right through there.”
Ernie pointed casually off to his left, where a pair of tracks emerged from the cleft between the dunes and then disappeared into the tumult of disturbed sand.
“Once he got here, I’m guessing there was an altercation of some kind. There may have been some gunfire.”
“What makes you say that?”
“For one thing, somebody evidently took a shot at the dog. There’s an empty scabbard on the ATV. I doubt the owner would have shot his own dog. But if there are weapons or shell casings out here, we’ll need metal detectors to find them.”
“Okay, so all these guys meet up. What do you think happened next?”
“At some point, I think, our victim, the guy on the ATV, may have tried to leave. One of the larger vehicles T-boned him and knocked him ass over teakettle. Once the victim was on foot, the other guys ran him down. Not just once, either—several times over.”
“Sounds cold-blooded,” Joanna said.
Ernie nodded. “It was cold-blooded. I suspect he died from internal injuries. Machett should be able to tell us for sure, if and when he bothers to show up.”
Despite being in agreement with Ernie’s disparaging remark about Dr. Machett, Joanna let it pass. “What about that single track?” she asked, pointing to a track in the sand that disappeared over the top of the next dune. “The one that leads off to the right from the body?”
“Looks to me like the dog made that one, either going or coming or maybe both,” Ernie said. “The bad guys probably ran him off, but he came back as soon as the coast was clear. I have to give the damned dog credit,” the detective added grudgingly. “Even though he’d been shot, he was downright fierce about not letting any of us near that body. After he offered to tear me limb from limb, I was a little surprised to see Natalie Wilson with him on a leash, walking around just as nice as you please.”
Which is why you work homicide and she’s animal control, Joanna thought.
She studied the expanse of disrupted sand around the body. “You said you thought one of the vehicles had dual tires. How do you know that?”
“This isn’t the shortest way to and from the gate, but it’s the most passable. If you look carefully, you can see the dips left in the sand by the dual wheels even though you can’t make out the treads on the tire.”
Joanna looked down and saw that he was right. The tracks were there, but the fine grade of the sand left behind no visible tread.
“The victim didn’t bother following the road when he came here, and he didn’t take a direct route from the gate, either,” Ernie said. “It looks to me like he approached the scene by zigzagging in and out between the dunes.”
“Trying to stay out of sight, maybe?” Joanna asked.
Ernie nodded. “Could be,” he said.
“In other words,” Joanna said, “it’s possible the victim realized something was amiss and came out to investigate.”
“Maybe,” Ernie agreed.
“What about the trailer back by the gate?” Joanna asked. “Any sign of breaking and entering?”
“Lots,” Ernie said. “The front door is smashed and the inside is a mess. No way to tell from looking at it if anything was taken. We’ll need to dust it for prints, but with Casey away at that conference, that’s problematic. Jaime said he can collect the prints, but we won’t be able to run them through AFIS until Casey gets back.”
Jaime Carbajal was Joanna’s third homicide detective. It was unusual to have Joanna’s entire homicide unit focused on only one case, but for right now she was glad that was possible.
“By the way, where is Jaime?” Joanna wanted to know.
“I asked him to stop off and pick up a search warrant for the trailer.”
“But the guy who lived there is dead…” Joanna began.
“I know, I know,” Ernie replied. “But what if he isn’t the owner? What if the trailer actually belongs to Action Trail? The owners of that might have an
Raymond E. Feist, S. M. Stirling