CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Officer Hendrix turned off the highway onto the gravel lane that ran alongside the pasture. She slowly drove to the gruesome crime scene.
Miller and Hendrix silently surveyed the area. The body of a woman was tangled in the barbwire fencing that enclosed the pasture. A dark red and white spotted bull inside the fence watched them with a menacing snort, and pawed the ground with his front right hoof.
The limp and battered body was covered with dried blood. It left little doubt that she was dead. At first sight, she resembled a large tan sack of potatoes that had been draped over the strands of wire. As another uniformed officer approached, Miller instructed the patrolman to locate the farm owner, and ask him to remove his bull from the field.
Officer Hendrix moved closer to Det. Miller and whispered, "This scene is exactly as Beau Camp described it."
Noting her subdued demeanor, he quietly said, "Yes, it is. Write a description of the victim as best you can. You're good with detail."
The large bull moved closer to the fence and eyed them; snorting and pawing the dirt which sent a cloud of dust flying through the air.
"That old boy's got a nasty temper sir. Will you need the wire cutters to untangle her from the barbwire?" Hendrix asked.
Miller inhaled a deep breath as he lit up a Camel. Blowing the smoke up into the air, he observed the scene for a short spell as he pondered the situation before him. "I don't think so, just some thick workmen’s gloves should do." he finally answered.
"Why would she try to climb through the fence in the first place sir?" Miller didn’t respond, "Was she trying to get away from someone, or maybe she was alone and had car trouble and decided to walk across the pasture to find help? I didn't notice a car on our way in sir. If she was in a car it could be farther down the lane.”
Glancing down the gravel road, "Yes, it could be. This is used by Darnell to reach a field on the back side of his farm. The road dead ends on the other side of that wooded area. When we finish here make a search of that area," he instructed her.
They both turned in the direction of the roadway when they heard the sound of the tractor approaching.
"Speak of the Devil and he shall appear," She said stiffly.
Sonny Darnell stopped and jumped down. "Don't try to hold me responsible for that lady’s death," he said excitedly. "My property is posted. She was crazy to climb through the fence with the bull…"
Det. Miller interrupted, "Hold it down. Just move the bull out of the field please!"
"Have you got a court order to come on my property and order me around?" Sonny demanded with his usual smugness.
Miller shot him a look, "We don't need a court order, just move the damn bull!" Det. Miller eyeballed him as he carefully worked his way through the gate, and entered the pasture mumbling and making wild hand gestures.
"Hey Sonny," he called as he stepped closer to the fence, "check and see if there's blood on his horns or around his head or front hooves!" He said lighting up another Camel.
The menacing bull showed no signs of aggression as it ambled over to Sonny. The bull remained quiet as its horns and hoofs were examined.
"This bull is as clean as a hound’s tooth," Sonny boasted as a train whistle could he heard in the far off distance.
"Thanks," Det. Miller said as he observed him lead the bull across the pasture. They slowly headed for an adjoining gate which opened into another field; much like a boy and his faithful dog meandering along on a sunlit afternoon.
"Here comes the coroner now sir. I hope he slows down. Look at the dust he's stirring up," Hendrix said hurrying off the roadway to keep from being covered by the dust storm approaching.
The coroner, Earl Schulz--a fifty-three-year-old chain-smoking alcoholic--stopped behind the police car. "Hey Miller, have you identified the victim yet?" he asked as he advanced for a closer look at the wire entangled body.
Det. Miller removed his handkerchief from his hip pocket and covered his mouth and nose. "No, not yet. We had some problems to deal with first. Had to wait for Darnell to move his bull, and now we have to wait for the dust to settle," he coughed, "I hope your dust doesn't cover any tire tracks or footprints; and stay back until we finish."
"Tire tracks? Are you sayin' Darnell's bull drove a car here to attack the girl?" Earl grinned foolishly as he forced an awkward laugh.
"No smartass, I wanted the tracks preserved because I don't think the bull killed her. She looks to have been beaten, not gored."
Earl grunted, shook his head and returned to the black hearse he arrived in, as his official van was broken down and the funeral home lent him its car, "Call me when you're ready," he said as he unfolded a copy of the ‘Saint Cloud Gazette’ and leaned against the rear of the hearse.
Mr. Darnell finished securing the gate as Det. Miller told one of the patrolmen to take some photos of the body and surrounding area.
"Put your gloves on," he spoke now to Officer Hendrix, “The bulls out of the way, so let's get started. Go around to the other side." Together they worked for twenty minutes untangling the victim from the barbwire so they could get a better look at her.
“I’ll be damned,” Miller said as he pulled the blood streaked hair from the victim’s face, “its Terri.”
“Who sir?” Hendrix grimaced as she looked upon the disturbing face.
“Terri Helms…ah, tell Earl he can take the body now.”
“Yes sir.” Suddenly, she jumped as a black-scrounger swooped low overhead and squawked loudly. Thinking to herself how she would have loved to shoot that damn crow and stuff it.
Night was coming on fast, so they returned to headquarters; where Det. Miller spent the rest of the evening doing paperwork. The phone rang on Det. Miller's desk. Nancy asked him if he was coming home tonight. Judging by her tone, he knew she was miffed. Slipping his pocket watch out, he realized the late hour, then glanced out the window and peered into the darkness. "I'll be home in a few minutes.” Turning the desk lamp off, he started to leave when Det. Fairchild entered.
"I want a word with you Thomas," he said with a throaty bawl to his brazen voice.
"What's on your mind?"
"It's that bumbling trainee of yours. Keep her as far from me as you can. She screwed up evidence at the North Side Park crime scene."
"What are you talking about?"
"She picked up the bloody hammer without gloves on. Then she said she didn't remember where she exactly found it in relation to the body. Somewhere in the grass she thought. How can I run an investigation with her moving evidence around, and not knowing where it came from? That woman is a menace. Keep her away from me. Is that clear?" he yammered.
"Sure, I'll have a talk with her, it shouldn’t happen again.”
"It better not, or I'll file an official complaint against her and you with the Chief."
"The Chief has left for the day. Let's go to his house and settle this right now!" Miller countered as he was getting fed-up with Dick’s ‘nobody is as good as me’ routine.
"Uh…that's not necessary, but if she meddles in anymore of my cases, I'll have you both on the carpet," he spat out as he stormed from the office.
As Miller passed the dispatcher on his way out. Buddy said, "I don't care what anyone says, I think Sherry's a cracker-jack of an officer."
Det. Miller turned, gave a wink and a smile, and whispered, "Me too."
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SAINT CLOUD GAZETTE
DOUBLE HOMICIDE STRIKES QUIET TOWNSHIP
Authorities are investigating the murder of Terri Helms, who’s bruised and bloody body was found at Sonny Darnell’s farm; and the murder of Martha Camp, whose blood soaked body was discovered at the North Side Park.
The Police Department said they have nothing to report at this time; owing to their ongoing explorations of the two grisly murders.
Story by: Jonah McGregor
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Jonah McGregor is a young Irish lad of twenty, with short brown hair and a pimply complexion; rather tall and gangly. Always interested in the workings of the homegrown civic administration, which led him into journalism at an early age. Most folks around these parts who encountered Jonah just plain seen him as peculiar.
Nothing much ever happens in Saint Cloud; other than the usual 4-H stuff, the local bingo, barn dance, Boy Scout outings, hayrides and whatnot; yet this was a dream come true for the eager young Jonah, for he was now in hog heaven. Finally, something to write about which had substance to it. Something that made people sit up and take notice for sure. A pugnacious little bulldog when given a nice juicy bone, so to speak; his innate enthusiasm knew no bounds as his fellow citizens were soon to discover.
Jonah would undeniably have much more to write about in the coming weeks; as the death-toll of this sleepy homestead would surely surge.