Читать книгу Head Of The Snake - G. Rehder - Страница 10

Chapter 6

Interstate 25 was nothing like the roads I had traveled the previous day and night. A major route that handled a huge amount of truck traffic kept me alert. I had one quick coffee stop at a convenience store outside Cheyenne at the start of my trip. It provided me with a quick packaged pastry for breakfast, bottled water, and beef jerky to get me into the outskirts of Denver.

I had a 365-mile journey ahead of me today that would take me about seven hours. I hoped to get to Mike’s ranch before 1500 hours. When I got on the road, I called him again but to no avail. He didn’t pick up his phone. I left a message telling him my ETA.

Highway 25 took me straight south to the New Mexico border, through the middle of Colorado, into the heart of the state and its most populated areas. Traffic was dense in the Denver area, and I was relieved to get into the rolling prairie land to its south, more scenic and a lot less traveled except for the big rigs.

When I crossed into New Mexico and into the small town of Roton, I turned off the Interstate onto Highway 64, into the high desert heading into the Cimarron Canyon.

Traffic dwindled to a trickle, and I was able to relax behind the wheel and enjoy the scenery surrounding me. I pulled over at a turnout and got out to stretch my legs. The fall breeze was cool, and you could smell the sagebrush in the air. I made another call to Mike. My cell had only one bar, so I didn’t know if it would connect.

Over the weak signal, I heard his phone begin to ring, still no answer, and in the static of the connection, I heard his answering machine announce its messages were full. I tried not to think the worst, but my concern was reaching alarm level.

The canyons terrain changed from high desert to forest as I climbed in elevation. I was in that area of New Mexico that saw snow, deep at times during the winter. I traveled west, and my route brought me to the small town of Eagles Nest, where I turned off onto Highway 38, which would take me into Questa.

At 1513 hours, I was finally in Questa, where 38 ended onto 522 North. I was twenty minutes out from Mike’s. I tried another call as I was parked off the intersection. Again, no answer. The good connection gave me a clear audible message this time, telling me his answering machine was full.

I got onto 522 North. I reached Mike’s gravel road that wound in several miles to his ranch. As I got close enough to have a visual, I saw activity out front in his yard. When I arrived through his gate, there were three county sheriff’s vehicles and an older Nissan sedan in front of the house. Their lights weren’t flashing, their motors weren’t running, and the way the drivers had parked their SUVs indicated they already knew what they would find when they had arrived. There were no EMT vehicles on site.

My heart sank. I felt my dread was about to become a reality.

I parked and got out of the Four Runner, looking all around the perimeter, not seeing anyone outside except a young Hispanic woman sitting on a porch swing by the front door. Mike’s cow dog Winslow sat at her feet, watching my every move as I approached.

I walked slowly her way, listening to the crunch of gravel under my boots. The sound was surreal like what I was about to encounter was a dream, and the sound was just a part of it. Winslow got up. I knew he recognized me. He moved to me, his tail barely wagging. I bent down and scratched his head.

“Winslow boy, I’m here” was all I could say.

As I got close to the woman on the swing, I saw tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked my way.

I stepped on Mike’s wooden porch into the shade of its overhang and got a better look at the woman who sat anxious as if she was anticipating my arrival. She looked away, staring out into the distance as she spoke.

“Mr. Jason, yes, it is you?”

“I’m Jason,” I said.

“I am Rosa Valencia. Mr. Mike’s housekeeper. Yesterday he told me you were coming.”

“What’s going on?” I asked her, not wanting the answer I thought would be coming.

“Mr. Mike, he,” she paused as she tried to hold back sobs, long enough to say, “he is gone.”

I heard what she said, but my mind needed clarification, so I asked, “Gone, as in dead?”

“Yes, Mr. Jason, he has passed.”

“How?” was my next question.

“Gun, he used a gun.”

My heart sank deep. It had gone deep too many times recently, but this depth staggered me to a point I wanted to sink to my knees.

“When?” I asked.

“This morning sometime. I was not here when it happened, but I found him when I came to the house about eleven fifteen. Sheriff Alvarez says I need to stay. He needs to clear me. Mr. Jason, what does that mean?”

“It means he needs to check all the evidence in the house to make sure you are not a suspect.”

“How could they think that? Mr. Mike was good to me.”

“Rosa,” I said, “it is just a normal thing. “You’ll be okay, I’m sure.”

“There was blood, the wall, the bathroom floor, I was afraid, but I still went to him. He lay in the tub. I checked for breath. No breath. I said, ‘Mr. Mike, wake up.” He no answer. I call 911.”

Rosa put her hands to her face and covered her eyes. I placed my hand on her shoulder. “There was nothing you could do. You did the right thing. You made that call,” I said.

I knew it was little comfort after what she had seen.

Just then, Sheriff Alvarez walked out on the porch. I saw him about a year before. Mike let me conduct a security training exercise at his ranch. Our paths had crossed even before that.

Alvarez took off his hat and said, “Mr. Orr, sorry to see you again under these circumstances. I’m sure Rosa here told you about Mike.” Then added, “he’s gone.”

“Yeah, yeah, she did.” I was looking at Alvarez. I knew he had probably seen many crime scenes over the years, but he looked shaken.

Alvarez said, “Let’s go out on the drive.” He motioned for me to walk out first. I did, and we both stepped down from the porch and into the sun. I felt it’s warmth on my shoulders. It barely eased the chill that encompassed my whole body.

When we were away from the house and Rosa, he instinctively put both hands on his duty belt just to have something to hold on to.

Alvarez was looking down at the ground. I could tell he was searching for words. A few seconds passed, and then he spoke, “We found a note and a sealed envelope with your name on it.”

Mike’s handwriting. I have no doubt.

“Even though the envelope is evidence, I didn’t open it, out of respect for Mike and you. I know you two were close. Mike talked about you often.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope and handed it to me. My name was clearly written on the outside in block print, Major Jason Orr.

I took the envelope and tucked it into my inside coat pocket.

“The other note was a suicide note for us to find and read. I bagged it already. None of my men touched it. Rosa said she didn’t see it. We’ll dust it for prints, but I’m sure Mike wrote it. I’ll give you a summary, it said, ‘I’m taking my own life to end my pain, both my physical and my mental anguish.’ He signed it and dated it today.”

I was still in shock as I stood there. All I could say is, “I don’t get it. Mike was one of the strongest men I’ve known.”

Alvarez put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for all of us here in Taos County. Me along with the rest of this community will mourn this loss. Mike gave of himself to any and all that needed his help and never took anything in return.”

I hesitated then asked, “Can I see him?”

“Coroner has him already. EMT van transported the body a couple hours ago. It’s probably in Albuquerque by now to do the autopsy. You know, it’s protocol.”

“Be hard for me to see him then.”

“Let me make a call.” Alvarez stepped away and walked toward the barn, pulled out his cell, and spoke to someone for a few minutes, then returned.

“Coroners name is Romero, good guy. He’s also a doctor at the Holy Cross Hospital in Taos. He says after the autopsy, you can claim the body. He’ll do his best to make Mike look good after he’s examined him if you want an open casket.”

I responded, “I got to look around here. See if Mike left any instructions or wishes. Is the place cleared for me to go in?”

“Yeah, but there’s still blood in the bathroom. I could find someone to come out and clean it up if you want.”

“Yeah, that would be good.”

Rosa came off the porch and asked Alvarez, “Mr. Sheriff, can I go now? My son has been home alone from school. I worry.”

“Yeah, Rosa, sorry I kept you so long. Head home. Make sure Manual is okay.”

Before she turned, I asked her for her phone number, then asked, “Rosa, can you come back out tomorrow? I’d like to talk to you more about Mike and his last days.”

“Yes, I can do this. Is nine thirty okay?”

“I’ll be here,” I said.

Rosa turned and walked to her old Nissan sedan. It took her several tries, and then it finally started. She drove out the gate and down the road. The dust trail behind hid her vehicles exit onto the highway.

Alvarez said we’re about done here. We both headed back to the house. I saw two other deputies standing on the porch, a large male, white guy, and a female that looked Native American, probably Navajo.

When we reached them, Alvarez introduced me. “This is Jason Orr. Still with the feds, I guess.” He looked back at me.

I just nodded.

“Jason, this is Officer Jacobs and Officer Hathale.”

They both took off their hats.

Jacobs said, “Sorry for your loss, sir.”

Hathale then said, “Mike Groves was my brother’s good friend. He helped him when he came back from combat. My brother will be devastated by this.”

“Tell your brother to call me if he wants.” I pulled a notepad out of my coat and wrote down my cell number on two sheets, gave one to Alvarez and one to Hathale.

Hathale said she would give it to her brother.

“You need anything, Jason, call me,” Alvarez said. “When we searched the house, it looked like there was plenty of food in the fridge and cupboards. I know Mike won’t mind you stayin’ here as long as you need. You plan on sticking around for a while?”

“Yeah, until I can sort this out.”

“I’ll look in on you tomorrow and let you know when Romero is done with the autopsy. We can bring the body back to Taos for a service or whatever Mike has asked for if you find anything like that. I didn’t see any will or anything in his papers, but there is a safe in the wall in his office, might be somethin’ in there I didn’t try to open it.”

The other two officers were in their cars, and Alvarez and I were alone again.

“I hate to ask, but where did Mike put the bullet?”

“The barrel in his mouth, through the back of his skull.”

My mind flashed. Mike ate his gun.

After everyone was gone and I was alone, I walked back into Mike’s house. There was silence. I just stood for several minutes. Then I heard the refrigerator start to hum. I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was a large lidded bowl with a note taped on the lid.

Thought you might want some of my beef stew. You raved about last time you were here. It’s fresh. And Winslow likes it too.

I got two bowls down from the shelf. I gave Winslow his cold. I heated mine in the microwave.

There were also two six-packs of Corona and a variety of fresh food. Like Alvarez said, the place was well stocked.

Just like Mike, I thought, thinkin’ about others needs all the time, even when he knew he wouldn’t be here to share the food.

I grabbed a Corona and walked back out on the front porch. I sat on the porch swing and watched the sun going down behind Cerro de la Olla peak to the southwest. The October air was already turning cold. It would get into the low thirties tonight. I heard the microwave buzz, but I still just sat. Winslow had finished his food and was lying quietly at my feet.

My mind was still numb. I never avoided confronting issues. I usually went head on, but I hesitated to pull Mike’s letter out of my coat pocket to read it. I sat for another twenty minutes. My beer was down to foam, and I had a slight buzz because of the lack of food. I was amazed at the peace and quiet that surrounded me. I took it all in and realized why Mike loved living out here.

I went back into the house, reset the microwave, and looked at the good stack of firewood and kindling next to Mike’s airtight stove. I put in crumpled newspaper, added kindling and a couple logs, lit it, and listened to it chug as the flames grew inside the box. I closed its door and walked into the kitchen.

I pulled out the bowl of stew when it was ready. I walked back into the living room by the stove and sat down in Mike’s favorite chair.

It was the best stew I ever had, and I eagerly cleaned the bowl, sat it down on the floor, and Winslow checked to make sure there wasn’t a morsel left. There wasn’t. I retrieved Mike’s letter from my coat. I broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper that had writing on both sides. I began reading Mike’s handwritten letter.

Jason,

Since you are reading this, you already know I am gone. I am sorry I avoided taking your calls the last couple of days. I felt if you heard my voice, you would be able to detect how distraught I was. And if I heard yours, I might hesitate to do what I had planned on doing for some time now.

What has driven me to this point was no one else’s fault. I take full responsibility for my act. I know some people will call me a coward or selfish, but you, my friend, know better than anyone. I am neither.

What I am is a tired soldier who has come to realize, sometimes you have no choice but to surrender.

The dreams that still haunted me nightly, the pain from many wounds, not just the recent broken hands, but the shrapnel in my hips and legs had driven me to seek relief.

I thought I would find it in pain medication; it is not the answer. My doctor is a smart woman. She saw a path of addiction coming my way, so she cut me off all prescription pain medications. I unfortunately found other sources. At this time, I would call myself an addict.

I didn’t want you to see me this way. It would have been hard for me to look you in the eye.

I want to stress to you, hiding the damaging documents you had on your former boss was an honor for me, a chance to do a little to repay you for all you did for me. I fought hard to keep them safe, but as we both know, I was outmanned, and Dobbins deceit was something you and I never detected. I was tricked into a complacent state and taken advantage of.

I am glad you’ve avenged me, and he got that well-deserved bullet. Thank you for that.

Please remember defending what I hid for you and the injuries I sustained is not the cause of my actions. I don’t want to be in pain, and at the same time, I don’t want to be an addict.

Pray for me, my brother, since I cannot. Pray that God will forgive me for my actions, and you will also.

Please cremate my remains, it’s cheaper, then spread them out in the mountains above my ranch.

There’s some money in the safe in my bedroom. You know the combination: my birthdate. Use what you need for my remains. The rest give to the vets in Taos County. The pink slip for my Land Rover is in the safe also. I transferred it in your name a couple weeks ago.

I’ve worked out a title transfer of my property to you with a lawyer in town, last name is Reed, in the event of my death. I know you will do what is best with it. It’s free and clear, just have to pay taxes. He has the copies at his office. There is money in a trust. It’s in your name, use it as you see fit, but helping veterans is my desire.

If you could find a good home for Winslow, I would greatly appreciate it. He’s a smart and loyal cow dog any rancher with any sense would love to employee him.

Be well, my friend, stay safe, find a good woman, and settle down somewhere, maybe even here in Questa.

I love you, my friend.

Mike

The tears that were running from my eyes dripped on the letter as I sat forward in the chair, holding on to it as if I was holding onto Mike. I don’t know how long I sat there, but it was a long while. The fire was down to embers, and I needed to feed it to keep it going.

I slowly rose from my seat, laid Mike’s letter on a table and opened the fireplace door, grabbed a split log, and threw it in. For a moment, I thought of putting Mike’s letter into the flames. As if I did, this bad dream would go up the flu, but I hesitated long enough to realize that would be a bad idea. I had a lot of questions, and I needed to refer back to it if I were to find any answers.

I went back into the kitchen, switched on the light, and opened a few cupboards. I found what I was looking for: three bottles, fifths of a clear liquid. They all had corks in the tops but no labels or markings on the sides. The giveaway was the fat agave worms that floated awkwardly at their bottoms.

I pulled one bottle down and uncorked it. I smelled the aroma of the strong tequila as soon as the cork pulled out. Mike had let me and my crew sample some of the local batch when we were here before. It was potent but smooth. I needed the potent more than the smooth.

I grabbed a cup off the counter, took the bottle, and returned to the recliner. The fire had heated up the room. The tequila would heat my gut, and Winslow at my feet, providing me a piece of Mike I wanted to hold on to.