Bittersweet (25 page)

“Birdshot,” Chris put in authoritatively. “You don't shoot birds with buckshot.”

“Whatever,” Amy said. “Anyway, Chris swung the drone away fast, over this way, toward this other road.” She moved the map display so I could see what she was describing. “See, the main ranch road makes a Y down here. The right leg goes to the ranch compound. We were parked here, on the left leg. The drone was pretty high up. The camera was still running, and Sharon and I were watching on the iPad, trying to figure out where it was. That's when we saw what . . .” She stopped, swallowed hard. “What happened to the red car.”

“You were watching this, too?” I asked Chris.

“On the control panel, yes,” he said. “I was starting to fly the drone in, back to where we were.”

“So then what?” I said to Amy, and added, “I don't want to know what you saw on the iPad. We'll get to that in a minute. I want to know what you
did
, after you landed the drone.”

Amy looked puzzled, but she answered. “Well, after we saw what happened on the road, we got really scared. I mean, we were scared for whoever was in that car, of course. From what we could see, it looked really bad.” She glanced at Chris and Sharon, who were both nodding. “But we were scared for us, too. We weren't sure what was going to happen next—whether somebody from the pigeon shoot was going to hassle us, or whether the guy in the truck might come after us. So Chris flew the
drone in as fast as we could, and we put it in the SUV and got the hell out of there.”

“As you were leaving,” I asked, “did you drive past the wreck?”

“No.” Amy pointed to the map. “See? It happened on the other fork of the Y. We could see it because the drone was so high.”

“Did you call 9-1-1?”

“We tried.” Amy met my eyes. “We
tried
, honest, we did, China. But the country is rugged and there aren't any towers on the ranch, so we couldn't get a signal. When we got off the ranch road and onto Route 187, we saw a sheriff's truck with the lights and siren on, making a turn onto the Three Gates road. So we figured that somebody else had already called it in. And since we . . .” She stopped, swallowed hard, and went on. “And since we'd been trespassing and shooting that video on private property, we thought we could be in trouble. So we decided to come straight here and show the video to you. We know that it has to be turned over to the police, but we figured that you'd know the right way to do it.”

I looked from Sharon to Chris. “Is that the way it happened? Amy hasn't left anything out, or misrepresented anything? If she has, now's the time to tell me. This is on the record.”

“That's how it happened,” Chris said emphatically, and Sharon nodded.

I nodded. “You can turn on the video now, Amy. Let's see what we've got here.”

Amy left the map and went to the drone display. “We'll skip the footage from the pigeon shoot,” she said. “I'm starting with what we saw after Chris swung the drone away from the shooting area. As you can see, there's a time-and-date stamp running across the bottom of the video.”

I saw, and knew that it would be important, if a jury ever saw it—
which was by itself an open question. A picture might still be worth a thousand words and a video worth even more. But whether it would be admissible in court was still a matter of opinion. The
judge's
opinion.

The drone was flying at an altitude of about sixty feet. The road, a narrow gravel lane, crossed the iPad screen diagonally left to right. On the left, the rocky hill, pocked with prickly pear and yucca, fell away steeply into the ravine below.

“Now, watch what happens.” Amy's voice was taut. “See? Here's the red car, going along at a pretty good clip. It's almost to the place where the road turns and starts to go down the hill to the Y. Now, watch the truck. It comes up from behind, fast.”

Leaning on my elbows over the coffee table, I watched as Sue Ellen's red Ford came into view, moving along the road from left to right, above a steep drop-off on the driver's side. A blue pickup entered from the left, some eight or ten car lengths behind the Ford and closing fast. It pulled even with the passenger's door, then suddenly and deliberately swerved into the front right fender, so hard that I felt myself flinch. I bit my lip, imagining how terrified Sue Ellen must have been as she struggled to keep the car on the road, feeling panicked and helpless with the truck like a battering ram on one side and the ravine on the other.

The car kept moving forward. The truck slammed into it again, hard. The car veered sharply to the left, out of control, and catapulted over the edge of the road. It smashed into a rock outcrop and bounced into the air, somersaulting once, then rolling over and over, the doors flying open, boxes and bags scattering across the hillside. It settled at the bottom, wheels up, and an instant later exploded into bright flames.

The truck, meanwhile, had braked hard, skidding in the dust. A guy wearing a green army field jacket and an orange baseball cap jumped out,
a scoped rifle in one hand. He ran to the edge of the road and stopped, raising the rifle to his shoulder and aiming it at the burning car. He stood that way for a moment or two, then lowered the rifle and raised a fist in an exultant gesture. I was holding my breath. Was it . . . was it Jack Krause? Had he just murdered his wife?

Then, so suddenly and unexpectedly that I blinked, the camera zoomed in close. The orange baseball cap had a big UT on it—the University of Texas. The man was thin and dark, with a scar on one side of his face. The truck was an older model silver gray Dodge. In the bed there were three bags of what looked like feed and a red gasoline can. The resolution was so good I could even see the brand name, in big letters, on one of the bags. Big & J Deer Feed. On the back bumper, there was a red bumper sticker—“Gun Control Is Being Able to Hit Your Target.” And below that was the license plate.

Amy stopped the video, freezing the man in the act of getting into the truck, and I could read the license plate
. I could actually read the license plate.

“Wow,” I whispered. “Amazing.” It was like viewing through a surveillance camera, a
mobile
surveillance camera, out there in the wilderness. The license plate, the video—this crime had an eyewitness. It was documented, beginning to end.

Chris cleared his throat. “When I realized what we were seeing, I reacted, sort of by instinct, I guess. I zoomed in fast. That guy had no idea he was on camera.” His voice took on a sharply bitter edge. “The son of a bitch caused that wreck and he was celebrating!”

Amy started the video again. The man got back in the truck and drove off, fast. The camera followed the vehicle for a moment, then the
screen went blank. All four of us let out our breaths, all at once, all together, in one long, sustained sigh.

“That's it,” Amy said. “Except for the footage of the pigeon shoot.”

Sharon made a whimpering noise. “We're not going to be arrested for trespassing, are we?” she asked plaintively.

“Under the circumstances,” I said, “I doubt if the owners of Three Gates will press charges.” Sharon sighed in relief. I frowned at her, thinking that of all the outcomes of this episode, their arrest for trespassing would be the most trivial. “But they might,” I added. “Just to make sure that you don't try that stupid trick again.”

Chris tilted his head, frowning, looking at me. “So what happens next? Do we go to the cops? Do the cops come to us? Are we going to jail? What?”

“Good questions.” I fished my cell phone out of my jeans pocket. “We're about to find out the
answers.”

When Mack thought about it afterward, she remembered things happening so fast that the action was like a speeded-up movie, blurry, with chipmunk-like voices. But at the time, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She was in her state-owned truck heading south on 187 when she heard Dispatch sending Ethan—off duty but on call—to the Three Gates ranch road on an 11-79. She was close, so she put on her lights and siren and drove to the scene to give Ethan a hand. Not long after she got there, EMS showed up, and then the Volunteer Fire Department's tanker truck with three volunteers from Utopia, and a few moments later, Jack Krause, a big, burly man with thick brown hair, dressed in a camo jacket and jeans. Looking stunned and disbelieving, he identified his wife's Ford. That was when Mack decided to call China and let her know what had happened.

And then, some twelve or fifteen minutes later, China called back.

“It wasn't an accident,” she said tersely. “It was a homicide. The PETA crew with the drone was out there making a video. They've got surveillance camera footage—drone footage—of the whole thing, start to finish. And a clear image of the man driving the truck that forced Sue Ellen off the road.”

“Homicide?” Mack was dumbfounded. “
Drone
footage? You mean—”

“Right. You and whoever is working the wreck need to take a look at this, Mack. I'm temporarily representing this trio. Do you want to come here to see it and question them, or should I load them up and bring them and the video to where you are?”

“Bring them here,” Mack replied. If this was going to be a homicide investigation, they were shorthanded. Ethan had told her that Sheriff Rogers was attending a meeting in Austin. Two deputies were attending a training seminar in Houston. One deputy was on vacation, another out sick, and two others—Davenport and Murphy—were working a meth lab situation on the other side of the county. She and Ethan were the only law enforcement officers immediately available.

Thinking fast, she added, “If you've got video, can you see whether Krause was involved? When he showed up here at the scene, he said he was running some kind of shooting event nearby and heard the sirens and—”

“A pigeon shoot,” China interrupted dryly.

“Yeah,” Mack said, surprised. “How'd you know?”

“Tell you later. He's still there?”

“He's down at the wreck.” She glanced down the hill where the men were working, three VFD men in firefighter turnout gear, two EMS guys in white, Ethan in uniform, Krause in camo. “They got the car cooled down. Looks like they're trying to get the body out now.” She turned away. It wasn't a pretty sight.

“Detain him,” China said grimly. “Put him somewhere and keep an eye on him.”

Mack was surprised. “I can do that, but—”

“Just do it,” China said. “I don't know what Krause looks like, so I can't tell you if he was the one driving the truck. Maybe, maybe not.”

Mack climbed down the hill, pulled Ethan aside, and told him what China had said. He gave her a startled, questioning look, then made a quick decision. When Krause and the EMS team got up the hill with Sue Ellen's badly burned body in a Stokes basket, he pulled Krause aside, patted him down and took his driver's license, then instructed him to wait in the rear cab of Mack's truck while they “sorted things out.”

Looking confused, Krause complied without objection—until Ethan took his cell phone. “What the hell you doing that for?” he demanded angrily. “I gotta call my boss and tell him where I am and what happened. And somebody's gotta break the news to Sue Ellen's family. Oughta be me.”

“Warden Chambers will make the call for you, and we'll handle the notifications.” Ethan tossed the phone to Mack. “When you're done,” he said in a low voice, “lock him in your truck, Mack. And don't give him his phone back.”

“Hey, wait!” Krause protested heatedly. “My wife ran off the road and killed herself and you're acting like
I've
done something wrong. What's this about?”

“Just a few things we need to clear up,” Mack said, and slipped the phone in her pocket and said to Krause, “We'll get back to you as soon as we've cleared up a few things.” She closed the rear cab door and locked it.

The EMS crew left with Sue Ellen's body. Most accident victims would be taken directly to a funeral home, but Ethan told them to take her to the county morgue in Uvalde. If this turned out to be a homicide, there'd be an autopsy. The VFD hung around a little longer, making sure that the fire was completely out. They were just pulling out when China arrived in her red panel van, leading the black SUV containing the three members of the PETA squad. She left them in their vehicle and walked over to
where Mack and Ethan were standing beside Ethan's white truck. She was still wearing the gray fleece hoodie, green tee, and dirty jeans that she'd had on this morning. She was carrying an iPad.

“Attorney China Bayles, Deputy Ethan Conroy,” Mack said, introducing them. “She's a friend from Pecan Springs—and she's temporarily representing the kids who made the video.”

Ethan's eyes were narrowed. “Warden Chambers says that what we've got here isn't an accident. What do you know about it, Ms. Bayles?”

Mack listened as China swiftly and economically sketched out the story that Amy, Chris, and Sharon had told her, using the iPad map display to show them where the three drone crew members were when the video was taken. Then she played the surveillance video.

Mack was astonished. As she watched, she thought about the driver of the red car and the sheer panic she must have felt, fighting for control as the truck deliberately sideswiped her car and sent it over the edge. She felt a swift, hard-burning flash of anger as she watched the man with the rifle lift his fist in celebration, and a distinct jolt of pleasure as she jotted down the clearly visible license plate. That guy was going to pay for what he had done. Big-time.

But he wasn't Jack Krause. That much was clear. And that's what she said in answer to China's question.

“No. Krause is over there, in my truck. He's a big guy, burly. This is somebody else.”

“Let's see that again,” Ethan said. China handed him the iPad, and he replayed the video, freezing it on the zoom. “The video looks legit,” he said, shaking his head. “There's even a date and time stamp.”

“You can match up this display with the video that's still in the drone
camera,” China said. “The drone owner has volunteered to turn over this iPad and the camera, as well, so it can be used to document the crime when the case goes to court. You may not have an eyewitness to this murder, but you've got the next best thing, an eye-in-the-sky witness.” She grinned crookedly. “All I need is a receipt for whatever you're taking. The owner will want it back when this is all over.”

“He'll get it.” Ethan shook his head, still half-disbelieving. “Don't know what the county prosecutor is going to say, though. She'll have a lot of questions, for sure. This whole thing is a pretty bizarre coincidence.”

China chuckled. “She may have questions to start with, but when push comes to shove, she's going to tell the jury that the drone team may have been trespassing, but they were at the right place at exactly the right time. She may even hint at divine intervention. And when the verdict is in, she'll thank the kids for helping her get a conviction. Of course, you've got to catch the guy first, before she can prosecute. Any idea who he is?”

Ethan squinted at the image. “Don't recognize him. You, Mack?”

“No, I don't,” Mack replied, and added wryly, “Too bad it wasn't Krause. That would have made it easy.”

“Just because Krause wasn't driving doesn't mean he wasn't involved,” China said. “He could have arranged to be at that pigeon shoot to give himself an alibi, while somebody else did the dirty work.”

“True thing,” Ethan agreed. “Let's play this video back to the zoom. I want to run that plate.”

“I've already copied it,” Mack said, and handed it to Ethan.

While Mack and China stood by, Ethan unhooked his mike from his epaulettes and called Dispatch. “I'd like a ten-twenty-eight on Texas
bravo kilo niner alpha three two three. And while you're at it, a ten-twenty-nine on the owner of that vehicle and on”—he took Jack Krause's driver's license out of his breast pocket—“John Russell Krause.”

“Ten-twenty-eight gets us the registration information,” Mack said to China. “Ten-twenty-nine, outstanding wants and warrants.” China raised one eyebrow and nodded, and Mack said, “Guess you knew that, huh?” They both chuckled.

In a couple of minutes, they learned that the 2001 Dodge pickup was registered to Thomas Perry, at an address on Route 1051, who was wanted for parole violations. And that Jack Krause had an outstanding misdemeanor warrant—he hadn't paid his speeding fines.

Mack and China exchanged startled glances. “Thomas Perry,” China said. “He's one of the men at the Bar Bee ranch, isn't he?”

“It's beginning to add up,” Mack said.

“Bar Bee?” Ethan asked.

Mack replied, “I went to the vet clinic this morning to check the billing records and try to find out where Doc Masters saw those tattooed fawns. After some digging, the office manager found out that Masters had been at the Bar Bee Ranch, on 1051, north of Reagan Wells. A couple of guys named Ronald and Thomas Perry live there.”

“Ronald and Thomas. Brothers?” Ethan asked.

“Maybe. I did a quick search in the state criminal history database. Ronald is thirty-seven years old, Thomas, thirty-three—could be brothers, or maybe cousins. Ronald is mostly clean here in Texas, just a DUI and a contested speeding ticket, both local and both in the past couple of years. Thomas—he goes by the nickname Lucky—is another matter. Killed a guy in a barroom brawl over in Corpus, which got him seven
years. He served five. The probation violations are probably related to his release from prison.”

“Lucky!” China put in. “That's the name of one of the men Jack Krause was involved with, according to Sue Ellen. She called the other one Duke. What do you want to bet that Duke and Ronald Perry are the same?”

“Hold it,” Ethan said, putting up his hand. “Too many moving parts. Let's back up.” His expression was tense. “Tattooed fawns, Mack. Those are the fawns you were telling me about yesterday? The ones you and the doc thought were stolen?”

“Yes,” Mack said. “Doc Masters told me he was pretty sure that the tattoo had been altered. The number he saw was four-eight-two, but it looked to him like the eight had originally been a three. He told me that Three Gates Ranch holds the permit number four-
three
-two. I think he'd pretty much decided that the fawns originally came from there.”

“Ah.” Ethan got out of the truck and straightened, hitching up his duty belt. “Now we're making sense. So these two guys at the Bar Bee are holding some stolen animals that came from Three Gates. And the guy who just slammed Sue Ellen Krause off the road could be one of them. One of the Perrys.”

Mack turned to China. “Tell Ethan what Sue Ellen Krause told you, China. That helps confirm what we're dealing with here.”

China nodded. “Her husband was involved with two men—Duke and Lucky—in a plan to set up a game ranch. The two men already had the land—the Bar Bee, I suppose. They were stocking it, and paying for the fencing they needed to get the permit, with deer they were smuggling in from Oklahoma.”

“Lacey Act violations,” Mack put in, speaking to Ethan. “Like that case over in East Texas.”

“Got it,” Ethan said. “Go on, Ms. Bayles.”

“According to Sue Ellen, Jack was helping with the smuggling and buying into the business with stuff he was stealing from Three Gates. We were interrupted before she could tell me exactly what that was, but it likely included those fawns the vet happened to see. Possibly semen, as well, and maybe equipment. If that's true, you might be able to find the stolen items somewhere on the Perrys' ranch.”

A thought occurred to Mack, and she pulled Krause's cell phone out of her pocket. She scrolled to recent calls, and there it was. Perry, with a long string of recent text messages. She held it up. “May be something here to document some of their transactions, meet-ups, plans.” She handed the phone to Ethan.

“Good thought, Mack.” Ethan looked inquiringly at China. “If Ms. Krause told you all this, she must have been thinking of going to the police.”

China nodded. “That's right. She was asking me for advice. She knew Jack was stealing and was afraid he'd be caught. She felt she needed to protect herself from being charged as an accomplice. She tried to get him to pull out of the relationship with these guys, and when he refused, she told him she was getting a divorce. In fact, she was in the process of moving into the guest lodge on my mother's ranch.” She gestured toward the boxes and bags scattered on the rocky hillside. “That's why her car was loaded with all that stuff. If you ask me, she was killed to keep her quiet. And the vet was killed for the same reason.”