Читать книгу The Dryline - Jack Grubbs - Страница 14

Five

Tuesday Afternoon,
December 29

Breuner’s Funeral Home

Breuner’s Funeral Home was a stone’s throw from the main government buildings of Luling, just south of the Southern Pacific Railroad tracks. Don, Tom, and Elam walked up wooden steps to a wraparound porch of an 1880s-vintage Victorian home. A middle-aged woman dressed in a dark blue cotton dress greeted them at the front door. She smiled gently.

“Good afternoon. I’m Mary Otter. You must be the gentlemen wanting to pay respects to Mr. Delgado. Come in.” She stepped back slightly, holding the door open.

“I’m Tom Seiler. We appreciate your letting us see Mr. Delgado.” Tom offered his hand and she accepted. Don and Elam introduced themselves similarly.

Mary Otter closed the door. She spoke quietly. “Please come this way.”

On each side of a large pastel blue foyer, pocket doors opened to double-roomed suites. A small group of well-dressed people spoke quietly in the nearest room to their left. Mary escorted the men around a circular stairway and down a fairly long hallway; she opened the door to the last room and invited the men inside. Two operating tables occupied the center of the room. Elam shivered, partly from a sudden drop in the temperature and partly from his realization of where they were. What the hell are we doing here? he thought. We can’t help Delgado. Lights above the tables gave evidence to the tables’ purpose. Semi-surgical instruments lay near each table in clean trays. Cabinets and drawers covered one wall; what appeared to be three refrigerator doors faced them from the back of the room. Mary Otter moved to the middle door.

Respecting the deceased, Mary whispered, “This is not normal procedure for us, but we understand your situation.”

During Tom’s phone call to Breuner’s he told them of their relationship with Juan. That his call was sanctioned by the Luling Police Department made the unusual visit possible.

Tom spoke for all. “Again, thank you. He was a good man.”

Mary nodded and opened the door. The three men looked in immediately and could see the black hair of Juan’s head. Mary pulled lightly on the stainless steel body tray; it glided smoothly on rollers, exposing the full body of Juan Delgado. A sheet placed by the staff in anticipation of the visit covered Juan’s torso.

Elam flinched and inhaled a large breath. “Damn.” He exhaled, remaining silent.

Mary ignored the slight profanity and stepped back out of the way.

The men stared at the body of Juan Delgado. The expressionless face did not seem happy or sad—or anything. It was void.

Tom turned to Mary and asked, “Is it possible to see if he had any injuries to his torso?”

Mary answered quietly, “There were injuries to his head, but nothing to his torso.” She was unsure of why Tom wanted to see Juan’s body. Still, she returned to the corpse and pulled the sheet down to the pubic hair.

Don and Elam stepped back in silent unison. Tom studied Juan carefully. After a short look at Juan’s trunk and arms, Tom moved alongside Juan’s head; he studied the obvious fatal injury. The puncture wound had been worked on by the staff but was clearly visible. He noticed the quarter-sized hole at the temple and what appeared to be a rough, three-inch-long bruise extending diagonally down from the puncture. The skin was lacerated over half the length of the bruise. He took out his notepad and started to write. Ten minutes later they thanked Mary Otter for her help and left.

Tom didn’t speak until they reached Elam’s car. “Let’s head back out to the tower.”

“Hell, Tom,” said Elam, “I’m up to my neck with Juan’s death. Why go back out there?”

“Because I need to find an anchor bolt or something else that would puncture Juan’s skull like that.” He added, “Then we’ve got to get back to the airfield with two hours of sunlight still left.”

They headed toward County Road 128.