Death in the Desert

By Douglas Durham

After thirty years of being a cop, Jason Douglas thinks he’s through with dead bodies, bloody victims, and nightly gunfire. So when he stops to fix a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, the last thing he expects is to find skeletons in the desert. Nor does he expect to be pulled into a small West Texas sheriff’s office as the only available CSI man. But when people around him start dying brutal deaths, Jason knows things aren’t what they seem. Can he find the killer and solve the crimes before it’s too late, or will he and his wife Sonya become the assassin’s next victims?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Opal Books
• Release date: Feb 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781626941052

Book preview

He’d finally made it to retirement, but how could he know that a flat tire would lead him to an ominous discovery--throwing him back into a life of violence?

After thirty years of being a cop, Jason Douglas thinks he’s through with dead bodies, bloody victims, and nightly gunfire. So when he stops to fix a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, the last thing he expects is to find skeletons in the desert. Nor does he expect to be pulled into a small West Texas sheriff’s office as the only available CSI man. Still, he reluctantly agrees to help the deputies process the crime scene. But when people around him start dying brutal deaths, Jason knows things aren’t what they seem. Can he find the killer before it’s too late, or will he and his wife Sonya become the assassin’s next victims?

KUDOS FOR DEATH IN THE DESERT

In Death in the Desert by Douglas Durham, Jason Douglas is a retired cop that gets pulled into dealing with drug dealers and assassins when he has a flat tire in the middle of nowhere in Texas. The only experienced crime scene guy in the area, he becomes the go-to guy for the local sheriff’s deputies when Jason’s wife finds two skeletons in the desert near where they pull over to fix their tire. Little do they know that they are dealing with much more than simple crime of murder. Jason and his wife Sonya park their RV at a local ranch and Jason goes to work, trying to help solve the crime. Durham’s characters are very well-developed and three-dimensional. And he definitely knows his crime scene science. Being a lover of shows like CSI Miami, Law & Order, and Forensic Files, I found Death in the Desert to be on a par with the best of them. It’s a fairly long book, about 400 pages, but the pace is fast and the story extremely interesting. -- Taylor Jones, Reviewer

Death in the Desert by Douglas Durham is a combination murder mystery, thriller/suspense. It’s filled with a lot of crime scene science and police terminology, but with the glossary at the beginning, I found it easy for a lay person to understand. I liked the main characters and thought them genuinely well developed. The science is fascinating and I learned a lot about crime scene investigation. The plot is strong and story very fast-paced. And the book has a ring of truth that tells me Durham knows a great deal about crime scene investigation, whether through personal experience or because he did a lot of research, the end result is a book you will find hard to put down. -- Regan Murphy, Reviewer

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to acknowledge the following: My wife Kimberly, whose patience and support was critical in the creation of this story. Several of my closest comrades, Daryl Dellone, Corey Schroeder, Neal Manha, and Michael Gene Johnson along with his former K-9 partner Falcon, one of the most fearless, and fearsome, K-9 officers that ever tread on four paws. All of the Officers, Detectives, Dispatchers, Property Technicians, and Crime Scene Investigators I have had the opportunity to work with on the streets and in headquarters, for without the unique personalities and individual skills of these people, I would not have been able to bring my characters to life. The crooks, gangsters, and thugs without whom I would have no story to tell. Finally, to Lauri, Mike, Faith, Jack, and all of the other great folks at Black Opal Books for giving me the opportunity to tell it.

DEATH IN THE DESERT

A Jason Douglas Novel

Douglas Durham

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright 2012 by Douglas Durham

Cover Art by Jackson’s Cover Designs

Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626941-05-2

EXCERPT

I’d dealt with assholes like Lieutenant Davis before, but I thought when I retired, I was finally free of them...guess not!

They both stared at me as if I had two heads.

Wait, mitochondrial? Olsen said. Nuclear? You lost me.

"You might have heard this before, but I’ll review it anyway. There are two types of DNA used in forensics, guys: mitochondrial and nuclear. In the simplest of terms, nuclear DNA is from live cells with a nucleus, for instance when you take a swab from the inside of a suspect’s cheek, or semen, vaginal fluid, blood, sometimes saliva, etc. Nuclear DNA can be used to positively identify an individual. Mitochondrial DNA on the other hand is not as accurate. It can come from dead sloughed skin cells, or hair without a follicle, for instance. You can use Mi-DNA in addition to your other evidence to narrow down to a probable suspect, but it’s not necessarily individual specific. They both looked disappointed. Hey cheer up, boys. Who knows? We might get lucky." I didn’t know how profound this statement would turn out to be.

The three of us were walking down the hallway to the Property and Evidence section so Olsen could book the lens cap and swabs in, when Davis came through the double doors in front of us. His usual sour look was particularly grave this morning.

Without any greeting he asked, What time did you three leave the hospital last night?

The question caught us by surprise, as our train of thought was on the cap and DNA evidence. We looked at each other then back at him. I spoke up first.

Oh, one thirty, two maybe? Not really sure.

The deputies nodded their agreement.

Well, you got trouble, Davis replied. "Your Indian is dead. This was your deal. Get over to the hospital right-the-fuck now! That half-breed K-9 cop is already over there and I’m sure he’s sweating it since it was his dog that did the damage, but he was helping you three out. The sheriff is on my ass because the Feds are on his. They want to know why the hell three of our deputies arrested an Indian on The Res without including them. They backed off a bit when the sheriff told them the reservation cop actually made the arrest and it was a hot-foot-pursuit deal, but let there be no doubt, you three are going to be in the shit right along with him if fuckin’ Cochise there died from his dog-bite wounds, now move it!"

DEDICATION

I have worked with many good men and women throughout my career in law enforcement, all of whom were of great influence in the telling of this story. Some I knew well, others not so much. Most are still with us, some still serving their communities in this selfless and dangerous profession. As they read these pages, I’m certain each will recognize his or her contribution. Others are gone from us now and we mourn their loss. It is to all of these folks and to one fearless K-9, that this book is dedicated.

GLOSSARY OF TERMS & EXPRESSIONS

1:1 ~ refers to reproducing a photograph to actual size scale--one inch to one inch.

10-4 ~ Affirmative.

Adobe Walls ~ Adobe Walls, Texas was the site of two battles, one in 1865 and one in 1874, between buffalo hunters and merchants and the Comanche, Apache, and Arapaho Indian Tribes.

AFIS ~ an acronym for Automated Fingerprint Identification System--a data base for scanning, storing, and sharing fingerprint identification between law enforcement agencies.

AG ~ Attorney General.

AH-64 ~ Designation for the US Army’s Apache Attack Helicopter.

ALS ~ Alternate light source.

AO ~ An acronym for Area of Operation, where the mission/battle is taking place, where one is working, or--sometimes--the immediate area.

Article Search Trained ~ Police dogs who are trained to find discarded objects. Examples would be a gun thrown from a moving car, a money bag or ski mask from a robbery, etc. Some dogs become so proficient they can find pieces of disassembled guns thrown in different locations. Most agencies utilizing K-9 dogs have a slush fund to pay for accidental bite victims. There is usually a cap on the amount that can be paid out, but it can go as high as several thousand dollars, avoiding many lawsuits as the victims are usually very happy to accept the cash.

ATF (or ATFE) ~ An acronym for the federal law enforcement agency, Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives.

BMG ~ Browning Machine Gun--originally designed as a heavy machine gun and still used as such today, mainly by snipers, due to its extreme range, accuracy, and ability to penetrate light armor, masonry, brick, and concrete walls.

Ballistic Bubble ~ The bubble or pocket of energy-filled, superheated, compressed air encasing a bullet, which is created as a high-velocity bullet in flight pushes air out of its way. This is what causes the initial damage to the body, first stretching and then shattering tissues, bones, and organs ahead of and to the sides of the bullet itself.

BOL ~ Be on the lookout (for).

The Box ~ A common term for a polygraph examination.

Casa Sobre Ruedas ~ House on wheels.

Cheshire Cat ~ A fictional feline character from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland known for its mischievous--sometimes bordering on evil--grin.

CI ~ An acronym for Confidential Informant.

Code 4 ~ Police code fore no assistance needed.

CODIS ~ An acronym for Combined DNA Index System--an automated, computerized search-and-storage system for DNA samples. Persons arrested for felony crimes now have a sample of their DNA placed on file with this system.

The Comancheros ~ A 1961 western movie starring John Wayne and Stuart Whitman. Wayne portrayed a Texas Ranger Captain using the false name Ed McBain in order to penetrate a group of gun-running outlaws.

Delta ~ An identifying feature inside the fingerprint pattern area.

DNA (Deoxyribonucleic Acid) ~ Genetic strands unique to all living organisms, or in the case of humans, each individual, which can be matched to a particular individual, much like fingerprints, with near 100% accuracy.

Demasiado Facil ~ Too easy.

F3 Nikon Camera ~ manufactured for many years, this 35mm single-lens reflex (SLR) film camera was very popular due to the quality of photos it took and its rugged metal bodied construction.

FAA ~ An acronym for the Federal Aeronautics Administration which is tasked with the investigation of plane crashes.

Fast and Furious ~ code name of a 2009 ATF program with the goal of tracking guns being illegally trafficked across the border into Mexico. The ATF not only allowed, but actually encouraged, several gun shop owners in the United States to sell guns to individuals whom the ATF knew to be straw buyers for the Mexican drug cartels. Almost immediately, the ATF lost control of the program and hundreds of guns disappeared into Mexico without a trace. The failed program only came to light when one of the guns was used to kill a US Border Patrol agent and was found at that crime scene. The United States Congressional investigation, with the help of ATF-agent whistle blowers, revealed that high ranking ATF and US Department of Justice officials, and possibly even officials in The White House, knew of the program’s failure and tried to cover it up.

Feather the Prop ~ A term describing the adjustment of the pitch of the propeller so that the leading edge is turned into the wind, creating the least drag--done electrically from inside the cockpit.

FLIR ~ An acronym for Forward Looking Infra-Red--a lens/camera combination, normally attached to law enforcement and military vehicles and aircraft, that detects contrasting heat sources, thus allowing the operator to see in total darkness, unlike that of standard night vision technology, which requires a minimum level of light, such as starlight, in order to illuminate the area.

Four-Point Restraints ~ Heavy leather or nylon straps, attached to a bed, which are used to keep violent patients from harming themselves or the hospital staff by securing their wrists and ankles.

Fragged ~ A slang term coined by soldiers referring to killing someone by use of a fragmentation grenade.

Gambaro ~ Thug.

Ghillie Suit ~ A camouflage suit designed to resemble natural foliage, normally made from shredded, colored burlap and commonly used by hunters and military snipers.

Good Stick ~ A term often used to refer to the ability of the pilot of an aircraft--a reference to the days when an airplane was controlled by a vertical column, or stick, held between the pilot’s knees.

Gum-Shoe ~ A common, though not necessarily flattering, name referring to a private investigator.

Gut Bag ~ A term referring to a Native American canteen created from the stomach or gut of an animal.

HEAT ~ An acronym for Help Eliminate Auto Theft--a specialized unit dealing with stolen vehicles and parts.

Hombre ~ Man

Hero Complex ~ A term referring to police, firemen, or other first-responders who plant pieces of evidence or fingerprints, or even start fires and then conveniently discover the evidence of the crime so as to be deemed the hero in the case. Some cops have even gone so far as to shoot themselves in their body-armor vest to gain the attention they sought.

Ident-a-Kit ~ A manual picture identification system using clear plastic overlays with different head shapes, facial, and hair features printed on them--used by laying the overlays on top of each other until a composite picture of an individual is created--replaced by a new computer program which performs the same task only much faster.

Javelina ~ A peccuary or skunk pig--a medium sized mammal belonging to the Tayassuidae family--looks similar to a pig but is not related to the swine family.

KISS ~ An acronym for the saying, Keep It Simple, Stupid.

Less-Lethal ~ A term referring to shotguns designed to fire small, bean-bag-type projectiles filled with sand, powdered lead, or birdshot, which strike with enough force to incapacitate an individual without causing life threatening injury, though a strike in the head or face at close range can be fatal--also applies to stun-guns and incapacitating chemical sprays, such as pepper spray and mace.

Live-Scan ~ A digital imager, manufactured by several different companies, which is used to scan finger and palm prints of arrestees at the time of booking, for storage in computerized criminal data bases--now used by most agencies in the US and around the world in lieu of rolling a person’s prints, using ink and fingerprint cards. Hard copies of the scanned prints can also be printed out from these imagers.

Loupe ~ A specialized magnifying glass used by crime labs for viewing and comparing fingerprints--several other types of loupes are used by jewelers, etc.

Lunge line ~ a rope approximately fifteen feet in length with a halter clip on one end used to exercise a horse.

Marv Albert ~ A well-known basketball sports broadcaster who was arrested for allegedly assaulting his girlfriend by biting her on the back several times.

MOA ~ An acronym for Minute of Angle, which is a just-under-one-and-one-half inch-sized grouping of bullets fired from a gun at a distance of 100 yards.

Mojado ~ Spanish slang term for wetback, or illegal immigrant

MP5 ~ A sub-machine gun, manufactured by Heckler & Koch in both .9mm and .40-caliber, known for its high quality, accuracy, and ease of use--used in close-quarter battle by many police SWAT teams and several nation’s militaries, including the Armed Forces of the United States.

MRE ~ An acronym for Meal Ready to Eat, prepackage, single serving, military rations sealed in individual packets.

Ninhydrin ~ A chemical reagent that reacts with amino acids secreted along with the water, salts, and oil from the pores of the skin, turning the acids a purple color, resulting in a purple image of a finger or palm print, normally used on porous, cellulose-infused items such as paper, cardboard, or raw wood.

North Hollywood Shootout ~ An incident that took place in February 1997 when LAPD confronted two heavily armed bank-robbery suspects at the Bank of America in North Hollywood, California, leaving multiple officers and civilians wounded and the two suspects dead.

OHV ~ An acronym for Off Highway Vehicle, such as a quad runner, Jeep, or 4-WD utility.

OP ~ An acronym for Observation Post.

POS ~ An acronym for Point of Sale

Posse Box ~ An aluminum box with a clipboard lid, approximately one-inch thick, used for storing paperwork and/or as a writing surface.

Ranchera ~ Reservation.

RICO ~ An acronym for Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organization Act--a set of federal laws created to battle organized crime.

Roll-a-Tape ~ A measuring device used for measuring long distances, consisting of a small wheel on the end of an aluminum handle that rolls along the ground and spins an internal measuring mechanism. The distance is visible through a small window above the wheel.

RP ~An acronym for Reporting Party.

Ruby Ridge ~ An incident that took place in 1992, involving Randy Weaver and his family in a violent confrontation with US Marshalls at their home in the mountains near Ruby Ridge, Idaho, where a sniper with the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team attempted to shoot Weaver from fairly close range, bungling the shot badly, missing Weaver and accidentally killing Weaver’s wife, Vicki, who was standing near the front door of their house holding their baby.

SAR ~ An acronym for Search and Rescue.

Slim-Jim ~ A long thin piece of sheet metal notched at one end, used for unlocking car door locks from the exterior via a side window.

Six-P Principle ~ A term meaning Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance.

Snoopin’ and Poopin’ ~ A term used by US soldiers and marines, meaning to sneak around, observe, and gather information.

Straw Buyer ~ A person who makes a purchase for another person. It is against federal law to purchase firearms in this fashion.

Spirometer ~ A device used to measure the capacity of air in the lungs.

Topo ~ Short for Topographical. Topo maps are maps published primarily by government agencies like the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) or the US Military, which show in detail the topographical features of the ground in certain areas of the earth, or grids, and normally include longitude and latitude grid lines showing coordinates and colored lines, which indicate the steepness of the terrain. including hills, valleys, peaks, lakes, streams, washes, prominent rock outcroppings, etc. These maps are commonly used by hikers, rock climbers, campers, hunters, fisherman, 4WD/OHV enthusiasts, SAR personnel, etc.

Toyah ~ a small town in southwest Texas, just off I-20 near Pecos

Un-ass this AO ~ A term coined by soldiers in Vietnam, meaning to leave the immediate location.

UC ~ An acronym for Undercover.

VIN ~ An acronym for Vehicle Identification Number, a number that every motor vehicle and trailer has permanently attached or stamped to its body and frame.

W3 ~ The Army rank of warrant officer, Level 3--warrant officer ranks were created during the Vietnam Conflict when helicopter pilots were needed badly and there were no regular-commissioned officers to fill the positions.

Whorl ~ A term that refers to a specific fingerprint pattern.

Wounded Knee ~ Wounded Knee, South Dakota, 1890, was the site of the last major confrontation between the Lakota Sioux and the US Seventh Cavalry.

CHAPTER 1

The Cops

It wasn’t so much of a boom! as it was a low pitched thump. Not all that much as volume goes, and really no vibration to speak of, but it jarred the truck. I knew instantly what it was--trailer tire blow-out. Shit I thought. Just what I needed out here in the middle of friggin’ nowhere. Well, it wasn’t exactly nowhere, but close enough that you could see it from here. We were westbound, my wife Sonya and I, on I-20 fifty miles or so west of Pecos, Texas. If you’ve ever been to Pecos, then you know what I mean by middle of nowhere. The two of us were on the final leg of a bucket list trip that we’d been planning for two years prior to my retirement. Up till now, it had been a real hoot and for the most part hassle free.

"What was that?" Sonya asked startled.

Blow-out, I replied. I need to get off the freeway.

Not far ahead I saw an exit onto what looked like a small country road. Why would there be a big-time freeway exit onto this apparently little-used, rough-blacktop road, I wondered. Probably some local rancher with juice and a county supervisor for a buddy. But I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I got the rig slowed down enough to hit the exit without killing us both then cruised down the old road until I found a gravel turnout wide enough to pull out of the way should someone pass by. Looking both ways down this road, I figured that wasn’t likely.

We got out of the truck, stretched, and walked back to the trailer. I wasn’t surprised when I saw that the center of the three tires on the left side was shredded. Well at least it hadn’t taken the fender with it when it blew.

This is going to take a while, I told my wife, so you might as well get the dogs out of the truck and walk ’em, then you can help me with tools and stuff.

Okay, she replied.

I could tell by the look on her face she was not thrilled at the prospect of getting her hands dirty by helping me. Even worse, suffering the most hated of female damage, breaking a fingernail. Mumbling under her breath, she began to leash up our two dogs for a walk. We had never had little dogs before. We had inherited these two from our teen-age daughters who, of course, grew up and drove off to college, leaving us with these two mutts. It could have been worse, I guessed. Both were sweet little dogs. They traveled well and didn’t yap or whine all the Goddamn time like so many small dogs did.

I gazed around at the surrounding desert. Whole lot of fuckin’ nothing out here, I thought, sand, scrub brush, some scrawny cactus, a few rattlesnakes probably, and yeah--I looked down, watching a small brown scorpion cross the sand in front of my boot--scorpions. Swell, I get to crawl around on the ground with bugs that can sting the shit out of you!

On the upside, at least it wasn’t 110 degrees. That thought actually made me chuckle as I recalled a line from one of my favorite comedy movies Blazing Saddles when character actor Burton Gilliam says to all the rail workers as they are laboring away in the hot sun, C’mon boys, the way you’z lollie gaggin’ around here, you’d think it was a hunnert’n twenty degrees...can’t be mor’n a hunnert’n fourteen!

Still smiling at that one, I called out to my wife as she started with the dogs out into the sandy dirt, Hey, watch out for critters. I just squashed a scorpion. Keep your eyes open.

Over her shoulder, she tossed me one of her better disdainful How-stupid-do-I-look looks. I shook my head. Humph! Marital bliss. With that I started the unpleasant task of getting the spare tire cranked down. Crawling under the trailer, I, of course, hit my head straight away in the process. Oh yeah, this is going to be some fun.

"JAAAY DEEE!"

My wife’s voice was several octaves above her normal tone with obvious alarm as she yelled my initials, they being JD, of course. I had just started jacking up the axle, but as was normal when adrenalin jolted my system into the fight or flight mode, I could move damn quick without conscious effort. I dropped the jack handle and jetted out from under the trailer like a torpedo being launched from a tube. I jerked my Kahr PM 9, 9mm pistol from its small holster on my belt. It was in my hand before I saw her. She was standing frozen like a statue, 50 yards out into the desert. Damn! I thought realizing she was too far out for a quick rescue. Why did she go out that far?

I was running flat out now, but I could already see my worst fears of her being snake-bitten, or having been surrounded by a group of drug smugglers, were not a concern--not that my small seven-shot, auto-loader would do much good if the latter were the case. She was looking down at something, trying to keep the dogs from getting close to whatever she had discovered.

Halfway to her, I slowed. One of the first training officers I’d had so long ago, an old Irish cop complete with food stains on his tie and a pint of Irish whiskey stashed inside his favorite call box, had once told me something I tried never to forget. Always walk into the mess, boy-o. Never run, no matter how bad things seem. When you run your body will get there quicker than your brain, and that can end badly. This advice had served me well over the years and had actually saved my sorry ass a couple of times. I slowed my running to a walk then to a slow hunter’s stalk, alert for whatever the threat was.

As I got close enough for my wife to hear me, I asked softly, Are you okay?

She turned her head toward me and nodded. She then pointed to something on the ground in front of her. It took me several seconds to recognize what I was seeing.

As I did, my brain kicked into a cop’s sarcastic overdrive and I blurted out, Huh, now there’s something you don’t see every day. Sonya found no humor in that at all. I said to her, Hon, look around behind you and try to back out of your tracks the same way you came in. Than as an afterthought, I added, And keep those dogs short-leashed.

Whoops, I thought, should have held on to that one. I again got that disdainful look that all women learned how to do in the Wife Academy. You’d think after 28 years of marriage I’d learn.

Ni-en one, one. State yawl’s ’mergency pa-lease. The heavy Texas drawl of the sheriff’s department dispatcher’s voice took me a bit by surprise. I could hear the keys on her dispatch keyboard clicking in the background.

Yeah, listen, I told her. I’m a retired cop from California. I’m out here just off of westbound I-20 at exit...ummm, 65. I pulled over to fix a flat tire and I just found something out here that you folks are going to want to know about.

Yes, suh, and may I have you name and phone numbah pa-lease?

Jason Douglas, I replied, also reciting my cell number. I then briefly described what Sonya had found. There was a pause as I heard her speak inaudibly into her head-set microphone.

She came back to me. Did you say ya’ll was a retired offisuh?

Yes ma’am, I replied, from California.

Are you aahmed? she asked.

"Aahamed? Oh, armed. I smiled at the accent, knowing how easily I myself had picked them up when I’d lived in different parts of the country. Yes ma’am."

A dep’ty is on his way now. Please put any fireaahms you may have away.

Okay, I said, thinking about them sending just one deputy for this type of call. Well, I thought, maybe it’s like that old Texas joke. If there was only one riot, they sent only one ranger, or deputy in this case.

Southwest Texas along the I-20 corridor was for the most part flat, open, desolate country. Oh, there were the Sierra Madre Mountains to the far south in Mexico and the Guadalupe Mountain Range to the west, but right here where I stood, I could see for miles in every direction. The red and blue lights of the Revas County Sheriff’s Department Ford SUV were visible for a good five minutes as it approached. The deputy’s vehicle exited the freeway as I had, along that same rough blacktop road. He shut down his emergency lights as he got close. I again thought about them sending only one unit. They either don’t believe what I told them, or hell, maybe they just don’t have the people. The SUV slowed as it passed the rear of our trailer. Now I could see this was a double unit, the two deputies inside watching us where we stood in the gravel turn-out.

As the vehicle slowly approached, I could see they both were particularly interested in where our hands were. Prior to the arrival of the deputies, I’d put my pistol back in the trailer and clued Sonya in on the proper etiquette of how not to find one’s self on the business end of nervous cop’s gun. We were both holding our hands in plain view by our sides, with our driver’s licenses gripped in our fingers. I’d also grabbed the paperwork for the truck and trailer right after I’d hung up the phone. As the Sheriff’s vehicle slowed, I could see the passenger deputy holding the microphone to his mouth, obviously advising his dispatch of their arrival, our descriptions, and requesting the registration info on the South Dakota plates on our rig. The deputy driving pulled the unit in front of our truck in a classic blocking position. I smiled, thinking sarcastically, Oh yeah, like we’re going to lead all the cops in West Texas on a high speed chase in a pick-up truck pulling a 40 foot fifth wheel.

Sonya, always the mind reader said, Be nice.

Both deputies exited the SUV. The driver approached us, the passenger deputy hanging back. Both had their right hands hovering near their side arms. Being a gun guy, I immediately recognized the weapons as Beretta Storms, thinking to myself, Maybe 9’s, but more likely .40’s, since that’s the caliber that most agencies like these days. The approaching deputy was a young Caucasian guy in his early 30s. He was tall and lean in a muscular way, and even I noticed that he was handsome in his tailored khaki uniform. A police recruiting poster-boy. He was also very pale. My investigator’s instincts kicked in. Either new to day shift, or maybe working over from nights. I was amused to notice out of the corner of my eye, Sonya checking him out from his boot soles to his shaved head under his brown Sheriff ball cap. No doubt she was having a brief cougar fantasy moment of her own. That was okay. We all like to look at good looking people with nice bodies.

He had on a brand new pair of those streamlined bug-eye tactical sunglasses that all the young-stud S.W.A.T. coppers wore these days. I couldn’t see his eyes, but by the slight movement of his head, I could tell he had stolen a quick glance at Sonya’s C-cup size and currently bra-less breasts under her T-shirt. He couldn’t help himself. Neither could I for that matter. The cool morning air and the adrenalin still pumping through her veins were making her nipples poke at the underside of her shirt like tent poles. I almost laughed out loud, thinking that guys were the same everywhere.

The passenger deputy was a contrast. Older, probably mid-fifties. Hispanic, barrel chest, with thick forearms. Face and arms weathered brown by the Texas desert sun, his eyes quick and experienced. Yeah, this guy would be a handful for anyone deciding to try him on, I decided. His eyes were on both of us, but unlike his younger partner, he was more interested in watching our hands and body language than looking at my wife’s tits. His gaze swiftly moved from my eyes, to my hands, to my waistline looking for any telltale bulges under my T-shirt, down over my pockets to my feet, then back to my eyes again. He did the same with Sonya. It was all about officer survival with this guy.

Hi, guys. I’m Jason Douglas, your RP, I said to them. This is my wife Sonya.

Hello, Sonya said, smiling and extending her right hand a bit flirtatiously to the young deputy.

Thinking more about the front of her shirt than his own well-being, the young cop automatically extended his right hand, his gun hand, and shook hers. Critical error, I thought. I caught the quick disapproving look the older deputy shot at his partner, then he turned his attention back to me and we exchanged knowing glances. This seemed to put him somewhat at ease.

You’re retired off the job? he asked.

Yeah, central California, Vista P.D., I replied and showed him my departmental retired ID and badge.

Deputy Frank Sanchez. He extended his left hand. We both smiled. My not-so-subtle partner here is Deputy James Olsen, Sanchez said.

Embarrassed at being caught boob watching and flustered now, the younger deputy stammered a few words. I was sure he was now thinking about how he was going to explain his voyeurism to his sergeant when I made my complaint about him checking out my wife.

Relax, I told him, smiling. First of all, I’m a guy, too. The twins there-- I nodded at my wife’s shirt. --wouldn’t have gone un-noticed by me either. Second of all, I’m old school, youngster. I don’t beef other cops, within reason anyway. The relief on his face was obvious. Besides, I continued, winking at Sanchez, I would imagine your senior partner here will have some additional words of wisdom to impart to you once you guys are alone.

That’s a given, Sanchez muttered under his breath, scowling at his partner.

It was obvious by the look on Olsen’s face he was not looking forward to that conversation.

With his mind now back on the business at hand, the young deputy asked, Are you armed?

Was, I replied. I put it back in the trailer just before you guys got here.

He examined our South Dakota driver’s licenses and the paperwork for the truck and trailer. Mind if I pat you down real quick-like?

Not at all, I told him and assumed the position against the side of my trailer. I’ve got a pocket knife in my right front pocket and a small flashlight in my left.

He removed both, laid them on the ground near his feet, and quickly searched me. I was glad to see he had finally recovered enough of his wits to again start thinking about his own survival.

Sanchez spoke up at that point and said to both of us, I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll need to do the same to the young lady. I’m sure you understand. I can call a female deputy to do the search if you’d like, but that may take a while. She’ll probably have to come from another agency as we’re pretty short on lady deputies these days.

I looked at Sonya. Honey?

I don’t care, she said, clearly flattered at the young lady comment.

I was sure she was hoping that it would be the handsome young Olsen who would perform this task, but alas it was not to be.

Sanchez shot his young partner a quick Don’t-even-think-about-it look and took a step forward. "I’ll take care of it, he said. Would you turn around, raise your arms out to your sides, please, ma’am? He then used the backs of his hands to quickly and thoroughly complete her pat-down--armpits, ribs, between her breasts, waist, inner thighs right up to her crotch, front and rear pockets. I noticed he was being overly careful not to allow his hands to spend too much time lingering in any particular spot. Very professional. My apologies, ma’am," he offered.

Kind of enjoyed it, she shot back with a playful wink. This embarrassed the older deputy.

Satisfied that we now presented no immediate threat and having heard back from his dispatch on his earpiece that we and our vehicles were not wanted, they were both now at ease. Olsen handed me back our licenses and paperwork and retrieved my knife and light from the ground. Hey, a ‘Fenix,’ he said as he looked at my small flashlight. I’ve never seen a small one like this, only their larger tactical lights.

Yeah, I replied. I have a bigger one, too, but this one is so handy being pocket size.

As he handed them back, Sanchez said, Well, let’s get to the rat killin’, folks. What’d you find out here?

Turning my head, I nodded to indicate a northeast direction and told him, It’s out there about 50 yards or so. My wife actually found it when she was walking our dogs. We tried not to stomp around too much, but she and the dogs were in close before she saw it. I had her re-trace her steps out, though, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Sanchez again started to ask about the find, but I held up my hand. You have to see it to believe it.

The deputy shrugged and held out his hand for me to precede him. The three of us started walking out into the desert. My wife, having actually picked up a few things over the years from both my work and from watching her favorite crime shows on TV, knew the deputies wouldn’t want any more cooks in the kitchen, so she opted to stay put at the rig with the dogs.

We’ll be out there a while, I told her. Keep an eye out for any mutants, and keep Pietro close-by.

Puzzled by this Olsen asked, Mutants? Pietro?

Sanchez laughed and answered Olsen for me. Mutants meaning just about anyone who don’t have your interests at heart, and Pietro was the inventor’s first name, as in Pietro Beretta.

The younger deputy nodded. Ahh.

Very astute, deputy, I told Sanchez

Beretta 9mm? he asked, referring to the caliber of Sonya’s pistol.

Yeah, I replied, a full size Model 92.

Big gun for a girl, Olsen said.

I know, I answered, but she shoots it well.

Cool. The young deputy nodded his approval as we trudged our way through the hard-packed dirt and sand, asking, So how long were you a cop?

I worked the street for about eight years in the Bay Area. Ended up there after I got out of the service. I’ve been a crime scene guy for the last 22 years in Vista. Supervisor for the last 10.

Army? Sanchez asked.

Yeah, one of the last of the draftees in ’70, I told him.

‘Nam? he asked and I nodded.

I’ve heard of Vista, Olsen said Where exactly is it?

Right in the middle of the state, I answered.

How big is it? he asked.

Oh, last census I think the population of the city itself was about half-million, but with all the surrounding and adjoining smaller towns, the whole area is probably closer to 750k.

Wow! Olsen said. That’s big. How big is the P.D.?

I answered as I walked, When I started we were only about 250 sworn, but in the early ’90s, crime got out of control. The streets were literally running with blood. I’m not shittin’ you. It was like Chicago is right now. That led our illustrious city leaders to realize that they’d better find some money to hire some more cops or they could kiss their cushy jobs adios, so by 2005 or so, we had about 800 sworn. Now though, with the bad economy and the budget woes, probably only half that number.

Humph! Sanchez replied, his aggravation obvious. I see we’re not the only ones having to plug twelve holes in the dike with only ten fingers. He looked me up and down again. You retired pretty young.

I nodded. I was tired. Thirty years in this business was enough. More, actually, if you count my Army Military Police time. Too many years of blood, screaming, gunfire, and bodies. Too many shouting suspects, crying victims, and damaged children. Had a bellyful of the politics of the staff weenies and city leaders--you know the story. I was just flat worn out, so I pulled the pin. Wife wanted me out at 20. I hung in there a couple more years, but when that little voice inside me started shouting that it was time to go, I finally listened. We sold the house and everything else, bought the RV, the truck, and the bike, and bailed out of California, destined for the adventurous life of retirement on the road. Hey-- I changed the subject, pointing to Olsen’s ball cap. --I thought all you Texas lawmen wore white cowboy hats?

Nah, he said. That’s just the glory boys. The rangers or the junior rangers.

I raised an eyebrow. Junior rangers?

TSDPS, he replied. Texas Department of Public Safety--highway patrol in California speak.

Oh, I replied, hearing a bit of animosity, or envy, or maybe some of both in his statement.

As we neared the spot of my wife’s discovery, I began leading the deputies in a semi-circle around to the southwest, attempting to pick up Sonya’s tracks, explaining to that we would approach over the same path, thus not contaminating the scene any more than necessary. I noticed both deputies exchanged quizzical glances, but they nodded their agreement. I related the entire story of our discovery, from the blown-out tire on the interstate, to my wife’s near scream, to my armed response.

"What kind of pistol do you carry?" Sanchez asked as we approached the spot.

Depends on the time of year, I replied.

"Oh, you’re one of those guys, eh? Olsen inquired. A gun for every season?"

Nah, I said. I own a few, but I generally carry a sub-compact Kahr 9mm in the summer. I carry a compact Smith .45 in the cooler weather.

Why switch? he asked.

I was sure he was expecting some complicated ballistic co-efficiency answer. Clothing, I told him. Summer time I like to wear shorts and a tank and the Kahr is small.

Mmmmm, Olsen replied, obviously thinking about having only six or seven shots in a small automatic.

I could read his mind. "I know, I know, you give up firepower for size but the object of the game is to not get yourself into shooting situations in the first place if you can avoid them."

Amen to that, Sanchez interjected.

I smiled to myself. I could tell Olsen was still in that carry-two-guns-and-100-rounds-of-ammo-even-when-you’re off-duty frame of mind, indicative of all young cops. I had been just like him when I was his age. A young, tough, bad-ass cop with a badge and a gun. Instead of that silly To Protect and Serve motto so often seen on the doors of patrol cars, it should have read Don’t fuck with me. At least on the cars that young coppers drove.

I found Sonya’s and the dog’s tracks and the three of us, now single file, turned and slowly made our way northeast along the same path. The tracks ended and we stopped. Olsen seemed taken aback by what he saw. He slowly pulled his sunglass down to the tip of his nose, his mouth agape.

Sanchez simply stared at the scene with an experienced eye, and after a minute he said, Well, there’s something you don’t see every day.

I laughed out loud. Both looked at me not understanding why. Same exact thing I said to my wife.

The scene before us in the sand looked like someone’s Halloween porch display. Two intact, sun-bleached and weathered skeletons were laying face down together, perpendicular to each other. Any remnants of flesh or hair were long gone. Partially covering the legs of one of the skeletons were the tattered remains of what appeared to be blue wool pants with a faded yellow stripe, the feet still in rotting leather knee-high, cavalry-style, riding boots, complete with rusted spurs. No clothing of any type was visible on the other, save a small square of leather loin-cloth protruding from under the front of the pelvic girdle. The leather was in surprisingly good shape. Two large heavy bladed and very different, rusted knives were visible, also. One was laying in the sand next to the loin-clothed skeleton. The second was protruding from between the right side ribs of the booted one.

"From the looks of this, we got us one very old double homicide," Sanchez observed dryly.

Will you be calling out your detectives and crime scene people? I asked him.

Sanchez snorted. Ol’ buddy, you’re looking at the only investigation team that’ll be responding.

You’re it? I asked, surprised.

We’re it, he replied. Like I told ya, times are tough and there’s no money to hire deputies, much less any kind of CSI people, so we handle our own investigations.

What do you do if you run into something you can’t handle? Or where do you do any evidence processing?

Olsen spoke up. Oh, we can call in the TSDPS crime scene folks for help if we need it. If it’s got enough notoriety and enough press interest, the rangers like to take over and get their mugs on TV, but for the most part, it’s just us.

We do have a small crime lab of our own back at the main station, Sanchez said. Doesn’t get used that much, though.

Wow! Well, good luck, I said to both. You guys need anything else from me?

They looked at each other, both wanting to ask, but neither one wanting to be the first to do so.

Finally Sanchez spoke up. Hey listen, this isn’t some gang-banger shot in an alley. We’ve never encountered anything this weird. We ahhh...

I looked at him. You guys need some help getting started with this thing?

Well, Sanchez said, smiling, since you offered and since you are definitely the most experienced crime scene guy amongst us at the moment, it sure would help us out if you could give us some pointers.

How much you gonna pay me? I asked him. I could see he was struggling to find a way to tell me that no money would change hands. Hey. I chuckled. "I’m just kidding you, but I do need to run this by the wife before I commit to anything. If she agrees to hang for a while, then yeah I’ll help you out, but you should know, the way I see it, this isn’t going to be a two hour project. Here’s the way it’s shaping up to me. It’s noon now, and I still have a flat tire that needs to be changed. This scene is going to take some serious time. It’ll have to be preserved overnight at least, possibly even longer. Then I asked them, If the wife agrees and I do stay on and help you out a bit, I’m going to have to find an RV park or truck stop to plant the flag. I have an on-board generator, but I’d at least need water. Any suggestions?"

This is your lucky day, or maybe this was all just meant to be, Sanchez replied. As it so happens, there’s a rancher I know, big horse ranch, has his place about six miles from this very spot. He’s got a big motor home that he parks out near his stable across from the house and he keeps it hooked up there for guests. The parking spot has water, sewer, electric, the works. He owes me one for taking his drunken teenage son home instead of to ‘Juvie’ one summer night back in July, so if he’s around, I’m sure he’d move his RV and let you park there for free.

That’ll work, I told him. "And the price is right for sure, but I can pay him if he balks at