Chapter 3

At day break Greg begun figuring out how to saddle and bridle the horse. He was surprised by how patient the horse was, and had lost count how of how many times he'd pulled everything off and started again. The sun was now sinking low in the sky and it was becoming painfully obvious he had no idea what he was doing. He'd grabbed the saddle closest to the door and it was decorated with a lot of silver and turquoise on light colored leather, and at first he thought that was the problem. But none of the others went on any better. He finally pulled the saddle off and dropped it on the ground, glaring at it. The horse snorted and shook, ridding itself of the blanket.

"You are not helping," Greg told it.

It snorted and nuzzled his arm.

"I wish you could tell me what I'm doing wrong," Greg told the horse.

Greg looked back at the house. Last night he had drug all the bodies into the barn and covered them, trying to keep most scavengers away from them. He'd spent a cold night asleep in the hay loft, listening to creatures come and go. That morning, he found scavengers had found the dead animal carcasses. The horse had a few more cuts from tackles with something in the night, so Greg decided before dark he was putting it in with the sheep in the barn.

Greg untied the lead rope he'd tied around the horse's neck because he didn't know how it went on, and led the willing horse into the stall with the sheep. He poured grain out for the three and then closed the door. He looked at the house. It was a crime scene, but he hadn't eaten in two days and he was starting to feel light headed from it. Greg crossed the yard to the back door, drawing the surviving dog out from under the porch. When he opened the back door, the dog bolted inside past him.

"Guess you're hungry too, huh?" Greg asked him.

He found three dog bowls on the back porch and then found the dog food in a closet. He filled the bowl and gave it to the dog. Then he went in search of food for himself. He opened the refrigerator. There was left over fried chicken and mashed potatoes. He sat them out and made a plate before he realized there was no microwave.

"Freakin' hicks," Greg grumbled.

He decided cold food was better than none. He found ice trays in the freezer and large ice tea glasses for ice water. Greg sat down at the kitchen table and started eating. The dog trotted over and laid down at Greg's feet, licking its paws and chops loudly.

"So tell me, Tex, other than being overbearing parents, were they good people?"

Tex looked up at him. Greg patted his head and was rewarded with a tail wag.

"Don't go getting attached. I can't have dogs and I prefer fish."

Tex wagged his tail again.

Greg finished eating, washed his dishes, and put them in the drying rack. He started walking through the house. There was a television but he could only get two channels clearly, and on both were shows he didn't care for. An old radio sat at the back of the living room. He turned it on and tuned it to a station he liked. He wandered into one bedroom, then the next.

It was the third that he found a treasure. The decorations told him this was the daughter's room, and sitting on her bookshelf were five books on horsemanship. Greg pulled them out and settled into a chair with a reading light next to it. He started studying a subject he'd gotten wrong all day.

#

Morgan parked behind the ambulance, and walked down the road. There were two officers, a paramedic, and two firefighters standing on the other side of the broken guard rail. The land dropped off after that. She stopped next to an officer, looking over the edge at the pickup truck sitting in the ravine below. Six firefighters were working to push and pull two backboards with bodies wrapped in blankets up the steep slope toward the group. She glanced at David when he stopped next to her.

"Why were we called back out here?" she asked.

"I was told there's a dead person. I don't know why you were called."

Morgan looked down the slope. "Still don't know why I'm here. I should be looking for Greg."

David patted her shoulder. "He'll turn up."

"He's been missing for three days," she growled. "I should be helping look for him, not stuck on this case."

"Greg is like a bad penny, miss," the officer beside her said. "He doesn't know how to stay lost for long and always turns up."

"Not. Helping."

The man just shrugged her bad mood off.

Finally the firefighters reached the edge and Morgan was pushed back as the group of mostly men pulled the backboards up and onto the road. Morgan looked away, watching the officer signal traffic to take a detour.

"Uh… Morgan?" David said.

She looked back and for a moment it didn't register that she was staring at a headless body.

"Oh my God!" She trotted over, kneeling on a knee next to David. "Is there ID?"

A firefighter held out a wallet. "This was on the dash."

Morgan snatched it away and flipped it open. The head on the driver's license was the head in the morgue.

"This is him. This is my d.b.!"

"He's still dead. Maybe you shouldn't get so excited," David suggested.

"I'm not excited. Well, I am. I didn't expect to find the rest of him." She turned on her heels to face the other backboard. The paramedics were working on the guy on it. "What about him?"

"He's alive," one paramedic told her, "and smells like a bar."

Morgan walked over to them. The man opened his eyes, but he couldn't really focus on anyone. He finally focused on Morgan and a slow, drunken grin spread across his face.

"I'm in heaven."

"No, sir, you're lying on a road in Nevada and were found next to a headless corpse."

"No shit?"

Morgan smiled. "No shit."

The man passed out. One of the paramedics looked up at her and grinned.

"If he were sober, that would have been cruel."

"He won't remember it. If he checks out, take him to detox. No point in trying to talk to him right now."

The paramedics nodded.

#

Joining Russell in the layout room was a State Patrol sergeant, the search and rescue director, Ecklie, and the Las Vegas Sherriff. Another day had ended without any sign of Greg and they were nearing the golden hour that generally marked if a missing person was found dead or alive. Only Russell's wife knew how scared he was that they may have lost Greg.

"We've covered most of the area around Angel Mountain," the SAR director told them. "And about forty miles from here in all directions. We haven't even seen his vehicle yet."

"Should we call in helicopters?" Ecklie asked.

"To search where?" the Sherriff asked. She heaved a sigh and rubbed her temple for a moment. The woman looked exhausted, but Russell had a new respect for her. Since she found out Greg was missing, she had been at the lab. He had even seen her comforting a few crying co-workers, lending them a much needed shoulder. "Without knowing where exactly he was sent, we'd spend thousands of dollars for a few miles when that same thousands can pay for a dozen miles per person on the ground."

Russell kept silent. He wanted to search faster for Greg, but he couldn't there were politics involved that even he couldn't supersede. Russell looked up and saw Nick hovering at the door. He moved around people, catching Nick's eye when he looked up. The two stepped into the hall.

"Anything?" Nick asked.

Russell shook his head. Nick's eyes watered a little but he nodded.

"Probably shouldn't have gone home. I'm sorry. I—"

"You can't find him if you fall asleep at the wheel and end up in a ditch, Nick. I saw Sara; she said you two had another grid to search before dark?"

He nodded. "If that's okay?"

"Yes. Of course it is. Stay in touch with the search and rescue team."

Nick nodded. He didn't move though.

"What else?"

"Please let me finish my last case before you suspend me."

"You have until we find Greg."

"I might need more time."

Russell shook his head. "You have until we find Greg. This conversation is done." Russell went back in the room.

Nick stood still, resisting rushing in and laying into Russell. But he guessed from that conversation's abrupt end, he was close to Russell's last nerve and pressing might risk more than a suspension and demotion.

"Nick," someone called.

He turned. Henry was hanging out the door.

"I have tox results from the woman and man in the morgue."

Nick walked down to the tox lab. The first thing he noticed was how ragged Henry looked. He was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his hair was sticking up, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"Have you slept?" Nick asked.

"No. Not yet." Henry sat down on a stool, the next indication he was tired. Nick rarely saw the man stop moving, even when he was sitting. But tonight, his hands were limp in his lap, and his eyes drooped.

Suddenly Nick felt worse because Russell was right. He had been arrogant, and, he realized, greedy. He wanted an easy call, and now Greg and the entire lab was suffering from his selfishness.

Henry went on to tell him, "The woman had LSD in her system. About 30 micrograms, so maybe one hit. When I was drawing her blood she said she'd taken LSD ten hours ago, so the dose might have been higher. But the man is an entirely different world of dumb. His tox came back with well over 10,000 milligrams of LSD. That's almost a hundred million hits!"

"And the stickers? Did they have that much on them?"

"No. Not even close. Each blot had between 30 to 40 micrograms. At best, maybe one milligram per sheet."

Nick thought about the evidence. And his mind was more than happy to work on something other than a missing friend and the impending suspension and demotion.

"The guy, when we found him, had foam around his mouth, and his shirt was still wet with sweat. I ran a UV over the carpet under him and it luminates a blue-white. Does LSD illuminate under UV?"

"Nick," Sara said as she stopped in the door. "We gotta go."

"Okay. I'll be right there."

She walked away.

"Yes. It will," Nick answered him.

"Okay." Nick stood up. "Henry, test that piece of carpet, and the man's clothes. I need to know the concentration of LSD on everything."

"I'll try to get it done tonight for you."

"Thanks," Nick told him, fully suspicious.

"We all know about the suspension, Nick. It's not that big of a lab."

Nick nodded. "Thank you." He headed for the door.

Henry nodded. "I hope you find Greg before dark, too."

"So do I."

#

Russell walked by the break room. He stopped and went back. Catherine was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. She held a cup of coffee in her hand, but it appeared forgotten. He walked in and sat down across from her. She looked at him.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She wearily smiled. "It's always something around here, isn't it?"

"Yes. Not too many dull moments."

She sipped her coffee and made a face.

"Bad?" he asked.

"Cold. I guess I zoned out longer than it felt like." She put the cup on the side table. "No word on Greg from your end, is there?"

"Nothing yet."

"We're coming up on the forty-eight hour mark." She closed her eyes and inhaled.

Russell waited for her to open her eyes again. "I thought I gave you a call with Morgan."

"You did. And then… The night just slipped away. But she's been on it since I left her with it. Maybe it's wrong, maybe I should have asked, but I want her to handle the case. I think she can."

"Then I will let her handle it."

The two fell silent. Russell leaned forward. She turned her attention to him.

"Do you think something terrible has happened to him?" he asked. "I was warned Greg can throw some pretty outrageous temper tantrums, and it sounds like this Call Roulette would have been something that would set him off. How do we know this isn't one of his infamous tantrums?"

"Yes, he can have some very unprofessional tantrums, but this isn't one of them, D.B." She stood up and stretched, then turned to watch people in the lab. "He usually gets over it after a few hours at a crime scene by himself and starts taking calls again. This time something is keeping him from getting in touch with us. Or someone."

"We haven't had a ransom yet."

She shook her head. "After this long, I doubt we'd get one."

Russell nodded. He hesitated to swallow the harsh reality of that statement and then pressed on. "Why did you tell me about this Call Roulette?"

"Roulette, in any form, is dangerous. I have been trying to get them to stop playing it since I was an assistant supervisor because I knew that one day it was going to lead to disaster. When I was supervisor—" She flashed him a smile, "I told them if I caught them playing it, they would have to find work somewhere else. As far as I know, they never played it after that. But I guess, a new supervisor, made them think it was okay again."

"So you put the fear of you into them to stop it?"

She laughed. "Yes. I guess I did."

"I was stunned to find Nick was behind this. I never saw that coming."

She shrugged. "He's been drifting since he came back from Hawaii. I think he felt blindsided by all the changes he walked into."

"Wasn't he?"

She nodded. "That was my fault. I was mad at him, at Ray, at… a lot of people."

"And now?"

She smiled at him. "I'm still mad, and there's still room to spread all that blame, but I'm getting over it. I will get over it. My life doesn't leave a lot of room to hold grudges."

"That's good to know. Tomorrow morning, I've picked up six grids. Do you want to take one or two?"

"Yes. I do."

"Good. Well, I have to go scare more of my employees into working instead of worrying. Worrying isn't bringing our boy home." He stood and turned.

"D.B."

He looked back at her.

"Which is the truth – Nick is suspended or fired?"

"Suspended and demoted. Don't worry. He's not on his last leg. Yet."

She smiled. "I'll talk to him if you want me to."

"He might need that. Just don't press the issue."

She nodded.

Russell left the break room and headed for trace. Time to get Hodges back on track.

#

Morgan entered the interview room. The passenger of the wrecked truck had his head buried in his arms on the table. Morgan sat down across from him and he looked up. That same smile he'd shown before appeared.

"I've seen you someplace. Where'd I see you before?"

"When you were passed out drunk lying on the road?" she offered.

His eyebrows dipped into a deep V. He shook his head, shaking his grimy hair. "What are you talking about?"

She opened her folder and told him, "Your invalid driver's license says your James McKeon." She looked up. "You, James, seem to enjoy getting drunk and drive home."

He laughed. Scratched his unshaven chin. "Yeah. I do that. Don't remember most of the times, though."

"Yes. Alcoholics tend to have that problem."

He glared at her. "I like my drinks, but I don't have a problem."

"Did your friend?" She showed him an enlarged photocopy of the driver's license. "Peter Bennett?"

He laughed. "Naw. Pete didn't drink very often. But he did go out with me last night because… Well, his wife died yesterday. The cancer finally won." That sucked away James' smile. "Lucinda was a good woman. After I lost my license, she'd come pick me up when the bartenders called Pete. Never said a word, just drove me home, made sure I got in, and left. Good woman, Lucinda. She didn't deserve to die that way."

The story touched Morgan and she almost forgot about the fact she had to find out why Pete's head was no longer attached to his body.

"James, I'm sorry to tell you this but Peter is dead."

James stared at her for a long time, almost as if he didn't see her. Slowly, almost in a whisper, he asked, "Peter's dead?"

"Yes. He was decapitated, and you were the last person with him. What happened to him, James?"

James started crying. "Pete… He's dead? He lost his head?"

Morgan didn't answer. A few sobs passed before James spoke again.

"I was really drunk. He was too. But he insisted on driving home, even though I said we should get a cab." James rubbed his hand over his face, smearing tears. "I remember he said he was going to puke and then he leaned out the window."

"While he was driving?"

James nodded. "I think so. I was so drunk. And I sat back and then… I was riding a roller coaster. The next thing I remember was waking up in detox."

"You don't remember anything else?"

James shook his head with a grimace. "Lady, if I knew more, I'd be spilling my guts to you. Peter was my only and best friend. I don't have anyone else now. No one's going to give a damn about a drunk."

Morgan couldn't agree, or disagree, but she guessed he was probably right.

"Okay. I'm holding you for forty-eight hours – mostly because you don't look like you're in any shape to go home. Get some sleep and I'll come see you if I have more questions."

"I bet most people don't tell you it's kind of you to hold them for a good reason like that. Thanks, miss."

Morgan offered a smile and left the room. She still had to figure out where the head and body separated ways.