Chapter 2
At 1:30, Oriole joined Culpepper at the Morgue. She got out her camera, recorder and notepad. She said a short prayer for the soul of the man lying on the stainless steel table.
“Ready, nose plugged with Vicks, Oriole?” Culpepper smiled knowing her seven years as a detective had taught her well.
“Even Vicks won’t cover the smell.” Oriole steeled herself to continue.
“OK. Let’s do it. Preliminary visual- white male, 6'1", 195 pounds. Shirt torn in chest area and sleeves, snaps not buttons, top two snaps undone, shirt untucked in front, but tucked in back. Pants zipped, no wallet or ID in pockets. Steel toed work boots, size 13, covered with some kind of fine gravel or dirt. We’ll need samples. No t shirt. Underwear blue boxers, socks heavy white cotton. Scar on abdomen-possible appendectomy. Both hands missing at the wrist. Need microscopic examination. Initial assessment animal activity. Tattoo on left forearm, anchor. Missing big toe on left foot. Decomp set in. Two holes in chest, one through and through. Almost a straight on. Looks like a 9 mm. We’ll see if we can retrieve the one inside. No bullet loose in his clothing. So we’re missing the 2nd one. Pause recording. Oriole, you’ve got what looks like a homicide. I’ll get you the bullet as soon as I can and diagram the path of the bullets. But it looks like the shots were straight on to the heart and 5 cm to the left center. I’ll forward the rest of the findings as soon as I’m done. I’ll see if we have any stomach contents and any trace evidence other than the boots. We’ll do a lab analysis of the blood. Why don’t you go on back to the office with that much. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done here.”
Oriole left the ME and drove back to the office in Prescott even though she was officially assigned to the Verde office. She briefed her lieutenant with what she had found at the autopsy and the crime scene. “I’m getting ready to go back out there to see if we can locate the hands and any other evidence. There was a lot of garbage strewn along the trail. I suggest we bag it all and determine later what is and isn’t evidence.” Oriole had been well trained on homicide investigation by the sheriff’s office and long discussions with Marlowe on her defense cases.
Oriole left the office and returned to the crime scene. Volunteers had been recruited to grid walk the area looking for animal sign and the missing hands. The volunteers had bagged all the cans and bottles, wrappers, cigarette butts and made castes of any tracks found. Oriole looked at the evidence list, but couldn’t find any reference to hand bones. The forensic techs had collected, tagged, and logged every piece of anything they could find. Oriole spoke to Yellowhorse who had been relieved shortly after 2:00 a.m. and gone home to get a couple hours sleep. “Yellowhorse, we need to spread out to see if we can find any pack rat nests or any other critter activity. Will you coordinate that please?”
“Oriole, we have searched about 200 yards in a circle grid. We didn’t find pack rats or anything else. Those hands aren’t here anywhere. I’m not one to give up, but I think we have to.”
“Before we do, let’s see if Culpepper has anything more for us.” Oriole took out her cell phone and called the ME.
“Any updates, Rod?”
“Do you have a camera in here watching me? I was just getting ready to call you. It looks like the hands were hacked off, no animal bite marks on the bones. Looks more like something with jagged teeth. There is some activity on the flesh but that could be ants, bugs, or rats. I’ll know more later. I don’t think you’re going to find the hands out there. Looks like the hands were removed post mortem and looks to me like the body was placed out there after death. That would take something to move a 200 lb man dead weight. So look for wheel marks like an ATV or wheelbarrow. Are there any tracks recorded?”
Oriole looked at the evidence log and noted the footprints and wheel tracks the volunteers had cast in plaster. “Plenty of footprints and wheel tracks.”
“I don’t think you’ll find his footprints. Have them make photos of everything they found and send over so I can for sure eliminate his boots. Talk to you later.” Culpepper signed off in his curt efficient manner.
Oriole confirmed that all footprints were cast as well as all tire prints. It would be a monumental task given the number of mountain bikes and hikers who used the path. She called her partner, Fred O’Neill, to check on progress with the missing persons she had found the night before.
“Wolfe, get your ass back here, we think we have a match given the scars, tats, and missing toe. Marvin Stutz - that’s S T U T Z . His daughter reported him missing day before yesterday. He was supposed to meet her for dinner on Tuesday at the Hassayampa Inn. He never showed. She went out to his house. No one there. His truck was gone. Place was locked up tight. She went home. Tried to call him repeatedly. Then she started getting worried. He was in charge of the Chino Pipeline. So she went back out there to see if he was at work. No one there had seen him since Tuesday about 5:30 p.m. At first she thought maybe he was spending the night with a new friend or something. Then she started getting worried cause he didn’t answer his cell. That’s when she turned in the missing person. We can go interview her as soon as you get back here.” Fred O’Neill hung up leaving Oriole to stare at the phone in her hand.
Arriving back at the office in Prescott, Oriole checked in with Fred. “ Are you ready? What’s the address for the daughter? You driving or me?”
“I’m driving. I want to get there in one piece. You always drive hell bent for leather.” Fred responded. He was the best partner she could have asked for, nearly 20 years her senior, a few inches shorter than her, barrel chested, stocky, precise in his attire; he always wore a Resistol, he hand shaped to his satisfaction and a bolo, the Arizona tie. Fred O’Neill was a died in the wool cowboy cop. He believed in God, Country, and Justice. He’d been a detective for more than 12 years, before that he patrolled the country side putting the bad guys in jail.
Oriole and Fred arrived at Marlene Stutz’s condo at 2:30. It was one of the upscale places constructed to look like a Southwestern home all by itself, but in actuality it was connected to other condos. The going price for a condo in that area was a quarter of a million. Oriole took in the sculpted landscaping, the similarity between each residence, the peaceful neighborhood and the fact that no one seemed at home anywhere.
“How do you want to do this?” Fred asked.
“You take the lead. I’ll follow.” Oriole suggested.
Fred rang the door bell and waited as the door opened. “Ms Stutz, my name is Fred O’Neill, I’m a detective with the Sheriff’s Office. This is Detective Wolfe. May we come in?”
Marlene Stutz stood in the doorway. To the detectives, it appeared as if she was trying to process information that could only break her heart. She was short, a little on the fluffy side, dark brown hair to her shoulders. Her appearance was enhanced by the obviously expensive pant suit of teal blue matching her eyes that were too blue made that way by color contacts. She wore 4" heels seemingly to compensate for lack of height. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. In her left hand, she carried wadded up tissue and in her right hand was a glass of white wine. Finally, she snapped out of her stupor and invited the detectives in to a living room that had to be created by one of the hotshot “designers”. The carpet was off white, the couch and love seat were a shade up from off white. The walls were Navajo White, with nearly every spare inch covered with a painting done by local artists, some of which Oriole recognized as Neilsen, Coe and Johnston. On the floor in front of the 6' couch was Navajo rug that had to worth $5,000. The coffee table was of hand carved mesquite that Oriole recognized by an artist from Tucson. On the window high bookcase was a Remington Bronze of a cowboy, that had to be worth another $3000. The house had an unlived in feeling. More like a showcase than a home. The woman standing before the detectives looked more like a realtor showing the place than the lady of the house.
“I’m sorry detectives, can I get you something to drink, coffee, tea, or wine?”
“No thanks, ma?
??am, we’re fine.” Fred looked at Marlene thinking this woman is already mourning and we haven’t even determined it’s her father. “Perhaps we could all set down. We’re here to talk about the missing person report.”
“Thank God, someone is going to do something. Daddy has been missing for days. I called the Sheriff’s Office, the Prescott Police Department and DPS. No one wants to do anything. They keep saying I’m overwrought. Well, I want you to know I’m not overwrought. I know something has happened. Daddy would never miss dinner with me. We had a standing dinner engagement every week. We used it as a business meeting and family update. I just know something has happened. Daddy would never not call me if he couldn’t make it. Not that he never didn’t make it. He always made it. He would never stand me up. He was always on time or early. Something dreadful has happened. I just know it.” Marlene stopped long enough to drain her glass of white wine. Fred and Oriole looked at each other, Fred did that thing of raising his right eyebrow to say ‘hey there’s something going on here’.
“Ms Stutz, could we get some preliminary information. Can you give us some statistics? What is your father’s name?” When Fred interviewed witnesses or suspects he had a way of eliciting information from them that no other detective Oriole had known could do. He would sit in an interview and get confessions from suspects who were hardened by their experience.
“Daddy is Marvin Stutz.
“How long has your father lived in Prescott?”
“My Daddy moved here from Palm Springs three years ago to manage the Chino Pipe Line. After I graduated from ASU with my degree in accounting, Daddy offered me a job working in the office. I’ve been here two and a half years. I bought my condo two years ago.” Fred and Oriole looked at each other and Fred raised his right eyebrow again in question.
“Ms Stutz, do you have a picture of your father?”
“A picture? Why do you need a photo of Daddy? What kind of a picture? How old? I don’t understand. What is going on?” Marlene’s rapid fire questions again raised concerns with the officers about her composure and honesty.
“Ms Stutz, we want a picture so we can make a comparison.” Fred quietly responded.
“Well I have one from my brother’s wedding last January. Would that work?”
“Yes, that’s fine. Could you find it for us?”
Marlene tottered down the hall on her four inch heels and Fred whispered to Oriole, “A little nervous?”
“Ya think.” Oriole whispered back. “Is she hiding something or just her normal self?”
Marlene rejoined the detectives in a very short period of time. “Here. It’s a duplicate you can just keep. Do you think you know something about where Daddy is? He just wouldn’t not call me. He just wouldn’t miss work. Something bad must have happened. I need to know. Can’t you tell me what’s going on?
“Ms Stutz, do you know if your father might have been involved in a relationship? Would he have gone off with someone without telling you?”
Marlene handed the picture to Oriole. In looking at the photo, she was 100% sure she had identified the dead body as Marvin Stutz. She nodded to Fred, who was in the process of assisting Marlene to be seated on the couch next to him.
“Ms Stutz, did your father have a habit of going off without letting someone know?” He reached out and touched Marlene’s forearm.
“No, everyone loved Daddy.” Oriole looked over Marlene’s head at Fred and frowned a question.
“Did he carry large sums of money with him?”
“Oh, my God, he’s been hurt, hasn’t he. Where is he. I have to see him.” Marlene’s voice cracked and tears were marring her flawlessly applied makeup. The wadded up tissue she had been carrying was shredded in a pile on the Navajo rug. She folded over and went into hysterics.
“Ms Stutz, could you come down to the office with us to continue this interview?”
Oriole and Fred assisted Marlene into the back of the vehicle and drove to the Prescott office. At the office, Oriole had Marlene situated in a “soft interview room”, a room they used to interview victims and kids. Oriole took the picture of Marvin Stutz to the ME for confirmation of identity. The ME concurred with Oriole that Marvin Stutz and the dead body were one in the same. They both agreed it wasn’t necessary for Marlene to do the identification given the state of decomposition. Oriole met up with Fred and told him of the positive ID. Because of the rapport Fred had built with Marlene, Oriole suggested he handle the notification and the rest of the interview while she taped it and watched from the observation room.
Marlene’s former hysterics were nothing compared to what she displayed after Fred told her. She flung herself off the couch onto the floor, began screaming and crying, pounding the floor and kicking her feet. Oriole watched in amazement knowing that each person handled death differently, but thinking this was way over the top. Oriole listened as Fred went over many of the same questions again to make sure the answers were the same.
“Ms Stutz, I know this is difficult. I have just a few more questions if you could manage, then I’ll have someone drive you home.” Marlene crawled up the couch and made an effort to compose herself. “Ma’am, is there anyone who would want to harm your father?”
“No. No one. The only problem that ever existed is between Daddy and Jim. Daddy didn’t think Jim was good enough for me. But it never came to blows or anything like that and anyway Jim has been in San Francisco at a conference for the last week. I just talked to him on his cell phone last night.” She reined in her sobs and defiantly stuck out her chin. “Wait a minute. How did Daddy die? What happened? When?”
“Ms Stutz, it appears that your father died of gun shots. We don’t have the exact time just yet.”
“Did he kill himself? Not Daddy. Never. Oh, God, someone killed him didn’t they. I knew it.” Marlene started in with the hysterics again, much to Oriole’s consternation.
“Ms Stutz, do you know how we can get ahold of Jim. What’s Jim’s full name and address?”
“It’s James Worthington. I have his address and number in my PDA.” Marlene began rummaging in her oversized Coach purse. “But he had nothing to do with this. He couldn’t have, he’s been gone all week.”
Fred wrote down the information and nodded his head toward where he knew Oriole was listening and watching. Oriole had recorded the information and placed a call to the department secretary asking her to run his name.
After the interview with Marlene, Oriole and Fred accessed computer records on Marvin Stutz. The results were disappointing for information except for an injunction against harassment (IAH) filed in the Chino Valley Magistrate court by Stutz against Jim Worthington issued five months earlier. The IAH prohibited Worthington from being at the job site, Marvin’s home and carrying firearms.
A follow up search on Worthington, turned up more tid bits: arrests for burglary, assault, forgery, and misconduct with a weapon. His last known address was out in Juniper Woods. Juniper Woods was the result of a massive division of an old homestead into five to forty acre mini ranches. Folks living in Juniper Woods hauled water, lived off the grid and tended to take care of their own problems. Most places had no trespassing signs accentuated with “property protected by .357" or similar identifiers. Those folks meant business.
Oriole and Fred decided to drive the thirty seven miles out to Juniper Woods to see if they could locate Worthington. They passed through Chino Valley, Paulden and proceeded out Highway 89. Off in the distance the San Francisco Peaks were visible through the light smoky haze from the latest forest fire. Antelope dotted the grassland, along with the occasional coyote.
They pulled off into the informal parking lot at the end of Bullock Road and reviewed the GPS directions to the last known address of Worthington. Directions took them down Bullock to Wapatee then to Side Saddle. They stopped a quarter of a mile before the identified property and got out the binoculars.
The ‘60's trailer set back from the county road. The barbed wire fence surround
ing the place was decorated with empty beer cans. The make shift gate was a steel post through four strand of barbed wire. A mean looking pit bull mix bared teeth and growled at their approach.
“How we gonna handle this?” Oriole whispered to Fred.
“We open that gate, we’re trespassing.”
“So let’s just call him out.” Ever practical, Oriole couldn’t see going the hard way when an easy way seemed to present itself.
“Hello, the house.” Fred yelled. And the dog started barking. The door to the trailer opened. A scrawny, bedraggled, shapeless woman appeared in the doorway.
“Whatcha want?”
“We’re looking for Mr. Worthington. Is he here?” Fred shouted over the dog’s noise.
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m Detective Fred O’Neill, this is Detective Oriole Wolfe. We’re from the Sheriff’s Office. We need to talk to him.”
“He won’t be back til tonight. Whatcha want with Jim?”
“Business with him. Know where he is?” Fred decided his sentences could be just as short as hers.
“He went into town to get groceries. Why you want him?”
“Ma’am, what’s your name?”
“Nunya.”
“What, Nancy?” Fred knew what she meant, None Of Your Business. But he liked to jack hard asses around.
“None of your God damn business. Now get outta here.”
Oriole and Fred returned to the 4 wheel drive SUV. “Let’s go back to the office and get approval for a deputy to stake him out.” Fred suggested to Oriole.
“Better yet, why don’t we come back just about dusk and sit on the place.”
“What if he slides in and we miss him? What if he has a Howitzer in there?”
“OK, let’s make it around four o’clock. Surely, we’ll be ahead of him. Why don’t you drop me at the ranch and pick me up in a couple hours?”
Fred dropped Oriole off at Bear Ranch. No one was around, so Oriole went up to her room, changed clothes and went out to the barn. She opened the door to Buttercup’s stall, the big buckskin she raised from a newborn foal. “Come on Buttercup, want to go for a ride to nowhere?” She saddled up, and headed out to the National Forest land that backed onto Bear Ranch. Oriole loved to ride and didn’t have the opportunity to relax as often as she would have liked. The ride was lazy, with Buttercup moving under her as if she knew exactly what Oriole needed. Teddy Roosevelt was quoted as having said there is something about the outside of a horse that’s good for the inside of a man. Back then women weren’t considered. But Oriole thought there was a lot of truth to the statement for women too. She rode off into the hills, watching the quail and their little babies, the occasional Road Runner, once in a while she’d spot a coyote. The time on Buttercup gave her an opportunity to let go of all the office stress, parenting frustrations, money problems and created a new woman. She turned Buttercup back to the ranch. As she rode into the corral, Summer walked out of the barn.
“Hey, girl, where you and Buttercup been?” As Summer stroked Buttercup’s muzzle and blew into her nostrils.
“Summer, every time I’m on her, I give thanks to you for saving her for me. We went up Knob Hill and back around the wind mill. Absolutely perfect.”
“Great, honey. Marlowe and Chalcey aren’t back yet. Let’s brush her down, and head up to the house. Are you going to be here for dinner or you gotta work?”
“I’ll grab a bite, and Fred is going to pick me up. We get to do a stake out. Ugg. I might need some caffeine to take with.”
“I have a pork roast that should be done and we can whip up a salad. You finish up and I’ll get it on the table.”
Oriole put her hand on Summer’s arm and looked at her grandmother. “Summer, have I ever told you how much I love you and all you do for us?”
“Every day that little girl is here. See you in a few.”
Summer went up to the house and made a pot of Jamaican Blue coffee and prepared sandwiches for Oriole and Fred.
Marlowe and Chalcey drove into the yard in Summer’s 4-wheel drive pickup. Marlowe dropped Chalcey off at the barn to put away the poles and tackle, and walked into the house. “Hey, Summer look, we got supper. Cleaned and on ice.” Summer looked at the cooler filled with limits of bass.
“Sweeeet. How about dinner tomorrow for those little rascals? I got a roast going and Oriole has to leave soon.”
“Work? That DB?”
“Yeah. Fred’s picking her up. I made them some sandwiches and coffee cause they have a stake out.”
Chalcey came in from the barn. “Summer, something’s wrong with Puddles. Come quick, she’s not moving.” Marlowe, Oriole and Summer followed the fast moving Chalcey to the barn. Puddles, the rescued calico stray, lay on her side in the hay. When Puddles arrived, she was scrawny, infected with fleas and on her last legs. With the nurturing and medical treatment of Summer and the love and affection from Chalcey, she had flourished.
Summer knelt in the hay and examined Puddles. “Chalcey, I think she’s gone.”
“No.” Chalcey cried scooping Puddles in her arms. “She can’t be gone. I just fed her this morning.” Her tears flowed. Body wrenching sobs followed. Oriole took Chalcey in her arms and held her, soothing her with motherly comfort. Marlowe wrapped both of them in her arms. Summer got the shovel and a cardboard box and went out in the pasture and dug a hole.
“Chalcey, Puddles is gone. Let’s make her a proper resting place and set her down. You go find some quartz for her head stone and some red agate to cover the grave. Do you want me to give the eulogy or can you do it?” Summer spoke to Chalcey very matter of factly, while inside she felt the pain and hurt Chalcey was exhibiting.
Between sobs Chalcey responded, “I’ll try. If I can’t will you?”
“You bet.”
Within the hour, the grave was dug, Puddles was placed in the box, and in the grave and red agate and quartz alerted anyone looking that here lay a special friend. After Chalcey gave the eulogy through sobs and tears, everyone trooped up to the house.
Afterward, Fred arrived in the yard. As he walked in the house, he could sense something was off with the four generations of women. “What’s going on?”
“Shhh.” Oriole put her finger to her lips. “Chalcey lost her cat today.”
“Damn, which one? Not that little gray one?”
“No. Puddles, the calico.”
“Oh, man that’s hard. Where is she? Maybe Uncle Fred can make it better?”
“Chalcey, Uncle Fred’s here. Do you want to come down and say hi?”
Chalcey heard Oriole and came downstairs, knowing that the teddy bear Fred would hold her and make her feel better.
“Hi, Fred. I lost Puddles today.”
Fred sat down at the table and reached out his arms for Chalcey. “I know, honey. She was a good little friend, wasn’t she? She followed you everywhere. When it’s their time, they know and they don’t want us to suffer for them. They were created to be friends to us and when they have done their job, they’re called home. That’s where Puddles is now. She’s smiling down at you right now. She knows how your heart is breaking and she wants you to know she is fine. She wants you to mourn and remember the love she had for you. She’ll be with you from time to time, you may even see her out of the corner of your eye, she might crawl up on your bed, and then one of these days another little Puddles will come to you. Puddles selected you out of all the people in the world to be with. Her spirit will be with you until you have reached resolution then surprise, surprise another will come along to replace her.”
“Do you think that’s really true or are you saying that to make me feel better?”
“Both, sweetie. Your heart is broken with her loss. Nothing right now will make you feel better. Soon, the heartbreak will turn to fond memories. And soon after that some other little creature will come into your life. Not to replace her and her memory, but to supplement. It’s so we can learn how to love and how to let
go. Until the time you are ready, she’ll be with you. You’ll feel her spirit. You’ll see her in the barn from time to time. You’ll talk to her. One day when you’re ready, her spirit will bid you goodbye, and you watch, another little guy will come along.”
“Did you see where we buried her? It’s out there by that tree you got her from last summer.” Chalcey’s tears were still flowing, but the sobs had receded.
“Come and show me and we’ll do another prayer for her, just you and me.”
Chalcey took Fred out to the grave. Fred removed his Resistol cowboy hat and bowed while he prayed for Puddles’ spirit. “Chalcey, I tell you what, let’s make a collage of pictures you have of Puddles and I’ll ask George to draw a water color of her and we’ll put it in the hallway with all the other memories. How’s that sound?”
“Yea, I think there are some on the computer. I can work on that tonight while you and Oriole are sitting in the dark.”
Back at the house, Marlowe looked out the kitchen window, watching her granddaughter and the hulking detective. “Oriole, I didn’t know Fred was so sensitive. Did this occur overnight, or have I been too busy to notice?”
“It isn’t an overnight conversion. I’ve noticed it myself over the last few months since Marvelle passed. He seems more in tuned with everything. I actually started liking him.”
“They’re on their way back. Let’s put dinner on the table.”
Summer and Marlowe set the table while Oriole gathered the makings for a tossed salad. By the time Fred and Chalcey walked in the door, food was on the table.
“Fred, I made sandwiches and coffee to go, but figured y’all might want to sit down to companionship before you had to leave for the fun.” Summer explained the reason for the set table.
“Summer, I’m not one to ever turn down your vittles. And who knows when we’ll return to the real world, we might starve to death without your help.”
Marlowe watched the interaction between Fred and Chalcey over the simple supper and decided maybe Fred wasn’t so bad after all.
As Fred had his second helping of meat and third helping of salad, he remarked, “Larapin, Summer, just larapin.”
“What the hell is larapin, Uncle Fred?”
“Chalcey! You don’t need to use that kind of language.” Oriole scolded.
“Larapin means the grub is so good you can’t find another word to express the tastes.” Fred told Chalcey and looked over at Oriole to quiet her over protectiveness.
“Larapin. Larapin.” Chalcey repeated several times to remember this new word. “Boy, Summer this roast is larapin.”
The table dissolved into laughter. After they cleared the dishes, Fred and Oriole gathered their gear and extra provisions and left in the SUV.
On the way out to Juniper Woods, the partners kibitzed over Chalcey, Puddles and death that they dealt with daily. “You know, I’d forgotten just what tranquility exists on Bear Ranch until spending the time today with y’all. Maybe Chalcey and I can go riding tomorrow if we catch a break on the case.”
“Fred, you don’t even have to ask. You’re always welcome. I know how much you miss Smoky and riding with Marvelle. Even if we’re not around, you just grab a horse and tack and enjoy.”
Discussion bounced around as only long time partners can do, until they arrived at the road a quarter of a mile from the trailer. Nothing was moving, no lights were on, and the old beater that had been in the yard was long gone. “Think she took a powder?” Oriole posited.
“Hard to say. She might have warned him and both high tailed it to nowhere. Let’s just sit here and enjoy the afternoon, the breeze, the birds and we can pass the time playing I spy.”
“Fred sometimes you’re nuts.” Oriole laughed at the crazy, but logical suggestion.
Close to dusk, they heard the rumble of pipes just before they saw the beater driven by the skanky broad, pull up to the locked gate. She unlocked the gate, drove the truck into the yard and pulled suitcases from the bed of the truck. From the ease with which she hefted them, Fred assumed the bags were empty. “Looks like she’s getting ready to take a powder. Let’s wait til she loads the truck and leaves. Then we can follow her or stop her.”
“And just what is our probable cause to stop?”
“Well, now it could be the license plate light is burned out, or the pipes are too loud. Or maybe we won’t stop her, but she’ll have to stop because of our car.” Fred was trying to find a legal reason to approach her.
“Let’s just watch and wait for now and see what she’s up to.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Skanky lugged two suitcases to the beater, got in and spun gravel leaving the yard. She didn’t even bother locking the gate. Fred moved the SUV into the on coming path of the beater and locked up the brakes causing the beater to screech to a halt. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Skanky yelled at Fred. “Get outta my way.”
“Gee, ma’am I’m sorry.” Fred cajoled as he exited the SUV. “I just need a minute of your time. Can you give that to me?” As he walked up to the driver’s side, he could smell the unmistakable pungent aroma of marijuana emanating from the truck cab. While Fred was walking up to the truck, Oriole carefully pulled her duty weapon and held it just below the open window.
“Ma’am, y’all wouldn’t have been smoking mary jane now would ya?”
“Get outta my way you stupid bastard. I got places to go, people to see, and things to do and you’re holding me up.”
“When I approached the vehicle to ascertain the safety and welfare of the driver who appeared to have lost control of the vehicle, I smelled an aroma coming from the cab, that based on my training and experience as a drug recognition expert, I determined to be Marijuana. Now little Missy, I can arrest you for being under the influence of a drug or metabolite, charge you with a bunch of felonies, or you and I can have a little chat and I might, I just might let you go on your way. What’s it going to be?”
“Look, I know you want Jimmy. He’s not here, hasn’t been back, ain’t coming back. I told him you were looking for him and he’s lit out. Told me if I was smart so would I. I’m smart enough to know something’s going on and I don’t want any part of it. So come on, let me get. I ain’t done nothing to you.” Skanky wheedled.
Oriole got quietly out of the car, carrying her gun down to her side and walked to the passenger side of the beater. “Are you Carla West?” Oriole had run the plate and it came back registered to Carla West.
“What if I am? You got no business with me.” The skanky broad now had a name and had started crying.
“Carla, we need to talk to Jimmy. Where is he?” Oriole spoke softly, woman to woman. Fred and Oriole had done good cop bad cop so often whenever one started the other flipped roles.
“ He told me not to tell. He said he’d give me a beating like he never had before and believe me he’s done it a bunch.” Her hands were shaking, snot was running down her nose and chin and where she had swiped at the mucus with the back of her hand, a trail of grime remained. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Jimmy, he’s some kind of mean if you cross him.”
“Carla, I can see that he’s mistreated you. No one deserves that kind of abuse. Let me help you. I know women’s shelters and counselors who can help you.” Good cop Oriole continued building rapport with Carla.
Fred continued to watch and wait while Oriole worked her magic on Carla, knowing sooner or later, they’d get what they were after.
“If I give you information, will you let me go?”
“Well, depends on what you can tell us.” Oriole held Carla’s attention.
“He said he was heading to Blythe. He’s got family over there. He left about an hour after I called him when you were here before.” She swiped again at her grimy face.
Fred and Oriole convened at the rear of the truck. “Should we cut her loose?” Fred whispered.
“Might as well. That girl is dumb as a box of rocks. I doubt we can get anything else from her.
Let’s find out where she’s going though.”
“Carla,” Fred spoke again from the driver’s side causing Carla to jump in her seat. “Where are you headed in case we need you again?”
“ Look, I’m going home to my folks. They live down in the valley. I’ll give you their phone number. They got my kids. They’ll let me crash for a few days. They always know where I’m at.” The sniveling slowed to a drip. Fred and Oriole took down the information and let her go. They took one last look around the un gated yard, couldn’t locate the mutt, and decided there wasn’t much of interest and left.
When they got back to the office, they called the Blythe police department to ask for a BOLO,( a be on the look out), on Worthington and called it a day.