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There was a bullet wound just above his cheekbone at the outside corner of his eye. Obviously self-inflicted. The pistol was still in his hand, submerged in three inches of swamp water.
Ski went down on his haunches to get a closer look. The blood around the flyblown wound was congealed but not completely dry. His face was crisscrossed with scratches and swollen from numerous insect bites.
He'd lost one of his new shoes. Burrs were embedded in his sock. He was wearing the clothes of the man he had killed. Ski recognized them from the description Mrs. Mittmayer had provided. The gray Dockers were almost black with grime. The green and blue striped shirt was torn, covered in filth, and stank of body odor.
The remaining searchers gradually caught up and began collecting in a semicircle behind Ski, who remained squatting beside the body. Each murmured a comment on the grisly sight.
Ski heard Dodge's wheezing as he came near. He said, "Well, shit." Ski supposed he was disappointed that Starks had robbed him of the satisfaction of killing him.
Birds, whose primal environment was being disturbed by the barking dogs and interloping human beings, flapped their wings and squawked noisily in the treetops. The dogs were happily panting, their tongues hanging from their mouths, dripping slobber.
The first of the Texas Rangers to arrive was talking to the pilot of the DPS helicopter through a transmitter. Shouting to make himself heard, he was telling the pilot to watch for a flare that would mark their location and advising him that they would need a stretcher lowered so they could strap the body onto it and lift it out.
Ski was taking all this in subconsciously. His focus remained on Starks. He watched a large ant crawl across the bridge of Starks's nose and down his cheek. A small fish was nibbling at a finger on his submerged hand.
The Ranger on the radio was saying, "To get the body out of here--"
"It's not a body," Ski said suddenly. "He's still alive."
CHAPTER
23
THE DEPUTY ASSIGNED TO GUARD BERRY AND CAROLINE INSIDE the lake house was the woman who'd been questioning the recalcitrant Walmart cashier before Dodge took over. She introduced herself as Deputy Lavell, and she was all business.
Never more so than when she came into the living area, where Berry and Caroline had been killing time while anxiously awaiting news, and announced that Oren Starks had been apprehended and was in custody.
The two assailed her with questions, but she remained as starchy as her uniform. "I don't have any details. Ski said for you to sit tight, and he'd be in touch."
Berry wanted to leave immediately for the sheriff's office, but Caroline kept the cooler head. "What could we do except get in the way? The important thing is that the man is in custody and you're safe. We'll hear more from Ski when he has a chance."
"Why hasn't Dodge called? He must know we're going nuts here."
"I'm sure he's caught up in the maelstrom, too. This is a police matter, Berry. Show some patience."
"I'll give them an hour."
They were fifty-three minutes into that hour when they heard a car approaching. Berry rushed from the living room, Caroline right behind her. They squeezed through the front door together just as Dodge brought an unfamiliar car to a stop and got out.
"What in the world?" Caroline exclaimed. She started down the steps at a run.
He held up a hand to halt her. "Don't come too close. God only knows what I picked up in that godforsaken place."
"Where have you been?"
"To hell and back. A.k.a. the Big Fucking Thicket."
Berry was astonished. "That's where you found Oren?"
"At the edge of a swamp in a grove of cypress trees with a self-inflicted gunshot wound." His last four words silenced them. "Same place he shot Sally Buckland. Apparently he favors the temple."
Berry was too stunned to speak. Caroline said, "He's dead?"
"Good as. Broken tibia from when he fell down your stairs had caused massive infection. Until the swelling in his brain goes down, they can't really assess the level of damage there. In bad shape is our friend Oren Starks."
No one moved or said anything for several seconds, then Caroline waved Dodge up the porch steps. "Get cleaned up. What is that smell?"
"Swamp gas. Dog shit. Armadillo shit. God only knows. I'd be a lot worse off if Ski hadn't loaned me these boots." When he got to the porch, he worked his feet from the rubber hunting boots, then, without any ceremony, undid his pants and shucked them. He took off the rest of his clothing, dropping it to form a stinking heap on the porch. He went into the house wearing only his undershorts.
