Page 33 of Cold, Cold Bones
Hawkins summed up our collective shock.
“Well, I’ll be jitterbugged.”
8
Four hours later, I was back at the MCME.
With Ranger Edy’s “dead dude.”
And Slidell.
Happy day.
CSU was still working the scene but had forwarded pics taken at my direction.
Skinny had come by my office to discuss Veronica Kwalwasser. Upon learning of the state park vic, he’d joined me in the autopsy suite, thinking there could be a link to one of his cold case files.
We were in a room outfitted with special ventilation. The stinky room. Every morgue has one. Didn’t need it. The remains were giving off almost no odor. Not so for Skinny. I guessed he’d enjoyed a brat with kraut and onions for lunch.
Hawkins had videoed, photographed, and undressed the “dead dude.” His clothes were hanging on a drying rack, his boots sitting side by side on the counter. His corpse lay naked on the floor-bolted table.
I’d briefed Slidell. He and I were now viewing the scene photos. Which required us to stand shoulder to shoulder at the monitor. Inaddition to onions and kraut, I was enjoying a tsunami of stale coffee and cheap drugstore cologne.
“The bonehead offed himself,” Slidell summarized.
“It has all the signs of a suicide.”
“How the hell did he get out there?”
“Edy said he could have arrived by foot, bike, or vehicle. Or come by water. The lake’s just over that rise.” I pointed to a small hill in one of the photos. “The park’s not enclosed or patrolled back there.”
“Yeah? Then where’s the boat? The Schwinn?”
“I agree. He probably walked.”
“How come no one spotted this guy?”
“The body was camouflaged by vegetation and extremely hard to see. Besides, Edy said no one goes back there.”
“Ruggles and his pal did.”
“They did. And Ruggles used his nose, not his eyes.”
“No ID?” Slidell asked for the second time.
“None,” I repeated. “And no note.”
“That’s hinky.”
“It’s odd,” I agreed.
“Go again.” Slidell twirled a beefy finger at the screen.
I returned to an image taken somewhere along the trail and worked through a series leading up to the oak. And the kudzu-wrapped bundle hanging from it.
Introduced from Asia as a garden novelty, kudzu quickly became the bane of the south. And the source of much myth. The vine is reputed to be unkillable. It’s said that kudzu’s growth is so rapid one must lock the doors at night to bar it from invading your house. You get the idea.
The vines we were viewing were winter black and leafless. Still, the subject resembled a giant nest, the outer tangle thick enough to obscure the thing wrapped inside.
