Peter Decker 2-Book Thriller Collection: Blindman’s Bluff, Hangman

Oliver said, “Certainly smells like recent death down there.”

Decker said, “Let’s get everybody gloved up and wearing face masks. Who has a camera?”

“I do,” Marge said.

“Me, too,” Wynona added.

“Good. Before we remove any horse bones, I want photographs of before and after. Then we’ll start removing biological material, bone by bone. Each time we remove something, take a picture. If the smell gets worse, and I fear it will, we’ll have to stop and call the M.E.’s office. At that point, we’ll turn this over to professional exhumers.”

“Whoever put him in the ground did you a favor.” The field coroner was named Lance Yakamoto. In his thirties, he was around five feet nine inches, 140 pounds, with a long face and tawny-colored eyes that sloped upward. He was in his blue scrubs and a black jacket, the yellow lettering in back stating that he was from the Coroner’s Office. “If the body would have been dumped in the open, the decomposition would have been a lot quicker. With all the carrion-eating birds, we wouldn’t have much to work with.”

Decker said, “When I find and arrest the culprit, I’ll be sure to give my thanks for dumping him in the ground.”

Yakamoto said, “I’m just saying fact.”

“I know,” Decker answered. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“No rigor, some lividity, lots of insect activity. Once we get the body up, we’ll put the bugs in bags and hand them over to the entomologist. He can probably give you a better fix on how long it’s been in there. From what I saw, my guess is that he’s been there for a couple of days. That would square with your murders, right?”

“Right.” Decker looked at the brightly illuminated pit. The county had sent a quartet of techs in HAZMAT suits. They were at the bottom of the hole, figuring out the best way to slide the corpse into a body bag. Since it had been rotting for a few days, skin had begun to slough off. There was some residual bloat from the internal gasses, but most of that had settled down. Still, with careful handling, the detectives were able to make out the distinct features even though much of the face was black, distorted, and bug eaten. Both Marge and Oliver thought he might have resembled the pictures they had of Denny Orlando.

“Are we sure there’s only one body down there?” Decker asked Yakamoto.

“No, we’re not sure,” the assistant M.E. responded. “Not yet.”

Oliver said, “Smells ripe enough for two bodies.”

Decker said, “If Rondo Martin’s down there, my lead is shot.” He told the three detectives about his meeting with Brett Harriman, trying to remember the story as well as he could without notes.

Oliver asked, “You believe this guy? I mean it’s hard enough getting something substantial from eyewitnesses, Loo.”

“Just because he’s blind and couldn’t see them doesn’t mean he didn’t hear the conversation correctly,” Decker said. “That’s what he’s trained to do. To use his ears, Scott. Anyway, how would he know that Rondo Martin is involved?”

“He’s a missing guard,” Marge pointed out. “His name might have been in the papers.”

Wynona said, “How does he read the papers if he’s blind?”

“He has a voice-activated computer that tells him the news,” Decker told her. “I’ll concede that maybe he read or heard about Rondo Martin. But Joe Pine? Whom he kept referring to as José Pinon. How’d he pull that rabbit out of a hat?”

Oliver had no answer. Marge said, “Have you checked him out?”

“He came in this afternoon after the courts had closed. I’ll start calling people on Monday.”

“Do you even know if he’s really blind?” Oliver asked.

Decker grinned. “Are you asking me if I threw something at him to see if he would duck? No, Scott, I did not do that.”

“So I repeat. How do you know he’s really blind? You know how many crazies Wanda Bontemps has fielded on the tip lines, especially now that Grant Kaffey has offered a twenty-thousand-dollar reward?”

“That’s all?” Decker said.

“Looks like Guy wasn’t the only cheapskate.”

Decker said, “Harriman may be loony, but right now I’m taking him at his word. Willy Brubeck is looking into Rondo Martin with his sources in Ponceville. Joe Pine was on Brubeck’s guard list to check out, but so far he’s a no-show. Drew Messing is working on locating him. Enough about Martin. What’s happening inside the house?”

“Lots of evidence to process,” Marge said.

“Fingerprints?”

“A lot of smears, but CSI lifted a few that might be helpful,” Oliver said. “We still have to comb the auxiliary buildings. It’s going to take a while.”

Marge said, “Can we go back to Brett Harriman for a moment? He didn’t give you any name for el patrón?”

“Nope,” Decker said. “One of the men just said that he was worse than Martin—who was a very bad man.”

Shouts from inside the hole announced that the corpse was fully contained in the body bag. The trick now was how to hoist out the bag. The pit was around four-plus feet in depth. It was possible to scale in and out of the cavity by foot, but it was much harder to surface while holding a corpse.

Decker squatted at the edge of the hole. From this vantage point, the stench was considerably stronger. “If the three of you can get the bag above your heads, our people here can grab the bag and place it on the gurney.”

The HAZMAT crew considered the suggestion and deemed it possible. It took some careful maneuvering but when they finally managed to do it, the gang above was ready. Six men snatched the edges of the body bag and put it on the gurney. Yakamoto unzipped the sack. “What do you think?”

Marge stared at the discolored and disfigured face. Worms were crawling in and out of the apertures of his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Some of the flesh had fallen off; some of it had been eaten. “It’s hard to say for sure, but with a little imagination it could be Denny Orlando.” She looked over at Oliver.

“I think it’s Orlando, but maybe it’s because I’m fixated on him.”

“We’ve got DNA now.” Yakamoto zipped him back up. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

The sun had crested over the horizon just as the last bits of all the biological material were removed from the grave. One body was disinterred. Rondo Martin was still missing. It was 5:26 in the morning. If Decker left within the hour, he could make it home in time to eat breakfast, shower, dress, and go to shul. He’d probably be the first one there.

Or he could go home and collapse.

Though his body screamed exhaustion, there are some days where spiritual nourishment takes precedent over sleep. Today just felt like that kind of a day.

“We’re done,” Marge finally told him. “I’m gone.”

“If you’re gone, I’m gone,” Oliver told her. “We came together, remember?”

“I’m not leaving without you, Scotty.”

“Wanna grab some breakfast? I have nothing in my refrigerator. I’m thinking IHOP. I’m in the mood for pancakes and cholesterol.”

“That’ll work.” Marge turned to Wynona. “You want to meet us?”

“Might as well chow down and coffee up. I have to be back here at nine.”

Decker waved them all good-bye. It took him another twenty minutes to finish up with his paperwork. By 6:15, he was in his car and alone with his thoughts. He started the ignition and as the car warmed up, he checked his messages on his cell.

There were three.