricade. “Greetings, Detective, Sergeant. I understand some sort of tragic accident happened here this morning. But no calls came across the sheriff’s scanner, not that I heard anyway.”

  “You are one for two. No accident here this morning. However, a body was recovered from Coyote Bog. And you’re right, it didn’t go over the radio.” Smoke said.

  Moore drew in his chin and glanced over at the Winnebago County Highway vehicles. “They were supposed to be starting that big project here this week and you’re saying they found a body in the bog there?”

  “Paul, at this point I’m not at liberty to say how it was found, or who found it. The sheriff’s more than likely preparing a statement as we speak, but we haven’t gotten the official word from him yet. Check with the office in an hour or two and you’ll have your story.”

  “So it wasn’t an employee, one of the highway crew?”

  “No, it was not,” Smoke said.

  “Well I guess that’ll have to do for now. Thanks.” Paul turned, walked to his car, then lifted his camera to his eye and snapped shots of the scene.

  Zubinski lifted her hand in a wave as she got into her squad car and I followed Smoke to the dump truck where Wendell Peltz and company stood.

  Peltz pointed at the truck. “The first load of brush is in there.”

  “Yeah, we’ll have a look. Where were you planning to haul this?” Smoke said.

  “To an old depleted gravel pit that’s taking fill.”

  “In the meantime, can we dump the contents on the road?” Smoke pointed. “Maybe over there in the eastbound lane, down a ways? That should give us enough room to do the excavation work on the north side.”

  “That’s fine,” Peltz said.

  The Winnebago County Mobile Crime Unit rolled in around the barricade and stopped. Todd Mason poked his head out the driver’s side window. “Where do you want us?”

  Smoke indicated the spot. “Over there. We’ll set up a work area a little farther west.”

  When the mobile crime unit was situated, Deputies Todd Mason and Brian Carlson got out. Smoke, Weber, and I walked over to fill them in. Smoke pulled out his phone, found the photos of the body in the bucket, and handed it over. Carlson held up the phone so they could both have a look.

  “Wowser, wowser, that is unreal,” Mason said.

  “Unsettling,” Carlson said.

  “Way more graphic in person,” I said.

  “Man, now that is a prime example of what I’d call the uncanny valley in living color. And those tattoos, do you think that’s some kind of cult thing?” Mason said.

  “We think she was branded . . . with an iron,” Smoke said.

  Carlson handed the phone back like it was too hot to hang onto. “Say what?”

  “What. Todd, you hit the nail on the head with that uncanny valley remark,” Weber said.

  “The M.E. will determine what happened with the branding, whether it was pre-or post-mortem,” Smoke said.

  Carlson’s shoulders bounced up and down a couple times.

  Mason grunted.

  “Let’s focus on the task ahead. The dump truck has got spoils from the swamp. We’ll have them empty it there.” Smoke waved at the spot. “We’ll rake through the piles, see if we find anything. And then get more buckets from the area the body was found in. I know it’s a long shot, but we’re looking for anything that can help identify the victim. Or even an artifact that would narrow down the time frame, help us figure out how long she was in the bog, give an idea o
f where to start with missing persons’ reports.”

  “What kind of artifact?” Weber said.

  “Like the latest, greatest electronic device, or an old transistor radio from the sixties or seventies,” Smoke said.

  Weber raised his eyebrows. “Transistor?”

  “Portable, long before iPods and iPhones.”

  “Huh, yeah I heard of ˊem.”

  “Let’s get to the job at hand,” Smoke said.

  Nick waited for the go ahead. When Smoke gave it, he jumped in the dump truck and drove to the appointed place. “Stand clear!” He activated the hydraulic lift and the front end of the bed rose. When the top was at a forty-five-degree angle, the tailgate lifted and the mucky contents from the bog poured onto the ground. I spotted peat, vegetation with roots, an old work boot, an aluminum soda can, a few beer bottles.

  “This might be a bigger job than I’d anticipated,” Smoke said.

  “We can deal with this kind of stuff, but here’s hoping they don’t find a couch down there,” I said.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.” He walked over to Nick’s window. “You can drive the truck back to the other side.”

  Mason and Carlson stood by with rakes that looked like the garden variety. They wore impervious suits and high rubber boots, prepared to wade through the muck and mire. Mason moved to the north side and Carlson to the south. They raked from the outer edges and moved in until they met in the middle. All objects were taken to an area about six feet away.

  I pulled on a pair of protective gloves. Smoke did the same and said, “It should be relatively easy to figure out what we need to toss.”

  The crime scene team raked the items our way and the three of us had a closer look. Weber and I picked out the articles of trash and disposed of them in a garbage bag. A soggy, modern-looking magazine, random pieces of papers, a child’s mitten, and a cigar butt added to the collection. But nothing that might lend a clue to the identity of the bog body.