Chapter Seven
Wade shouldn’t have taken Mary to the crime scene.
He hadn’t been convinced the remains were human, based on witness accounts from three stoned teenagers.
It was unusual to discover a body in this advanced state of decomposition, partially buried.
Even so, he wished he’d gone by the book, because he was about to embark upon his first homicide investigation in Lost Lake. This was a very big deal to him.
The deputy coroner was scheduled to meet him at the end of the road. Wade parked and sent a text to Sheriff Nava. He wanted to keep him in the loop, and to follow every proper procedure moving forward.
Nava called him back less than five minutes later. “What’d you dig up, Hendricks?”
Wade described the scene at the creek bed. Nava sounded distracted, like he was listening with one ear. “I’d like to request an autopsy.”
That got Nava’s attention. “Based on what evidence?”
Wade hadn’t expected this question. The evidence spoke for itself. “Suspicious circumstances, unidentified remains, unknown cause of death … take your pick.”
“Those are investigation triggers. An autopsy is still discretionary.”
Wade was aware of that. “Do you have an objection?”
“Let’s just pause for a reality check,” Nava said. “Unlawful burial, if it is that, doesn’t equal homicide.”
“I don’t think unlawful burial is in question.”
“Think again,” Nava countered. “The river level fluctuates. Landscapes change and trees grow. This body could be drowning victim, a migrant worker, someone who got lost after crossing the border. We get all three here, all the time.”
Wade hadn’t considered the possibility that the corpse hadn’t been buried.
Could a drowning victim have washed up on the bank and become entangled in the root system of a growing tree?
“I’ll ask the coroner to estimate the age of the remains, but I don’t see a reason not to move forward with an official autopsy. ”
Nava made a scoffing noise that irritated him.
“Do you want to come out here and take over?” Wade asked.
“I don’t have time.”
“Then it’s my investigation, and my call.”
“It is your call, but it’s my department, and we are swamped. I can’t afford to waste manpower and resources on hundred-year-old bones.”
Wade struggled to form a diplomatic response. He wasn’t going to get bullied into sweeping this under the rug because the Lost Lake Sheriff’s Department was understaffed. “I appreciate your concerns, and I don’t expect any—”
Nava hung up on him.
Wade stared at his screen for a moment, cursing under his breath.
He’d never met a chief who wasn’t an asshole, so this was par for the course.
His previous supervisor, his father, had been impossible to please.
He’d learned how to navigate tricky relationships in Last Chance. He also knew when to stick to his guns.
While he waited for the coroner, he googled methods for determining the age of bones, which he vaguely remembered from his forensics classes.
He didn’t think the corpse was one hundred years old, based on the clothing tatters, but he was no expert.
From there he followed another rabbit hole into tree science facts.
He could measure the tree’s circumference to make an estimate about how old it was.
A case like this could be research-heavy, time-consuming, and unproductive. Wade didn’t blame Nava for his lack of enthusiasm, but he couldn’t stifle his own. Running his own investigation was a dream come true.
About an hour before sunset, a guy in a county van pulled up next to Wade’s vehicle. He was young, but balding, with a studious face and wire-rimmed glasses.
“Deputy Sheriff Hendricks? I’m Craig Jensen.”
“You’re the coroner?” Wade asked.
“Deputy Coroner.”
Wade noted that he was wearing sturdy boots and carried a backpack full of gear. “We’d better get to it.”
“Just us?”
“Just us.”
Craig smiled. “Lead the way.”
Wade walked fast, wondering if they would have enough time to recover the remains.
He answered Craig’s questions about the gravesite as they went.
When they arrived, Craig photographed the scene and marked the edges of the grave with flagged stakes.
He filled a container with soil and labeled it.
Then he removed the utility blanket, folded it neatly, and took more photos.
“Whose footprints are these?” Craig asked.
“One of the kids who reported it.”
“I’m assuming you don’t want to make a mold.”
Wade didn’t see any reason to. “Would you?”
“No. This guy’s been here longer than they’ve been alive.”
“How long?”
“I can’t give an accurate estimate at a glance, but I’d say twenty years at least, based on the bone discoloration.”
Wade grunted his response. Craig donned his gloves and continued to work methodically, unearthing the remains piece by piece.
He measured the depth of the soil with a metal ruler.
He used fine tools like an archaeologist and set every bone on a cloth backdrop.
The skull got wrapped separately. The clothing tatters went into a plastic bag.
“There’s a ring,” Craig said.
Wade brandished his own chain of custody bag. “Give it to me.”
Craig lifted the ring from the dirt and dropped it into the plastic bag. Wade inspected the personal item with growing excitement.
“This looks like a class ring.”
“What year?”
“I can’t tell. I’ll have to clean it.”
They grinned at each other, because it was a huge find. There were no other identifying objects among the remains.
“That’s it,” Craig said. “You might want to come back and check the hole again, even bag up all this dirt to sift through for microscopic evidence, but it’s a long shot at a gravesite with this level of decomposition.”
They tagged everything and got ready to leave. Wade measured the circumference of the tree in order to make an age estimation.
“Why did you take a soil sample?” Wade asked.
“To test the pH. Most of the soil in an arid climate like this is alkaline, which slows decay.”
Wade was impressed with his expertise. “What can you tell me about the remains?”
“It’s an adult male, over six feet tall.”
“Any signs of trauma?”
“The bones are dirty, so it’s hard to say. They need to be cleaned, like that ring, and inspected closely.”
“Should I be careful of evidence on the ring?”
“Nah. Any blood or tissue is long gone.”
“Do you recommend an autopsy?”
Craig gave him a sharp look. “Are you kidding?”
“No,” Wade said carefully. “I’m asking for your professional opinion. Could this guy have washed up here and ended up buried by natural means?”
The deputy coroner wore a dubious expression as he studied the site again. “It’s possible, but not likely, regardless of water level changes. The soil depth and compaction are consistent with an intentional burial. I don’t believe this is an accident.”
“I agree,” Wade said. “I was hoping for a consensus between us.”
“You’ve got it. If you didn’t request an autopsy, I would.”
“Who would perform it?”
“You’ll need a forensic-trained physician. Ask for Dr. Forester.”
Wade nodded his appreciation.
“Lost Lake is a small town,” Craig said. “The elected officials tend to be old-school and dismissive. They think a lot of scientific avenues are academic, or just too expensive for their miserly budgets. You’ll have to fight for every resource.”
They returned to the end of the road, where Wade got the contact information for Dr. Forester.
Craig would take the remains to the county morgue for an official autopsy, which wouldn’t happen until tomorrow.
Dusk had settled over the horizon, bringing cooler temperatures.
Wade should have been exhausted after the long day, but he wasn’t.
He couldn’t wait to clean the ring and study it.
When he arrived at the station, it was full dark. Lights glowed from Nava’s office. Wade walked inside to find the sheriff engaged in some kind of standoff with his son. Jackson had his arms crossed over his chest. Nava was slumped behind his desk with a cold beer bottle pressed to his temple.
“Hendricks,” Jackson said in a terse voice.
Wade nodded a greeting and ducked into his office, minding his own business.
Jackson left the building instead of continuing the conversation with his father.
Wade removed a pile of clutter on his desk and took the evidence bag out of his pocket.
He grabbed a blank sheet of paper from the printer dock and set the heavy gold band on top of it.
Dirt was crusted over the ring’s face, obscuring any details.
Wade searched the desk for tools. He needed something like a dental pick, but he didn’t have one. He found a paper clip and unbent it. For the next few minutes, he was completely absorbed in the task of removing dirt from the ring’s nooks and crannies.
“How was your treasure hunt?” Nava asked. He stood by the open door to Wade’s office.
“Struck gold,” Wade said, not glancing up.
Nava watched him work. “Is that a class ring?”
“Yep.”
“What kind?”
“I’m not sure. Might be an Aggie.”
Nava, like all Texans, knew the term. An Aggie was a class ring from Texas A&M. Wade’s alma mater, UT Austin, had enjoyed a healthy rivalry with A&M. An Aggie ring was distinctive, with a signature golden eagle.
“It is an Aggie,” Wade confirmed, after a moment.
“What year?”
He held the ring up. “Eighty-eight.”
“Largest college in America,” Nava said.
Wade smiled wryly, aware of this fact. It made the treasure a bit less precious. Texas A&M was so big, it was like a city. The student body was enormous, and the rings were popular. They might have made thousands of them in 1988.
“At least we have a year.”
“Some guys wear those for life. You can’t assume he died in 1988.”
“I can assume he was a college student in 1988. And he wasn’t a migrant worker.”
Nava couldn’t argue those points.
He lifted his beer bottle. “Want one?”
Wade knew when to accept a peace offering, and he was thirsty.
He tucked the ring back into the evidence bag. “Sure.”