Scratchgravel Road (Josie Gray Mysteries #2)(8)

Josie grimaced and pushed two fingers gently into the front pocket of the man’s jeans. She fished out a wood-grained Case pocketknife and several coins.

Otto opened a plastic bag and she dropped the items inside. He held it closer for inspection. “That’s a fifty-dollar pocketknife. This guy’s not some down-on-his-luck Mexican trying to cross the border.”

She checked the other pocket while Otto labeled the bag with an evidence marker. “Want to roll him over?” Otto asked.

Josie was kneeling beside the corpse in the shade provided by Otto’s shadow. She turned back and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m afraid the body will fall apart. I’ll let Cowan deal with that one.”

She turned back to the man, and noticed a black-and-purple-colored lesion stretching from under the dead man’s shirt sleeve onto the back of his hand.

Josie said, “Hand me another set of gloves, will you?”

Otto pulled another pair of plastic gloves from the evidence kit and handed them to Josie. She wiped the sweat out of her eyes on her shirt sleeve and strained to get the gloves over her first pair in order to double up. She knew it was paranoia, but she was more afraid of unseen parasites than a gun or a knife. At least she stood a chance if she could see what she was fighting.

She struggled to unbutton the cuff on the man’s sleeve and then slowly slid it above his elbow, grimacing at what she saw. Large black and red sores, some open wounds, covered his arm. “Think this came before or after his death?” she asked.

Otto leaned over her back and snapped several pictures. “Nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Josie leaned across the man’s torso, unbuttoned the other sleeve, and pulled it slowly up. A half-dozen lesions were revealed on the top of his forearm. Josie used the fabric on his cuff to lift his arm and look at the underside. One sore, with pus oozing from the center, stretched several inches from his wrist up his arm. She unbuttoned his shirt and found no wounds on his chest or abdomen.

Josie pulled his shirt closed and stood. “I don’t like this.” She walked to his feet and pulled up the bottom of his jeans, struggling to raise the jeans a few inches above his black work boots. She stood and shook her head. “Nothing. Only appears to be on his arms.”

Otto took a step backwards. “I think we’d better leave this for Cowan. We don’t know what this might be, or how contagious it could be.”

They both turned toward the sound of a car in the distance.

“Speak of the devil,” Josie said.

They watched the 1978 Dodge station wagon that had been painted white and converted into the county hearse approach Cassidy Harper’s little blue car.

“That has to be the ugliest car in all of Texas,” Josie said.

“You don’t think he’ll try and drive that thing back here, do you?” Otto asked. County Coroner Mitchell Cowan was known for a supreme intelligence that translated into negligible common sense.

“Better get him on your cell phone before he tries it,” she said. “I would trust that man with my dead body in a heartbeat. I sure wouldn’t want to rely on him with my life though.”

Otto dialed his cell phone. Josie turned back to the body and listened to him tell Cowan to wait by the road to be picked up.

“Hang on, and I’ll go with you. I have to get out of this heat for a minute,” she said.

“I’ll drive. You take a break.”

Josie pulled off her gloves and mask and dropped them on the ground by the body. She would put them in a hazardous waste bag when they got ready to leave. She found hand sanitizer in the evidence kit and rubbed a liberal dose onto her hands before climbing into Otto’s jeep.

When temperatures hit above ninety they always left one of the cars running to have a cool place to escape the heat. They both sighed at the cool air blowing from the vents. Otto pulled a gallon jug out of a cooler in the backseat and they traded drinks of water before Otto took off to meet Cowan.

Josie and Otto got out of the car as Cowan was assembling his materials from the back of the station wagon. He was built like an ostrich, with a small head and thin neck that ballooned into a large midsection and ended in stick legs. Josie had always liked Cowan. He appeared to have no joy or humor in his life, but he showed up and did the job to the best of his ability with no complaints. She respected that.

“Nice day for a murder in the desert.” Cowan looked up from the black medical bag he was packing and glanced briefly at Josie and Otto before returning to his bag.

“You have a hazmat suit with you?” Josie asked.

“That I do. And, if I wear it, I will certainly stroke out from heat exhaustion before the examination has even begun. Plastic suits are not very practical on a day like today.”

“The arms of the dead man are covered with oozing lesions. Doesn’t look good,” she said.

“Any idea on time of death?” he asked, ignoring Josie’s comment.

“I’m guessing two days.”

“Because?”

“Because there are flies and fly larvae in the eyes and nose,” she said.

Cowan nodded. “Blowflies, yes. Have they hatched?”

“No.”

“Good work, then. You’re probably right. Sounds like about forty-eight hours.”

“You taught me well,” she said.