Free Bone Dry (Blanco County Mysteries) by Ben Rehder Page B

no subtle message. It was designed to taunt him, to tell him exactly who did it. And he received that message loud and clear. Cradling the sopping head of his dog in his arm, Slaton turned to retrieve his .45 automatic from his nightstand.
     

CHAPTER TEN
     
    “Lester, you all right?” Marlin asked, carefully eyeing the wooded area around him. A man was down, and at this point Marlin didn’t know why. Common sense—and law enforcement savvy—told him to approach the situation with caution.
     
    “I’m okay, John,” Lester said, standing up. “But this ol’ boy ain’t doing good at all. I woulda called for an ambulance or somethin’, but it’s too late for that. I started to wait for your call at the house, but I figured I’d better come on back down here, keep the buzzards away.”
     
    Marlin looked for footprints in the area, didn’t see any, and carefully stepped up beside Lester. He gazed down at the dead man and saw a familiar face.
     
    The man was on his back, his head tilted to one side, eyes open but unseeing. Marlin noticed lividity—pooled blood—in the cheek closest to the ground, while the other cheek was white as a newborn’s butt. No need to even take a pulse; the man was long gone. A rifle lay by his side and the center of his camouflage jacket was dark with blood. His hands, too, were covered with dried blood.
     
    “Bert Gammel,” Lester said dryly. “One of my hunters. I figure it was a stray shot that got him. Either that, or he somehow managed to shoot hisself.”
     
    Marlin didn’t reply, but eyed the apparent entry wound. Dead center in the chest. Very unlikely that it was self-inflicted, even accidentally. Keeping his feet in place, Marlin bent low over Gammel’s rifle, trying to catch a scent of cordite, but there was none. It didn’t mean the rifle hadn’t been fired, but Marlin’s intuition told him it hadn’t.
     
    “Did you move the body?” Marlin asked.
     
    “Naw, just felt for a pulse. Gave me the willies, to tell the truth.”
     
    Marlin stood and said, “Lester, I want you to step over here with me for a minute and answer a few questions. If you can, try to walk back to your truck the same way you walked in.” Marlin knew that Lester, even as tough as he was, would think more clearly if he wasn’t staring at a corpse. Also, Marlin had to protect what might be a crime scene.
     
    Before questioning Lester, Marlin radioed the dispatcher and asked for assistance. Before long, the area would be swarming with personnel, including the sheriff, deputies, and the medical examiner.
     
    With help on the way, Marlin grabbed a pen and notepad and turned to Lester, but the ranch foreman didn’t have much to tell. Lester said that he kept a spiral notebook at his house; hunters were supposed to sign in and out when coming and going from the ranch. Lester said that Gammel had hunted yesterday afternoon but had never signed out. It happened all the time. Hunters simply forgot, or didn’t want to bother with stopping at the foreman’s quarters on the way out.
     
    When Lester came down this morning to repair a hole in the southern fence, he saw Gammel’s vehicle. He scouted the area, found the body, and immediately called Marlin. “I didn’t want to call the sheriff’s office just yet, John. Small town, you know, and I didn’t want to start a bunch of rumors. I knew you’d handle it right.”
     
    Gammel was an employee with the county Public Works Department, a well-known figure around town. If word got out that he was found dead, the entire population would know by the end of the day.
     
    “Did you hear any shots yesterday afternoon?” Marlin asked.
     
    “A couple.”
     
    “Can you remember what time?”
     
    “I think there was one at about four o’clock, another at around five or five-fifteen, and then one more right before dark.”
     
    “A little after six?”
     
    “Yeah, I guess. Thereabouts.”
     
    “Did any of the shots sound like they came