“Yeah.”
“C’mon, that only happens in bad novels and B movies.”
Just then a dark blue Stillwater squad and two white county cruisers zoomed past and headed north with their flashers turning but no sirens.
Sally didn’t even say good-bye. She dropped the Volvo in gear and left Broker in a shower of gravel as she pulled back on the road and headed out after the cops.
Broker turned into the driveway right after Sally. He saw at least five other police cruisers, a couple unmarked Crown Vics, and a green ambulance from Lakeview Hospital.
Several cops were fanning out in the densely wooded area around the house, which was a basic St. Croix River place: basement built into a slope, one upper story, wraparound deck. Broker watched Sally get out of her car and approach the house. Several cops saw her but didn’t stop her, so she continued around to the back. Broker saw Mouse standing in the shade of a basswood tree. He got out and walked over.
“Hey Mouse, what’s up?”
“Go look.”
“Is this a crime scene or a county fair?” Broker said.
“I’m, ah, relaxing the rules a little,” Mouse said. Sweat soaked his face.
“I guess. . you just let Sally Erbeck go traipsing through. I thought the general idea was you don’t want civilians messing it up.”
“We may have caught a lucky break here in a ghoulish sort of way. Appears this guy had a heart condition and caught the Big One in his yard. The neighborhood dogs were roving in a pack and found the body, probably twenty-four hours ago. There’s no way to mess this one up any more than it already is. Go look. But, ah, watch your step.”
Broker walked around the house and down the lawn to where a knot of Stillwater and county patrol coppers had gathered to direct traffic around points of interest strewn in the grass. Sally backed away from the group, walked over to a lawn chair, and sat down. Her face was pale and queasy.
Then Broker got a whiff of the rotten-meat stench plumped up on a platter of heat. A few more steps, and he glimpsed literally flesh and blood on the grass and what could be a gut pile. His first impression was: the cadaver of a road-killed deer.
But they were a long way from the road.
He took a few more steps and saw that the remains were human. One of the cops walked stiffly away, ducked into the bushes, and lost his breakfast.
The corpse lay on its back and was distorted by the mutilation of genitals, belly, and face. Entrails had been chewed and jerked out in red, white, and purple ribbons across the grass. Eyes gone, no mouth. The face had been gnawed down to the bone. All the exposed meat was coated with a glistening swarm of green flies that hummed like a small hardworking motor.
“Dogs,” said one of the cops. “Regular old Rover and Spot.”
He pointed through the trees at a house over two hundred yards away. “The neighbors had been up north on vacation. They came home last night and heard dogs scuffling in the woods, didn’t think much of it. Then this morning they heard them again and the man came to investigate. He thought maybe the dogs had run down a deer.”
“Wild dogs?” said Sally Erbeck. Like a good soldier, she had returned.
“Nah, just your everyday faithful Fido. They’re probably at home nuzzling the kids.” The cop, a husky sergeant, smiled at Broker. He was enjoying his moment with the white-faced reporter.
“And all those flies?” Sally said.
“Bluebottles, they show up fast in the heat, when a body starts to release gas and fluids. Now if this guy hadn’t been chewed on by dogs, the flies would settle into the orifices; eyes, nose, mouth, and the genital anal region-but as you can see, there ain’t no eyes, nose, mouth, or. .”
“I get the picture,” Sally said, walking away.
“What’s going on?” Broker said to the sergeant.
“Mouse said to let the press take a good look, no restrictions, long as they don’t actually step in it,” the sergeant said quietly. Then his heavy features composed into a swoon of pure delight. “Oh my,” he said.
Broker turned and saw a blond television reporter in a lime green pants suit striding toward them with her cameraman in tow. Her perfect features were clenched in an enamel Botox smile.
“Margo Shay, Channel. .” She got a look, and her smile clotted into a gag reflex.
“It ain’t exactly ashes to ashes, dust to dust, is it?” the sergeant said, striking a thoughtful pose.
Broker left the sergeant to his forensic epiphany and went back toward the house, where he found Mouse facing another camera crew and several print reporters. Mouse shifted from foot to foot like an old lion gathering himself to jump through yet another ring of fire.
“We’re still waiting on the medical examiner, so anything I say is strictly off the record and for background. But we found a whole cabinet full of medication, so we speculate this person might have suffered a heart attack in his yard at least twenty-four hours ago,” Mouse said.
“What kind of medication?” a reporter said.
“Lessee.” Mouse consulted a small spiral notebook. “Lasix, Bumix. Some digitalis and, ah, I think it’s Coumadin-that’s a blood thinner, basically rat poison is what it is.”
“Rat poison?”
“Yeah, really thins out the little fuckers’ blood so when they squeeze through itty-bitty cracks they start really gushing inside,” Mouse said.
“So the dogs didn’t kill him?” another reporter said.
“Highly doubtful. Almost certainly not. Usually, domestic dogs will feed on a corpse only if there’s fresh blood. So maybe he had a nosebleed or something; that might explain the pattern of mutilation from the face down the front of the torso,” Mouse said.
“Are we talking regular dogs, house pets?” a reporter asked.
“The neighbor who found the body this morning chased off five or six dogs, two of which he recognized,” Mouse said. Then seeing Broker, he waved off the reporters. “I think it’s better to wait on the Ramsey County medical examiner.”
Mouse took Broker by the arm and walked him into the shadows under the deck. “Lookit this. We put the dog stuff over the radio, and there’s sheriff deputies here from St. Croix County, Wisconsin, Forest Lake, Cottage Grove. And, ah, it must be a slow day in St. Paul because the ‘A Team’ from BCA just arrived.” Mouse pointed at two guys in suits who were striding down the driveway.
A Stillwater cop and county patrol sergeant Patti Palen were standing a few feet away. The Stillwater cop said, “The tall guy in the blue suit with the dark hair, is that. .?”
Patti said, “You mean the guy in the
The Stillwater cop said, “Yeah. So that’s him, Davenport?”
Patti said, “That’s him. He bailed from Minneapolis, now he’s with the state.”
The Stillwater cop said, “I hear he cuts notches in his gun.”
Patti’s face was deadpan, her timing perfect. “The way I heard it, he cuts notches in his dick.”
The Stillwater cop said, “BCA ain’t gonna be the same.”
Patti said, “No shit, looks like the Sears catalog is out and
Broker rolled his eyes and turned to Mouse. “This is a circus. You know what you’re doing?”
“Orders. I been on the horn to John E. He said throw it wide-open. I got guys keeping an eye out so the press doesn’t disturb anything. But how can you contaminate a scene like this? There’s pieces of this poor pilgrim spread out for a hundred yards in every direction,” Mouse said. “The point is, it takes the heat off our dead priest for a news cycle.”
“Gotcha. Who was this guy anyway?” Broker said.
Mouse scratched his flattop. “His name was Scott. Some kind of photographer.”
“Our boy called again last night. It sounded like he was in a casino,” Broker said.
“Don’t worry, they’ll spot him,” Mouse said. “In the meantime, prepare yourself to hear, see, and read a lot about the dogs of Washington County this weekend.”
Then Broker spotted Lymon Greene walking uncertainly up from taking a look at the body.
