Страница 23 из 52
Sheila, already unconscious or dead, might have been hauled in the back hidden from sight under a tarp or bags of garbage. A small-framed woman, she might have been squeezed into one of the toolboxes. Or she could have been forced into the cab, her pack thrown in the back.
Of the various situations there remained only a few constants. If the truck had been used in the crime and had been used to transport Drury, A
The truck bed indicated neither the first nor the second possibility and was so battered from years of use that any trace of the third would blend right in.
A
Karl's tidiness ended at the door. From the evidence that met her eye, A
Again A
"Just look."
Careful not to arrange Karl's heap into any telltale orderliness, she began picking through the piles. The dash provided nothing more damning than an empty tin of Red Man chewing tobacco. If that were the extent of Karl's sins against society he would go unpunished. At least in West Texas.
Not wanting to slide through the flotsam of Karl's life, A
The glove box produced the expected pencils with broken leads, pens without caps, and registration papers. And a hypodermic syringe without a needle.
A
Law Enforcement rangers had only ten weeks of training to a regular cop's sixteen. In the old days, before crime had moved into the parks, it had sufficed. This morning A
With one potential "find" to her credit, the search took on more interest. Scooping up the mess on the seat one section at a time, A
Excitement trembled in her hands as she scraped up some of the frayed cloth with her pocket knife and stowed the shreds carefully in a fresh sandwich bag. A
Neither the rest of the seat nor the floor offered up any more promising items. On the passenger door, just above the handle, were two long smears of mud. If a victim had lain on the seat as A
Feeling like Sherlock Holmes on a good day, she began scraping the mud into a third Baggie. Maybe there was a difference between Dog Canyon dirt on the park's northernmost edge and dirt from Frijole or McKittrick on the southern borders.
"Sorry Miss, but rangers aren't allowed to carve their initials on Roads and Trails vehicles." The voice so startled A
Smiling, Harland was looking down through the window glass to where she squatted. His thick dark brows asked the question he seemed too polite to phrase: "What the hell are you doing?"
A
"Good morning, Harland." Straightening up, she folded the knife and slipped the Baggie into her trouser pocket. A
"There has been a little matter that's been concerning Paul," she began, feeling her way. "Nothing serious. I was hoping a look at the truck would clear it up. Just guess-work and speculation at the moment. If I find out it's a real problem you'll get a full report. If, like I expect, it's just gossip, I'll tell you the whole story over a beer and we'll at least get a good laugh out of it." Hard-eyed, Harland waited for a better explanation. A
"I'll hold you to that beer," Harland said finally. "And especially that laugh. But right now chivalry's dead. You get to handle Karl all alone. He hates anybody messing with 'his' truck." He nodded toward the gate where Karl, looking like a storm about to break, was hurrying in from the parking lot. Harland gave A
Investigative paraphernalia safely tucked out of sight, A
Karl stared at her for a full three seconds, his face utterly blank, and A
"No," he said. "They weren't there. I gave the mules some oats with their di
A
"A
It was Harland. A
"Yup. Getting my pack. Backcountry patrol."
"I'll walk with you, keep you safe from the forces of evil." He smiled, his gray eyes taking in the hundred yards of peaceful road between the yard and the housing area. The great threats were a desert cottontail the size of a small boot and two butter-colored butterflies. "I forgot my radio," he confided in a stage whisper as he fell into step beside her.
A
"Perfect day for the high country," Harland said wistfully. "I wish I was going with you. Don't ever let them promote you to GS-11," he said earnestly. "You'll be trapped behind a desk forever after."
A
Harland smiled. His teeth were straight and white but they looked like they were his own.
Fifty is not old, A
Harland reached down, picked up a cigarette butt and put it in his hip pocket. "What has Karl done to get the Ranger Division's notice?" he asked.