Free Double Prey by Steven F. Havill Page B

in from the highway, then have to drive the ATV along the highway to the saloon, then…on and on,
Padrino
. I just don’t understand what he was doing.”
    “For one thing, he probably caught sight of the cop car, and figured he’d get a ticket for driving on the highway. So off he scoots, where you couldn’t follow even if you wanted to. Other than that, I don’t have any idea. When you crack the teenage mind, a Nobel is yours, sweetheart.”

Chapter Eight
    “He never moved,” Dr. Alan Perrone said. The medical examiner had taken his time at the site, as if he had nowhere else to be than this desolate arroyo bottom, now starting to shimmer in the harsh sun. He glanced up at Linda Real. Her cameras had been busy. “You have what you need so far?”
    “Sure do.”
    “Let’s roll him over then.” He looked up at Estelle, at the same time pointing at Freddy Romero’s neck just under the ear. “If he was wearing the helmet, it wasn’t buckled on,” he said. He made a flipping motion with his hand, and Estelle helped him turn the body over. “I don’t think we’re going to have any surprises, but you never know.” Understanding the need for comprehensive documentation, Perrone worked patiently with Linda at each stage of the process, as if he were
her
assistant, never rushing, never demanding.
    The ATV framework had smashed into the back of Freddy’s head. Had he been wearing the helmet, the wreckage would have caught him below its margin with the full weight of the four-wheeler behind the blow. Fancy paint job or not, the helmet would have done Freddy little good.
    “My guess is that it crushed the cervical vertebrae and the occipital both,” Perrone said. “He never knew what hit him.” The victim’s expression was almost serene, as if he’d been enjoying the flight until the switch had been turned off.
    Perrone commented on the shattered right shoulder, the broken left ankle, and finally the obvious lividity. After being smashed into the arroyo bottom, the victim hadn’t moved a centimeter. Blood had settled, the stagnant puddling in the lower tissues blotching the torso. “We’ll see more of that during the post,” Perrone said, and sat back on his haunches. “Sad business, as always. Your neighbor, am I right?”
    “Yes,” Estelle replied. “Butch’s older brother.”
    “Christ,” he said. “Francis was telling me about the fang in the eye. This family is having all their bad luck in one day.” He twisted and regarded the crumpled ATV. Even damaged, it was obvious that the machine was a veteran of many rough miles, the paint faded, the tires worn and irregular, the engine encrusted with oil varnish. “He wasn’t a newcomer to this.”
    “No. I think he’d rather be out exploring than just about anything else. He should have been in school yesterday. Instead…” She let the thought go unfinished.
    “Well,” Perrone said, pushing himself to his feet, “I’m finished here.” He looked up at the arroyo rim where Bill Gastner kept the two paramedics company. “No alcohol at the scene, apparently?”
    “None that we’ve seen so far. There were two unopened cans of beer in the truck. None opened.”
    Perrone nodded absently. “We’ll see. Right now, it looks like he made a simple mistake and overcooked it.” He reached out with his foot and gently nudged the exploded front tire with his boot. “Everything is going just hunky-dory, and then events conspire.”
    They heard another vehicle, and a second white Expedition eased into view.
    “That would be himself,” Perrone said. “Let me get out of here before the circus blocks me in.” He reached out a hand and touched Estelle on the arm. “I’ll let you know ASAP. But don’t expect any surprises.”
    “Thanks, Alan.”
    She saw the sheriff’s vehicle backing up, away from the paramedics’ unit. In a moment, Robert Torrez appeared in the arroyo bottom and trudged with no particular urgency down the center of the