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By Root 1264 0

that he looked like a purple smiley face with a bite out of the top. His lips puffed out, and one eye was completely gone, probably having come out under the terrific pressure that builds up with wounds like that. But I thought I recognized him. His chin, the scraggly beard, and the awful teeth. I pulled a pair of rubber gloves from my camera bag, put them on, and very gently moved the body over in a quarter roll to his left. I pulled aside his blood-soaked red-and-blue short-sleeved shirt. The tattoo of a skeleton on a motorcycle, hair streaming in the wind, was on his right shoulder blade.

‘‘I think this is Howie Phelps,’’ I said, looking up at the two agents.

‘‘You know him?’’ asked Dahl.

‘‘If it’s Howie, and I think it is, I busted him for dope about ten–twelve years ago.’’ That was to tell Dahl two things; that I had made dope arrests of my own, and that they had been made while Dahl was still working Capitol Security. I mean, he likely knew a lot about dope cases, maybe a bit more than I did. But I wanted him to know that we were on a pretty even playing field.

I looked at Dahl. ‘‘It’s true,’’ I said, and grinned at him. ‘‘I used to hate old fart deputies who said they knew everybody and really didn’t. I really do know this dude. Had an a.k.a. of Turd, if that rings any bells with you?’’

He shook his head. ‘‘They’re all turds. No bells. What kind of dope?’’

‘‘Grass and meth.’’

‘‘Much?’’

‘‘No, small time. Maybe a pound of grass at a time, just enough meth to get his ego up, so to speak.’’

‘‘He seems to have had a shotgun,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Did he usually go armed?’’

I looked at her. ‘‘Never, as far as I know.’’

‘‘And a small water pump, and a battery, and some hose,’’ she said.

‘‘That time of year,’’ said Dahl. He was right there. The little pile of equipment would be used to pump water from a little stream up into the patch.

‘‘Seems to me,’’ I said, looking back down at the remains, ‘‘that Turd here’s got a girlfriend . . . lives with her, in Freiberg.’’ Freiberg was about five miles from Basil State Park. Right on the Mississippi River. ‘‘Give me a while, I’ll think of her name.’’

I stared at Howie, then took out my camera and snapped a couple of shots. I put my camera back, and said, to nobody in particular, ‘‘That was a pretty powerful rifle.’’

‘‘We have over fifty 7.62 mm casings, about thirty 5.56 mm casings, and probably a lot more to come. In four different locations so far,’’ said Hester.

I digested that for a moment. ‘‘Those little white boxes I see everywhere?’’ She nodded. ‘‘Two different calibers?’’ Again, a nod. ‘‘No shotgun shells?’’ She shook her head. Four locations.

‘‘So the dead doper had a couple of friends our guys didn’t see? Not till it was too late?’’ I was just speculating.

Silence.

‘‘Agent Dahl?’’

‘‘I don’t know. It sure looks that way, though.’’

‘‘Hester?’’

‘‘Looks like it.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘Maybe.’’

‘‘If that’s what it is,’’ I said, ‘‘we’re lookin’ for at least two people. Do we know which casings are from our guys?’’

‘‘Not yet,’’ said Hester. ‘‘I’d bet on three people myself. However, there’s one bunch of 5.56 rounds, maybe five to ten of ’em, in that general area.’’ She pointed to some heavy underbrush down near Kellerman’s body. ‘‘Those are probably officers’ rounds.’’

‘‘Okay . . .’’ I turned to Dahl. ‘‘Just how big is this patch, anyway?’’

He looked at me, deciding. ‘‘Hundred six plants. Sinsemilla.’’

That gave me pause. ‘‘That was grown here back in the middle eighties. DEA said it couldn’t be done in this climate.’’ I smiled. ‘‘Iowa farm boys can grow just about anything on a slab of concrete. Kind of makes you proud.’’

I’d been squatting down, and stood up slowly. My back acts up on occasion, and I don’t like to push my luck. I looked the area over again, sweat dripping down from my forehead. I swiped at it with my gloved hand, so it only moved around. I peeled the glove off, and brushed my forehead with the back of my hand. The glove was dripping. High humidity.

Hester handed me a small cloth. ‘‘You’ve got powder from your glove all over your forehead.