Secrets Of The Dead — Part Five

Another Victim Uncovered

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Sheriff Nelson Cross of Kingman, Arizona, tapped the button on the buzzing intercom.

“Yes?”

“Sheriff, Ned Parson is here. He’s found a body on his land.”

Nelson sighed. In a single stroke, his day had gone to hell. He would not be getting home on time and his wife would be pissed. They were trying to make a baby. While they had been practicing for several days, the calendar said this was the optimal day. They had been working though this routine for three months. Nelson could not believe what he was thinking, but the lovemaking process had become a chore.

Nelson set his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray and put on his Stetson; he entered the front office.

“What’s this, Ned?”

“I was com’n into town for some feed. On the side of the road, about a mile from the highway there were some buzzards. I wouldn’t have bothered, but there was a hat on the road and a mess of tire tracks in the dirt… tracks I never made, and no one else has any business on my road.” Ned turned and spat into the nearby spittoon. “Anyway, there’s a nak’d dead man out there.”

“Naked?” Deputy Anderson asked.

“Yep.”

“Show me.” Nelson headed for the door, but turned and said to Anderson, “Call the coroner and follow us.”

A half an hour later, they were on-site. Just as Ned had reported, the man was laying in the desert sand a short distance from the road. He was middle aged, but lean and fit. He was not entirely nude; his white undershorts were bunched around his thighs. The dead man’s clothes were strewn about haphazardly.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Deputy Anderson exclaimed, when he arrived with the coroner. “Aren’t you going to cover him up?”

The coroner drew a breath and sighed. “No, Deputy, not until we finish with the examination.” He turned to Nelson. “Sheriff, I’m just a simple country doctor. This is my first murder.” He turned and vomited.

Like many men in law enforcement, Nelson had served in the military police during the war. He had seen many dead bodies. While this one was not bloody and mangled, it had its own gruesome feature.

“What killed him, Doc?” Nelson prodded the coroner into action. There were no bullet holes or knife cuts on the body. No blood anywhere.

The doctor knelt down and examined the body. “I don’t know. There’s a mark on his head, but that is hardly fatal. Some other scratches and bruises on his chest. I’d say he was beaten.”

Deputy Anderson interrupted, “Like with a rubber hose?”

The coroner nodded and drew a breath. “But, my first guess is he died of a heart attack.”

Anderson toed the man’s discarded pants and jacket. “There’s no wallet, but the clothes are bloody. It looks like somebody beat him up while searching him for something. Maybe he’s a government agent and some commie spies were torturing him, but he had a heart attack. Then they searched his clothes for the secret code book he had stolen from their lair.”

Nelson grunted. Jack Anderson had been 17 years old when he enlisted in the Army Air Corp. While on his third bombing mission over Germany, he had been shot down. He spent the bulk of the war in a prisoner of war camp. Nelson figured the young man would ultimately either be a mystery writer or a patient in a loony bin.

Examining the dirty disheveled clothes, Nelson saw there was blood on the shirt, but there were no injuries on the body. The clothes looked more like those belonging to a hobo than a government agent. Instead of addressing Anderson’s supposition, he said, “Go make some casts of those tire tracks.”

The coroner toe-tagged the body as John Doe. Nelson helped the coroner load the body onto a stretcher, and then into the back of his panel truck.

Anderson called out. “Sheriff, look at this. There are two grips. On has more of his clothes, but the other has a woman’s clothes.”

Nelson studied them for a moment. In the bottom of the woman’s suitcase was a purse. Among the usual female things, he found a driver’s license for Carrie Brownwood of Hollywood, California, a crisp twenty dollar bill, and 92 cents. It was possible the woman had dumped the guy and drove off, but she was unlikely to toss out her own purse with $20.

“Doc, take him to town and do the post mortem. We’re gonna stay here and look for another body.” Nelson turned to Anderson. “Get on the radio and call in more men.” He was thinking the dead man might have been Mr. Brownwood and the couple had fallen victim to one or more highway men. They had killed the man and taken the car and the woman. The blood could be hers. But, a thorough search was required before voicing this theory.

When the other men arrived for the search, Nelson left. If there was a murderous maniac out there with a woman captive, people needed to be on the lookout. However, Nelson had no indication which way they had gone: north on Hwy 93, south on Route 66, or east on Route 66. But, time was surely running out for Carrie Brownwood.

While driving back to the highway on the dirt road, Nelson keyed the microphone on his radio and called his office.

“Yes, sheriff?” Ruby, his clerk answered.

“Listen up, Ruby. First call my wife and tell her I won’t be home for dinner. And then, get a long distance line to Los Angeles.” The sheriff’s office had only one phone line; thus, they could make only one phone call at a time. “Contact the police, preferably a homicide detective. I’ll be back in the office in about ten minutes.”

“Roger wilco, Capt’n.” Ruby had worked at the secret atomic laboratory known as Los Alamos during the war. Nelson didn’t know what she had done for the War Department, but she was clearly quite excited to be involved in the manhunt for a murderer.

While Nelson had served in the military police, he had not been a captain.

Approaching the blacktop, Nelson flipped on the siren and revolving red light atop the car. After making the turn towards Kingman, he floored the accelerator. Ruby was talking with the LA police department when Nelson arrived. A minute later, he was connected to Detective Robert Klinger.

Nelson relayed the facts of the case, and then his theories. “So, your see, Detective Klinger, it would be very helpful if you could send someone to Carrie Brownwood’s address and see what can be learned about her and possibly the dead man.”

“Of course, I’ll go myself and let you know what I find as soon as possible.”

***

Dick drove to the imaginary line separating California and Nevada at the town of Galada. He drove slowly, examining the sandy embankments for the purse or other signs of a disturbance. At this extreme range, his radio could not receive the messages from the dispatcher. Since he had no jurisdiction in Nevada, he turned around. He would repeat the examination of this side of the road on the way back. It would be dark by the time he arrived in Barstow.

Passing over the mountains, his radio crackled to life. The dispatcher announced his call sign, and he responded.

The female dispatcher said, “I’ve a telephone call from patrolman Harvey Ellis. Over.”

“Thanks, patch it through. Over.”

“Roger, wait a moment while I call him back.” A half-minute later, she said, “Go ahead, Detective Wright. Over.”

Dick pressed the microphone button, and said, “Harvey, this is Richard Wright. Have you found something? Over.” In a radio conversation, any number of people could hear, but only one person at a time could speak. When Dick said “Over”, the dispatcher manually switched Harvey’s patched-in telephone link from receive to transmit, allowing him to talk.

“Yes, sir. You were right. I found someone who remembered the woman. He’s a cook at the Silver Spoon diner in Barstow. He was working a double shift, and the woman was in the diner last night, but he doesn’t know where she went. I was thinking you could question the night shift when they come in. I took the liberty of getting you a room at the Cozy Cabins motel across the street from the diner. The sheriff agreed to pick up the bill, but he wants you to come in and talk with him in the morning. I hope this suits you. Over.”

“Sure.” Dick was becoming pleased with his new sidekick. Talking with the local law enforcement would be required if he was going to gather more information about missing women on the highway. “I’m traversing Mountain Pass now so I’ll be there in an hour or so. Over and out,” Dick said, announcing the end of the conversation.

Dick pressed down on the gas pedal. On the long straight stretches, he could easily push the car up to 70 miles per hour. He found Patrolman Ellis parked at the Texaco Station and Dick pulled up to the pump.

“Fill ‘er up,” Dick said, when the attendant approached.

Harvey pointed to the attendant, and said, “Detective, this here is Willy Hughes. He was working last night and remembered the girl too.

“Yeah,” Willy confirmed, “she was a real looker. Coulda been a movie star. Ya say she’s dead? Been murdered?”

Dick made a mental note to tell Harvey to stop giving out details when questioning witnesses and suspects.

“Mr. Hughes, when did she arrive?” Dick asked.

“Not sure of the time, but it was before dark. I got a real good look at her. She had the best look’n legs ya ever saw.” He glanced to the side to ensure no one was within earshot, and then silently mouthed the words, “and ass.”

“How did she get here? On a bus?”

“Nah, she was riding with this fella in a black Packard. The guy gassed up and left her here. Imagine that. I’d never kicked her out of bed for eating crackers.” He shook his head.

“Where did he go?”

Willy pointed to the corner. “He turned onto Route 66.”

“Did you happen to get his plate number?”

Willy shook his head again. Apparently, he had been too busy watching the woman’s butt.

Dick asked, “Where did the woman go?” However, he already knew she had gone into the diner.

“In there, but I never saw her come out. My shift ended an hour later.”

The meter on the pump read $3.05 and Dick gave Willy three dollar bills and a quarter.

“I’ll check the tires and under the hood for ya, and then park it.”

Dick nodded. He made several notes in his book while he and Harvey walked into the diner. Dick treated them to a meal of the blue plate special while waiting for the night shift. He made a note of the transactions in his expense log.

In between bites of chicken fried steak soaked with country gravy, Harvey said, “I checked out the lineman, you know, Mr. Thomas.”

Dick nodded while chewing. He had forgotten to ask Harvey to check out the lineman, and was impressed by the youngster’s initiative.

“Anyway, his wife said he was home all night and got up about six, like he does every day. The telephone company’s time-clock had him punching in at seven. I don’t see any way he could be involved.”

“Yeah, but he’s playing loosy-goosy with the timeline. I think he did more at the scene than he said. If he tampered with any evidence, we could be chasing our tails. We’ll have another go with him later.”

THE END of Part Five

Part Six, (coming soon)

Copyright ©2023 by S. M. Revolinski All Rights Reserved

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