Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [102]
‘‘Just about two more steps . . . then there’s some stuff on the top of the wall we might want.’’
I looked where he pointed. There was a piece of material draped over the wall, where it could be seen fairly easily, secured there by placing a good-sized piece of limestone block on top of it. Looked like blue cloth, maybe denim. Small. Maybe with a pattern or something on it. The closer I looked, the more it looked like the back of a jacket with a logo.
‘‘I promise not to step on it,’’ I said.
I walked carefully closer to the corpse, steadying myself by keeping my right arm outstretched. I leaned ahead a bit, squinting, looking closely at the face. I slowly waved my left hand over the features, shooing away the flies. Vaguely familiar, it reminded me of somebody. I couldn’t get a handle on the identity, though. There were a lot of flies settling back on the face, but they moved around enough so that I could get sort of a picture. He hadn’t been here more than a few hours.
‘‘Still don’t know who it is,’’ I said.
‘‘Yes, you do,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Yes, you do.’’ She sounded kind of funny. I turned, and she had this stricken look on her face. ‘‘Look again.’’
I did. He did look familiar . . .
‘‘Recognize him?’’ she asked.
‘‘Almost . . .’’
‘‘It’s Johnny Marks,’’ she said.
We went off in a group with Harry, and told him what was up with Marks, who he was, what he did. Also told him the narcs in the area hadn’t been able to find him for a little while. We suggested he call them.
‘‘Shit,’’ I said. ‘‘I wonder who did him.’’
‘‘Didn’t you read the letters under the RAT, Carl?’’ asked Harry.
Well, no. I just hadn’t been able to see them. Couldn’t get any closer, and too far to read the print normally. But thank you for pointing that out, Harry.
‘‘Couldn’t quite make ’em out,’’ I said.
‘‘Maybe we could have the lab boys move the plank back a bit?’’
‘‘No, thanks, Harry.’’
‘‘Anyway, it says ‘The Living Dead.’ ’’ He rubbed it in. ‘‘And under that, it says ‘Killed a cop in the woods on June 19, in Nation County, Iowa.’ ’’
The Living Dead drew a blank with George and me, but not with Hester.
‘‘Cycle gang out of Ohio,’’ she said. ‘‘Meth trade.’’
‘‘Right,’’ said Harry. ‘‘Meth and grass. That denim vest has their colors on it, I think. We’ll know as soon as the lab folks get here.’’
‘‘Well,’’ I said, ‘‘that sure explains the ‘we did him’ on the phone call.’’
Hester shook her head. ‘‘I don’t think ‘did’ does it justice.’’
George was the pale one in our group. FBI doesn’t do a lot of homicides, like they say. He just asked one question. ‘‘Do they always look so . . . purple?’’
I explained to him that, with the actual ligature removed, the purple face told us that the spike through the chest had been inflicted some little while post-mortem, as the lividity in the face was so pronounced. Only blood seepage looked to have occurred from the spike, which made it appear likely that the victim was dead when it was driven in. At the same time, the removal of the ligature at that point said that it had been taken off for a specific reason . . . otherwise, why bother.
‘‘Specific reason?’’
‘‘Sure. Like a person’s belt, for instance. Don’t want it left around. They want us to find only the evidence they want us to locate.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
‘‘Just think,’’ said Hester, ‘‘maybe somebody is walking into your favorite restaurant, wearing the belt that did it . . .’’
We had to stop in the Conception County Sheriff’s Department to fill out written statements regarding the phone call and what was said. I gave written permission for them to have our department’s tapes, although the only part that was recorded had been the dispatcher and the caller. When he’d been transferred back to me, he’d gone off taped line . . . we did that on purpose, as we didn’t want anybody else to be able to listen to recordings of confidential conversations. There were drawbacks.
The three of us then went to a little coffee shop on the Wisconsin side, to talk and gather our thoughts. George and Hester had coffee, and I had coffee and a chocolate doughnut.