“Yup.”
“Do you think we should question the rancher?”
“Can’t hurt,” Joe said. “But I’d be surprised he has anything to do with this. If Lorne wanted to hide a body on his own ranch, I’d guess he would find a better place to put it. And he wouldn’t call it in.”
Tibbs indicated his agreement, but he had a very sour look on his face. Although Joe didn’t know him well yet, he surmised that Sheriff Tibbs would much rather make quips during town council meetings and ride in his SUV during the Fourth of July parade than investigate another murder. Not to mention his not-very-secret affair with Ruthanne Hubbard, the sexy and twice-divorced dispatcher.
Joe told Tibbs he would take the Ranger back to the ranch house and turn it over to his deputies so they could join him at the crime scene. He didn’t know how long it would take Norwood and the other deputy to arrive with the ATVs.
“What, and just leave me here?” Tibbs asked with alarm.
“Somebody needs to stay and keep the predators away,” Joe said. “Besides, you made it real clear this is sheriff’s department business. I don’t want to get in your way.”
Tibbs narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Just call me when you think of the victim’s name, even though by then we’ll probably know anyway.”
Joe nodded and climbed into the Ranger and started it up.
“Tell my guys to hurry,” Tibbs said as he dug into his evidence bag for a thick roll of crime scene tape to mark the perimeter of the scene.
“Will do,” Joe said.
“This place was described to me as sleepy by your county commissioners,” Tibbs said, gesturing around him with the roll of tape to include the entire county.
“Bait and switch,” Joe responded.
Then he did a three-point turn and rocketed back through the swamp toward the ranch house. The farther he got from the burned body, the less likely he’d get sick again. But he had no real doubt that the sight and smell of the burned man would stay with him for a long time.
* * *
—
Joe was halfway back to the ranch headquarters when Tibbs called.
“Do you know a guy named Bert Kizer?” Tibbs asked.
Then it hit Joe, where he’d seen the victim before. It had been on the Twelve Sleep River. The dead man was rowing a drift boat at the time while two visiting fly fishermen casted streamers toward the banks.
“He’s wearing a metal dog tag on a chain around his neck,” Tibbs said. “One of those cheap ones. It says: ‘Bert Kizer, A-positive.’ I guess that means his blood type.”
Joe said, “He’s a local fishing guide. He’s been around this valley for a long time—longer than me. He used to own an outfitting company, but it went belly-up, so now he hires on with other outfits when they need an extra hand. He’s a freelance rent-a-guide. I’m pretty sure he’s divorced and lives alone in a shack not all that far from here.”
“Do you know much more about him than that?” Tibbs asked.
“Like what?”
“Does he have enemies who could do this to him? Is he involved in something that might get him killed?”
“I really don’t know much about him,” Joe said. “I’ve seen him on the river a few times when I was fishing. He just nodded and kept rowing. I wouldn’t say he was a gregarious guy. Which is unusual, because most guides are real talkers.”
“Is there someone we can talk to who might be able to shed a little more light on the situation? Does Kizer have friends or acquaintances we can interview?” Tibbs asked.
“That sounds like a job for the sheriff’s department,” Joe said. He terminated the call.
* * *
—
“Just follow the tracks,” Joe said to Deputy Steck, who had climbed behind the wheel of the ATV.
“Why do you get to drive?” Deputy Bass asked Steck.
“Because I’m not the rookie,” Steck said.
Joe stifled a smile. Bass was young and fresh-faced with a slight mustache. His uniform was starched and pressed. He looked overeager, and Joe wondered how he’d react when he saw and smelled the victim.
They roared off.
“I told you there was something out there,” Trumley said to Joe. “I just wish it would have been a damned moose after all.”
Joe turned to him. “Doesn’t Bert Kizer live around here?”
“Just up the county road in a shitty little shack. Why do you ask?”
CHAPTER THREE
Bert’s Dog