Dead Float, page 5
I saw a flash of silver first, then the arc of its back as the big redside ripped the fly from the surface and then dove back toward the bottom like a submarine. My rod wrenched double, and line stripped off my reel at a furious rate. I turned to face the fish and nearly lost my balance on the slick rocks as I brought my pole tip up and pulled back hard on the line. Violently shaking its head to throw the hook, the fish came up in a geyser of spray and iridescent color, up, up until it was completely out of the water. Then it ran toward the center of the river where the swifter current magnified its considerable strength. Fearing the leader would snap, I let the fish take more line.
As I waited for the trout to make its next move, I heard the first scream. It was just audible over the river noise and seemed to come from the direction of camp. The sound was high-pitched. My first thought was a cougar. I froze in the current, straining to hear. Then I heard a second, louder scream. That was no cougar, that was a woman! Then a man’s voice cried out, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”
My line went slack, and the trout slipped the hook in an instant. I hardly noticed as I waded to the bank and took off up the trail as fast as my wading boots would allow. Approaching camp, I saw Philip trotting toward our clients, who’d gathered in a tight knot near the riverbank. They had their backs to me, staring at something.
“Philip,” I called out, “what’s wrong?”
He stopped, spun around, and cried, “Cal, it’s Bruckner. For Christ’s sake, get over here!”
Chapter Ten
I joined Philip, and together we moved around the others. What I saw next will stay with me as long as I live. Hal Bruckner lay on his back, snuggly zipped into his sleeping bag, his arms dangling on either side and his head tilted back, as if he were gazing at the sky. I stepped up for a closer look as flies buzzed excitedly around his face. His eyes, vacant and opaque, were frozen in a look of terror, and his mouth raged in a silent scream. His throat was gone, utterly, slashed through to the vertebra and open like a bloody mouth. The visage staggered me like a blow to the body, and as I reeled backward my boots squished in the blood, quarts of it, surrounding his body.
I steadied myself and fought back a gush of bile in my throat and an overwhelming sense of disbelief. Someone needed to take charge, and I guessed it would have to be me. “Uh, folks, you need to get back. This is a crime scene. Please get back, and for God’s sake don’t touch anything in camp. Philip, we need to get the sheriff in here right away.”
Philip was already headed for the tracks on a trot. “Right,” he called back over his shoulder.
I moved the group over to the breakfast area. Daina was tending to Alexis, who by this time had gone from wailing to sobbing and repeating, “No, no, no.” Daina, ashen-faced but dry-eyed, was speaking softly to Alexis and stroking her hair. Hannon, Streeter, and Pitman stood in a circle talking in hushed tones. Blake stood off by himself studying his boots.
It would take some time for the sheriff to arrive, so I decided to have a look around. I went back to the body first. Flies swarmed, and the coppery smell of blood hung in the air. I moved around the cot carefully, looking for anything, but most particularly a murder weapon. Nothing. The campsite was bounded on the east by the river and on the west by the railroad tracks. I walked from the cot over to the solar toilet located below the tracks on the south boundary of the camp without noting anything unusual. I opened the door to the toilet, and although the smell turned my already queasy stomach, nothing was out of place. I headed from the toilet toward the riverbank, scanning the brush and stony terrain. I stopped at a narrow path on my left that cut through the shin-high thistle grass toward the railroad switching area, located a hundred yards upstream around a sharp curve. The path began about halfway between the toilet and the riverbank.
I stood there for a moment thinking about the sound of snapping wood that awakened me the night before. Then I continued over to the riverbank where our two float boats and the raft were moored. As far as I could see, nothing had been disturbed. I walked another sixty feet upriver to where Philip, Blake, and I had slept. Our cots were probably ten feet apart, and mine was separated from theirs by a large mesquite bush.
I sat down on my cot and held my head in my hands. I craved a cup of coffee, and the lack of caffeine was giving me a headache. I tried to recall details from the night before. After brushing my teeth, I had overheard the exchange between Alexis and Hannon. By that time the rest of the party had retired. Streeter was in the tent closest to the campfire. I remember seeing his light through the tent wall. Pitman was in the second tent, Daina in the third. Hannon was next, with Alexis in the final tent. Bruckner was sleeping on the riverbank about fifty feet directly across from Alexis’ tent. When I finally turned in, the camp was dark and, except for the snoring of Blake and Philip, silent.
The train noise began around 1:30—I remember checking my watch—and lasted until around two or so.
I started up the path toward the campfire. Philip was spooning ground coffee into the top of a big, soot-stained pot that was heating on a propane burner.
“Figured we could use some coffee,” he said without looking up.
“You figured right, my friend. How are Alexis and the rest of the crew holding up?”
“Okay, I guess. I don’t think reality has sunk in yet.”
“You guys hear or see anything last night?”
“Nothin’ at all, not even the trains,” Philip replied, looking up for the first time.
Blake nodded in agreement.
“You sure?” I persisted. “Anything.”
Blake shifted in his seat. “Well, I did see somebody go back up to the tracks after we turned in. Saw the flashlight. Figured somebody making a last phone call.”
“Did you see which tent the person came from?”
“No. I really couldn’t tell.”
“What about the kitchen knives?” I continued, pointing in the direction of the table where I’d left them to dry with all the other utensils the night before.
“All present and accounted for,” Philip answered. “So, what do you make of this, Cal? Some maniac passing through, or do we have a slasher in our happy little group?”
“Well, most people are murdered by people they know, but who knows what happened here? In any case, whoever did it didn’t leave the murder weapon lying around.”
“Probably in the river,” Philip replied, glancing out at the water. He scratched the side of his face and flicked a salmon fly off his forearm. “You know, if somebody tossed the weapon out there it would be fairly easy to find.”
“How’s that?”
“The gravel bar. The knife would be sitting out there. Easy to spot by a diver.”
“Good thinking, Sherlock. Hold that thought for the sheriff. You’re an expert tracker, right?”
“Yep. Learned from the best. My granddad.”
“You know the path leading over to the switching area?
“Yeah.”
“Do me a favor. Go over there and check it out. Tell me if anyone was on it last night.”
“Why?”
“I thought I heard something last night is all. Could’ve been a dream. I’m not sure.”
“Heard what?”
“A twig or a branch snapping. It woke me right up.”
“Hmm,” Philip said as he finished loading the coffee, “I’ll have a look.”
Philip was heading off in the direction of the path when Mitch Hannon called me over to where he, Streeter, and Pitman were huddled. As I approached them, Hannon said, “Where the hell’s the sheriff, Claxton?”
“On the way.” I glanced at my watch. “Another thirty minutes, maybe. They’re coming from Madras.”
“You see anything in your little walkabout?” Hannon continued.
“Nope. Not a thing. Did you guys hear or see anything unusual last night?”
“We’ve already compared notes,” Hannon replied.
“Nothing but the trains,” Pitman said.
“What about you, the chief, and boat boy?” Hannon asked.
Hannon’s tone was getting on my nerves, but I ignored it. “Same with us.” Then I added, “Which one of you made a call last night after everyone had turned in?”
All three of them looked up at me, but no one said a word.
“Blake saw someone with a flashlight go up the hill after we turned in. Thought maybe it was one of you. Guess not.” I excused myself and walked over to Alexis and Daina. I knelt down on one knee in front of them.
Daina was still comforting Alexis, who continued to sob with her head down. Before I could speak, Daina said, “Calvin, who could have done something so horrible?”
“I don’t know. Did you hear or see anything unusual last night?”
“No. Not a thing. Not even the trains. I’m a sound sleeper.”
“You make a call after we all turned in?”
“No.”
“How about you, Alexis?” I said as gently as I could. Her eyes were red and swollen. I was struck by the fact that she looked older, much older in the morning light. I realized it was the wrinkles around her eyes, revealed by a lack of makeup.
“I didn’t make any calls, and I didn’t hear anything except the train noises,” she answered. Then she looked up at me. “His bracelet’s gone.”
“What bracelet?”
“The gold one. The one I gave him in Maui.”
“I see. Be sure to tell the investigators about that.”
I went back over to the campfire to check the coffee. Blake had already taken it off the burner and poured himself a cup. He was sitting there cradling it in his hands. I did the same and sat down next to him. The coffee was warm and familiar in my hands, and the first sip soothed every cell in my body. The second sip was even better. We sat there drinking without talking until Philip came back. He poured himself a cup and sat down with a heavy sigh.
I waited for him to speak and finally said, “So?”
“You were right. Someone walked that trail last night. Matter of fact, halfway in he stepped off the trail and took a leak.”
Chapter Eleven
I set my coffee down and stood up to face Philip. “You’re sure?”
“Yep. The spring grass where he stepped hasn’t recovered yet. And the pissed-on area was still damp. Had to have been last night.”
After another maddening pause, I asked, “Anything else?” I kept my tone patient. I knew better than to rush my laconic friend.
“Uh, yeah. The tracks go both ways.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning someone walked in here from the switching area and then walked back. Or vice versa, I suppose.”
“Did you see anything at the other end, at the switching area?”
“No. The area’s all gravel and rocks. Lost the trail immediately. But I didn’t have time to really give it a careful going-over.”
“Any idea what the train was doing over there last night?”
“I think it was two trains coming in opposite directions.”
“That happens?” I said, a little surprised.
“Sure. One pulls off on the siding while the other goes by. Last night it sounded to me like they both stopped, so maybe they switched some cars as well. That would explain why it took so long.”
“You may be right, Philip. I remember thinking I heard trains going in opposite directions just before I fell back to sleep.”
I looked up in the direction of the dirt road on the other side of the railroad tracks. A patrol car, an ambulance, a van, and an unmarked sedan came around the bend. The patrol car had its emergency lights on but wasn’t using its siren.
“Looks like they brought half of Madras,” Blake said.
We all gathered at the base of the hill and watched them work their way down to the campground. There were two uniformed officers, two detectives in shirts and ties, two crime-scene technicians in white smocks, and a man in a rumpled suit who got out of the ambulance with the driver. I assumed he was the medical examiner.
The lead detective quickly introduced himself and his team. His name was Vincent Escalante. Strikingly well-groomed, with short-cropped black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, the guy looked like he just stepped out of the shower. His brown eyes were deep set and moved quickly as he talked. His partner, William Dorn, looked more like an ex-linebacker for the Green Bay Packers. With slabs for shoulders, a barrel neck, and huge, gnarled hands, he probably had ten years on Escalante. Dorn didn’t say much, seeming to prefer grunts to words.
The ME and the forensic technicians quickly set to work on the blood-soaked area near the body. The two detectives spent fifteen minutes or so checking out the immediate crime scene and then dispatched the two uniformed deputies to begin searching the campground, much as I had done. They then announced they were going to interview each one of us separately. Setting up three camp chairs in the shade, they began the questioning with Philip. The rest of us were requested to remain at the table near the campfire.
It was then I began to wonder about the whereabouts of two items—my knife and my jacket. I can’t tell you what triggered the thoughts. They just popped into my head. I’d left my jacket on the back of a chair, and I’d used my fishing knife to peel potatoes. I was pretty sure I’d left the knife on the fold-out table where the utensils were stored. Philip had told me none of the knives were missing. But would he have missed mine? Probably not. I got up and casually walked over to where the kitchen utensils had been left the night before. My knife wasn’t there.
I still hadn’t seen my jacket, either. “You see my North Face jacket, the blue one? I asked Blake. “I left it on one of these chairs last night.”
“No, Cal, I haven’t.”
I was in an unsettled state when Escalante called my name. I sat down and faced the two detectives, telling myself I had nothing to hide and nothing to worry about.
“So, Mr. Claxton, I understand you were the take-charge guy this morning? Do you have a background in law enforcement?” His smile was affable, but his eyes were like brown lasers.
“I was a Deputy DA for the city of Los Angeles. I did mainly prosecution of felony cases.”
“I see,” Escalante answered as he glanced at his partner.
Dorn grunted. “Well, don’t be surprised if we do things a little differently out here.”
Escalante did most of the talking, and his questions were more or less what I expected. It took only about fifteen minutes for me to lay out everything I knew. I mentioned the tracks that Philip had picked up on the trail to the switching area. Escalante seemed mildly interested and said they would follow up after they finished the preliminary interviews. I could understand his lack of enthusiasm. He knew that the odds were high that someone in our group had done the deed. He didn’t want any distractions.
Since Escalante didn’t ask if I actually knew any of the clients, I decided not to reveal that I’d had an affair with the victim’s wife. However, I knew that I’d have to own up to that uncomfortable fact, probably in the next round of questioning. After all, there were plenty of phone records that would link Alexis and me. What would she decide to say, I wondered? It wouldn’t look good if she told them about the affair, and I had neglected to mention it at this juncture. The thought caused my already sour stomach to ball into a tight fist.
By this time, the entire campground had been cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape. Everyone averted their eyes when Bruckner was zipped into a body bag. I was encouraged to see that after Philip’s interview, Dorn, Escalante, and the forensics team followed him over to the path leading to the switching area. The group periodically knelt down as Philip pointed out the tracking evidence. Photos were taken as well. A sample of the soil where Philip noticed the urine was also put in an evidence bag.
When the group returned to the campground, Dorn and Escalante walked over to the spot where Bruckner had been killed and stood looking out at the river. Dorn lit up a cigarette while they talked with their backs to us. A couple of salmon flies darted through the smoke as it drifted downriver. Then Escalante placed a call on his cell. I caught just enough of the conversation to know he’d requested a team of divers to search the gravel bar for the murder weapon.
I stood there listening to the blood pounding in my ears. I reminded myself I was an innocent man. And then I reminded myself again. But I couldn’t shake this feeling—like watching a big, silent thunderhead boil up just before the hail cuts loose.
Chapter Twelve
When the interviews were finished, Philip laid out some fruit and crackers for the group to nibble on, but nobody touched the food. Alexis was calmer now and managed to take a few sips of bottled water. But as soon as she saw her husband’s body being carried up the slope to the ambulance, she broke down again in deep, rhythmic sobs.
Perhaps she’d loved her husband more than I realized, or more likely she was simply reacting to the shock of the murder. Frankly, I felt a sense of relief that I think the others shared when the body was finally out of sight in the ambulance. The bled-out corpse seemed to have no connection to the man we had been with the night before. An assemblage of bones and flesh, its lifeless presence had hung like a huge weight on our psyches.
Our sleeping bags and most of our personal belongings had been placed in evidence bags for screening at the county crime lab. I had nothing left except the clothes on my back and my fly rod. They even impounded my fishing vest. I imagined some fly fisherman in the sheriff’s department helping himself to my fly collection.
