Читать книгу Dead Center - Frank J. Daniels - Страница 9
Оглавление= chapter 1 =
The evening before the opening day of hunting season, Janice Dodson, an experienced hunter, and her new husband, Bruce Dodson, who had never hunted before, were driving in separate vehicles along dark, dusty roads toward camp, rather frustratingly behind schedule. Periodically they caught a glimmer of lantern light through the trees ahead and as they sped past could see the silhouettes of hunters busily readying their campsites for the morning’s hunt. There were quite a few other hunters on the road in their pickups and four-wheelers. Like much of the West, the Uncompahgre Plateau in hunting season becomes something of an armed encampment.
Janice planned on finding the spot at which she had camped in years past with her ex-husband. She had visited the place just a few weeks earlier on a grouse hunting and scouting trip. Her destination was a remote location on the 1.2 million acre plateau. While prime campsites can be hard to find during hunting season, there is ample room for all and no need for campers to cluster together. Janice and Bruce finally arrived close to 9:00 P.M.
In the pitch-black night they maneuvered their vehicles through the sharp curve from the main road back toward the spot Janice had selected for their campsite. Both vehicles made a racket as they traversed the rough terrain from the road to the clearing where they would camp, a few hundred yards off Brushy Ridge Trail. As they curved around the clearing their headlights illuminated two small tents and a pickup truck with Texas plates. Janice drove past the tents and parked at a level spot about sixty yards farther along. Bruce followed. They set up their tents and settled in for a quiet evening.
It is not uncommon to run into a Texas hunter in western Colorado. Much of Colorado was once part of the Republic of Texas and many Texans still treat the area as if they owned it. As it turned out, the hunters from Texas camped near Bruce and Janice were law enforcement officers from East Texas, the same general vicinity where Janice and her first husband were born and settled. One of these Texas hunters was Brent Branchwater, thirty seven years old, six-foot-six, skinny as a rail and a mild-mannered speaker with a quick sense of humor. Branchwater was a captain with the County Sheriff’s department based in Titus, Texas.
At about seven the second morning after Bruce and Janice arrived, Branchwater heard one shot close to camp, followed by some “hoopin’ and hollerin’.” Then he heard two more shots in rapid succession “a minute or two later.” He assumed someone shot a deer and the deer got up and was shot at twice more, so he didn’t think anymore about it at the time. After Branchwater “fooled around” his camp for a while, he began to skin the deer he shot the previous afternoon. Looking up, he saw an attractive woman with long, silky hair come over a nearby hill and pass between Branchwater’s camp and the one set up next to his. She walked over to a Bronco truck, opened the tailgate and placed a rifle into a gun case. Branchwater went back to work on his deer, but a few minutes later the woman he saw earlier walked over to his camp and struck up a conversation.
“That’s a nice forky,” she said, obviously knowing hunter’s lingo for the term for a buck with two antler points on each side.
“Thanks,” Branchwater said.
The woman introduced herself. Branchwater thought she said her name was Denise. They talked for a few minutes, then Branchwater told her, “My buddy, who is still out hunting, and I are planning to go into town later to get some ice.”
When he told her that, the woman asked, “Would you bring back some water for us? We didn’t bring enough.”
“Sure, no problem. Do you go hunting often?” he asked.
“I do, but my husband hasn’t before. We’ve been married for three months and today is our anniversary.”
“Well, congratulations.”
The woman smiled and walked back to her campsite. Captain Branchwater finished skinning and butchering his deer. He was sacking the meat, the radio was on and it must have been around 9:30 when he thought he heard an elk bugling. He turned off the radio to be able to hear better and followed the sound over toward the woman’s camp. Suddenly, he realized the sound he had heard was someone screaming. He strode over to the front of the vehicles parked at the site, which were facing away from his camp. Branchwater looked around and then spotted the form of someone lying on the ground in the distance. The woman he had spoken to earlier was screaming and swinging an orange safety vest and hitting the ground with it. She then picked up a rifle which had been lying on the ground near the stricken person’s right hand and threw it across the body. When Branchwater started toward her, she saw him and came running over, screaming for help.
Quickly he followed her. Reaching the victim, Branchwater went into police officer mode and carefully surveyed the scene. He noted that the man was lying on his stomach, facing to the left with both arms raised and his hands near his head. The woman cried out, “His name is Bruce.” Standing over him Branchwater saw Bruce’s mouth contract and thought perhaps he was trying to speak.
He yelled, “Bruce, can you hear me?” There was no answer. When he touched the injured man, Branchwater felt that Bruce was cold and saw that his eyes were fixed, his skin blue. Next, Captain Branchwater checked for and found no carotid pulse. He picked up Bruce’s right hand and pulled off the brown cloth glove to feel for a radial pulse; again there was no sign of life. The woman picked up two spent shell casings by Bruce’s right hand and tossed them across the body where she had thrown the rifle.
Captain Branchwater turned to her. “I’m sorry, but I think he’s gone.”
She yelled back, “No, I saw his mouth move! He’s trying to talk. We’ve got to get some help!”
Not wanting to upset her further, Branchwater asked, “Are your keys in the Bronco?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Stay here, I’ll take your truck to get some help.”
Branchwater ran up the trail to the top of the low ridge to the Bronco, started it, and headed out to the road to find help. He went south down the trail to where he knew there were some other hunting camps set up. He saw a truck and flagged it down. The driver was a man named George Wright from Arkansas and he had a cell phone. Branchwater quickly told Wright about the shooting victim, emphasizing the fact that he could not find the injured man’s pulse. Wright immediately dialed 911.
“911. What is the nature of your emergency?” the operator asked.
In a heavy Arkansas accent Wright said, “I’m off the Divide Road, at the Brushy Ridge Trail. A man’s been shot up here.”
“Today?”
“Yeah. A while ago.”
“There was a man shot up there?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you at, sir?”
“I just told you,” Wright said with obvious impatience. “Off the Divide Road on the Brushy Ridge Trail.”
“Just a minute.” There was a pause. “What’s your name, sir?”
“George Wright, W-R-I-G-H-T.”
“Are you in Montrose or Delta County?”
“I don’t know. Probably Delta.”
“Okay. We have quite a few Divide Roads. Is this twenty-five Mesa Road?”
“It’s up on top of the Uncompahgre.”
“That would be twenty-five Mesa Road, I’m thinking... probably…There’s a couple of Divide Roads up there.”
Wright’s face grew red at the operator’s confusion, but he kept at it. “Okay. Do you know where the Cold Springs ranger station is?”
“Coal Springs ranger station?”
“Okay. We’re past that. Go down to the Dominguez Trail; turn on that left; go up to the Brushy Ridge Trail, and…”
“The Brushy Ridge Trail?”
“Yes.”
“Boy, I’m not sure if you’re in Delta or Montrose County. There was a guy who was shot up there?”
“Yes.”
“When did this happen, sir?”
“I don’t know.” Wright said. “I’m just up here and a guy came driving up here in a Bronco and said down in his camp there’s someone…a guy…was shot through the chest.”
“Like suicide?”
“We don’t know. The guy said there was two spent rounds beside the man who’s shot and his wife’s there and she’s going crazy.”
“Okay. Where did you go from? Did you go from Delta or did you go from Montrose?”
“We came from Grand Junction.”
“And to get up on the Divide Road, did you go from...?”
“141,” Wright replied with a heavy sigh.
“141. Did you go up between Delta and Grand Junction and go up Debeque Canyon?”
“Yes.”
“Off Highway 50 you went up Debeque Canyon. Okay, sir, I’m going to get my map out. Uh, but what’s the number you’re calling from?”
“I’m on my cell phone, 208-555-7242.”
“Okay, I think I’m getting another call on this shooting. Hold on just a minute. Okay, so he is dead then?”
“I don’t know for sure. I’m talking to a guy here who says he’s a policeman from Texas. Says he was down there at the camp with the lady. We were hunting up above. He is just trying to find some help.”
“Sir, gosh. The other dispatcher’s getting a call on it. She’s getting more directions.”
“Well, I’m gonna sign off then,” Wright said thinking he’d finally gotten through to her.
“No,” the dispatcher’s voice rose. “I’d like to keep you on the line, because I need to get the information from you.”
Wright had had enough. “Well, let me let you talk to the guy that was down there.”
The Delta County operator’s sigh was heavier than Wright’s had been. “Okay. That would be great.”
A discouraged George Wright handed the phone to Captain Branchwater. It is hard to describe how to get to a place in the middle of nowhere. Just trying to determine what county the shot man was in was a substantial hurdle. The call would have been potentially tragic, but for the fact that it seemed clear Bruce would not have benefited from more timely medical assistance.
While it is probably unfair to expect the dispatcher in Delta County to be familiar with every dirt road in Mesa County, it is easy to see how Mr. Wright soon wished he had not become involved in this situation. Part of the problem was the dispatcher suggesting that Wright had driven up Debeque Canyon when he actually came up Unaweep Canyon, a far different part of the county. Brent Branchwater now attempted to communicate their location and get some help.
“Hello, ma’am,” Branchwater said in his thick East Texas accent.
“Just a minute.” Pause. “Okay.”
“My name is Brent Branchwater. These people were camped behind us. And I was cleaning a deer when I heard a woman screaming. I went to see what was happening and the woman came running up telling me her husband was shot.”
“Do you have a name of the victim or the wife?”
“I’m in her truck. I’m in her Bronco.”
“Can you give me the license off that vehicle, sir?”
“Edward George Victor 0-8-2, Colorado. Is there somebody on the way up? I could meet them down on Divide Road at the Dominguez Trail.”
“Sir, right now we’re kinda trying to find out what jurisdiction you’re in…if you’re in Mesa County or if you’re in Delta County. The other guy we talked to went up Debeque Canyon to get there. So it kinda sounds like you must be in Mesa County. Okay, so she come runnin’ up and she said he was dead?”
“I heard her screamin’ down there and she came runnin’ up hollerin’ ‘Help, help.’ I met her about halfway there. She took me back down to where he was at.”
“Okay, you’re by the Coal Springs ranger station, is that right?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Just past there. Is the Ranger Station manned all the time?”
“I don’t have that information. The female, do you have a name for her?”
“I think she said her name is Denise. I just talked to her briefly this morning. Would it help if I ....”
“Just a minute.”
“Would it help if I met someone at the Divide Road? I’m not that close to it. I probably need to drive five or six miles to get to it.”
“Sir, I’m going to run the vehicle. And is the lady still there?”
“She’s with the body right now.”
“When did this happen? Do you know?”
“Sometime around daylight as far as I know.”
“Daylight this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So he is dead and we don’t need to worry about getting an ambulance?” The operator seemed unsure of the situation.
“As far as I can tell. I could feel no pulse. His face was blue and all I could see was a couple of contractions of his jaw.”
“Okay, and the plates are Edward George Victor 0-8-2?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Okay, Dodson?”
“I don’t know their name.”
“Okay, okay. Right now, what we’re trying to do is find out where you’re located at. Can you tell me exactly how you got there?”
“We came in from Delta on 50 toward Grand Junction. We turned south on 141 at Whitewater. We came down 141 in Unaweep Canyon and turned on Divide Road forest service access. And that bisects the Uncompahgre Plateau.”
“So do you happen to know if you’re in Mesa County or Delta County?”
“No, ma’am.”
The sound of crinkling paper came through the cell phone earpiece. The Delta County 911 operator was obviously flipping through a book of maps trying to find the hunters’ location. Several minutes passed.
“Okay, sir. We think we’ve confirmed that you are in Mesa County. I’m going to go ahead and notify Grand Junction. Let me put you on hold.”
More time passed while the disappointment of the two men at the delay grew.
The Delta County operator next called State Patrol Dispatch in Grand Junction. They told her this was not a State-Patrol-type situation since it was not a traffic accident. So, she hung up and called the Mesa County Sheriff’s Department main line and they put her through to Mesa County Dispatch.
“This is Mesa County Dispatch. May I help you?”
The Delta County 911 operator still seemed confused. “I have a couple of reports of a man who shot himself. I guess it’s going to be in Mesa County, just past the Coal Springs forest station.”
“Cold Springs ranger station?”
“I guess it’s Coal, C-O-A-L, like a coal mine.”
“Okay.”
“Have you guys heard of this?”
“Not that I’m aware of. We’re not aware of it here.”
“Apparently, a man has shot himself this morning. He is dead. Don’t know how it happened ... if he committed suicide or what. I have the two guys on hold on the other line now. The vehicle comes back to John Bruce Dodson out of Cedaredge. This is apparently the guy who shot himself.”
Do not ask how the 911 operator determined from these conversations that the death was a suicide. In addition, it was “Cold Springs” Ranger Station, not “Coal Springs.” At any rate, she spoke again to Captain Branchwater on George Wright’s cell phone. Captain Branchwater once again offered to meet the responding police officers out on Divide Road. In what seemed a very long delay to the two men trying to do their duties and report a crime, an officer finally came.
Deputy Kevin Patrick, a fit, handsome man in his mid-forties who has an adventurous streak and races stock cars in his spare time, walked up to the two men. Patrick followed Branchwater back to the camps. Once things settled down a bit, Deputy Patrick asked him a few questions, then a few more later and even more later.
Deputy Patrick followed Captain Branchwater in Bruce Dodson’s Bronco to the death scene, where he found a young man with the woman Branchwater called Denise, who appeared to be lending her comfort and support. After enough backup officers arrived so that someone could look after the victim’s wife, Deputy Patrick had the opportunity to take a statement from the genial twenty-five year old whose name was Larry Coller.
Larry told Deputy Patrick that he and his younger brother were visiting from Wisconsin. They had been hunting up on Snipe Mountain that morning and, on their way back to camp after an unsuccessful hunt, they saw a woman heading up a hill toward them. Their truck was headed west and was just up the road about two hundred yards from the turnoff to the campsite when they saw her. When they got closer, they could see that she was out of breath. Her sandals had slipped off her feet and were hanging around her ankles as if she had run right out of them. Larry said, “The lady was hysterical, waving her arms and yelling, ‘My husband’s been shot! My husband’s been shot!’” They stopped, put her into the truck and she showed them the way. After driving a short distance farther west, the distraught woman gestured to a track off the road to the north towards the camps. As they traversed the rough trail and the crest of a small hill, Larry could see the body in the distance. They drove down to get a bit closer.
Larry told the deputy, “The woman and I got out of the truck and my younger brother, Fred, left to find a man who had been talking on a cell phone in a red and white Bronco we had passed down the road.” Larry went on, “When I got to the victim the man was lying kind of on his right side, but face down with his right arm underneath him.” He paused and shook his head. “I felt his wrist and couldn’t find a pulse. The man’s cheeks were white and his ears and forehead were somewhat blue. The eyes were open and the pupils dilated.” Larry said that after he’d finished he just attempted to keep the woman calm, because he knew the man was dead. He tried to make small talk with her to get her mind off her husband. She told him her name was Janice and that she and her husband had separated while hunting that morning. He was hunting the ridge and she was hunting the valley. They had agreed to meet back in camp at 9:30 for breakfast. When she returned to camp and was not joined by her husband, she went looking for him. According to Janice, they had been married for three months and today was their anniversary. Moreover, this was her husband’s first time deer hunting. Larry went on, “I rolled the body over onto its back while checking for a pulse.” He saw Janice replace her husband’s right glove, which was rolled inside out and was right next to the body. He noticed a rifle about four feet from the body that looked as though it were placed there, rather than being dropped. The bolt was open and resting on the ground. There were three spent shell casings in a pile near the rifle. He also noticed a blaze orange vest and hat.
Larry recalled that it was exactly ten on the clock in his truck when he saw the man by the Bronco on the cell phone. He also told the deputy what Janice had told him. “She was elk hunting and Bruce was deer hunting. She said that Bruce was looking forward to the hunt and wanted to get a bigger buck than the big twenty-nine inch buck she had once shot. Clearly agitated, the woman talked on and on. She said Bruce insisted that it was love at first sight when they met.” Janice had also told Larry that she refused to live with Bruce before they were married because she was old fashioned. She referred to Bruce as her “little honey bunny.”
Larry, obviously drained by his own ordeal, continued telling his story to Deputy Patrick. “As we waited for help, Janice straightened out Bruce’s glasses and wiped some dirt from his face. She covered him with a down vest that had been lying by the body. She removed her gray sweatshirt and put it over Bruce. After a while, Fred returned with the truck and Janice suggested that they put Bruce into the truck to try to find help.” Knowing that nothing could be done, Larry discouraged this idea. Nevertheless, Janice still seemed to feel Bruce was unconscious but not gone. She took a multicolored blanket from the truck and spread it over Bruce’s body.
