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Yesterday after work had been a good evening, with Raymond wearing the threadbare number 51 Iowa jersey from his third-string linebacker days in the eighties. He talked like a wind-up doll about Iowa’s upcoming chances for a national championship and how his good buddy and ex-Iowa alumnus Chris told him some inside scoop she found out from “sources” that the team this year would be the best ever.
Of course, the other agents, her included, gave a bunch of raspberry sounds and hoots at that, with most of them giving their own personal takes on who would be the big dog of college football. Each of them also got their turn at receiving the same recognition as Raymond. Good fun, with lots of laughter. She went home at eleven and slept hard, waking up refreshed and ready for anything. She had been the first one out of the station and was dropping into the river valley by six. She had a feeling this was going to be a good day.
Hunter drove down the rock-studded road, stopped far from the river and walked a circular three-mile-long route so she could check the entire river area from Lagarto to Tortuga Crossing up close and personal, right at the river’s edge.
***
As she dropped off the high second bank a quarter-mile from Tortuga, Hunter saw where someone had brushed out the entire trail. She took time working it out as she descended through the brush and grass toward the river.
Hunter found bits and pieces of track still visible, and she read their history: One man walking down toward the crossing and over a dozen sets of tracks coming out. There was evidence of several heavy packs or bags that had been put on the ground in places, as if the carriers were resting. Their tracks were less than twenty-four hours old. Hunter was close enough to hear the gurgling river when a faint smell caused the hairs on her neck to rise.
The young girls and the baby were near the river’s edge where a grass-covered area butted against a jumble of boulders. She walked closer and saw the small bodies.
The two girls were young, with the first or second year’s pubescence showing on their nude bodies. Ants worked at a fever pitch on their faces, disappearing and reappearing from their nostrils and mouths.
Scavenger birds had taken the eyes. The girls lay on their sides, facing each other. Both had dried blood on their genitals and buttocks. The only clothes anywhere were two bright colored shawls tucked under their heads like pillows. The baby lay between them. The baby, maybe two years old, was obviously not theirs. The girls had their arms over the infant, their hands together, fingers interlaced. Someone had shot all three of them in the head.
Hunter said, “Dammit, dammit, dammit,” and the tears started coming and Hunter couldn’t stop them.
***
When Raymond returned from Odessa that afternoon and heard about it, he went straight to Hunter Kincaid’s big white Spanish-style house on the north end of town. There was no answer to the knock, so he circled to the back and saw her sitting in a lawn chair, still in her Border Patrol uniform, sipping a tall glass of orange juice. He noticed the Tito’s Vodka bottle beside her chair.
He opened the waist-high gate, walked across the yard and said, “Hey?”
Hunter wiped her eyes before looking at him. “Hey.” Her voice was hoarse.
Her eyes were red, with dark circles under them. Raccoon eyes. A faint breeze was blowing and he recognized the smell coming from her. Raymond sat on the grass and looked up at her. She’d been crying hard.
“I could have saved them,” Hunter said. She took a long sip from the glass.
“It’s not your fault.”
“If I’d stayed on the trail yesterday, instead of being lazy, they’d still be alive.”
“You don’t know that.”
Hunter took another sip and looked at Raymond. “The M.E said they died yesterday between noon and two. I started back to Marfa around two. You know how close I was?”
“Hunter…”
Hunter talked as if she hadn’t heard him. “All I had to do was check one more crossing,” She shook her head.
“Some scumbag killed them, not you.”
Hunter’s head was down and Raymond watched two tears wink in the sunlight as they fell into the grass. She said, “Those little girls and that baby, god-o-mighty.” She shook her head and sat up straight, wiping her eyes and nose. “I’ve seen adults before, but those kids…” She took a long drink.
Raymond watched the breeze blow in the huge conifers at the south end of the yard. He said, “Maybe you ought to tell me about it.”
***
Hunter had checked the girls for any signs of life, but knew they were dead. She wiped her eyes, then took a deep breath and blew it out before calling Sector on her handy-talkie. She told them what she had, her location, and to notify the Sheriff’s office. The Radio Operator 10-4’d, and then asked her to hold until she got an ETA. It was only a few seconds before the voice crackled and said the Sheriff was on his way and would be there in less than thirty minutes.
Hunter used the time to look around. She crouched by the bodies and studied them in detail, staying careful not to touch, but so close that the reek was almost overpowering. When she finished on the children, Hunter turned her attention to the ground. She found indications that there was more than one person. Hunter went over the area several times, but whoever had done it was good, sprinkling dust, leaves and twigs over the brushouts so the sand looked almost untouched.
Hunter found one other thing near the boulders: a small, match-sized twig someone had sharpened. Hunter thought maybe to pick their teeth. She marked it so the S.O. could bag it, maybe get a blood type off saliva, or DNA from blood if they were lucky and the person had bad gums.
***
