Chapter 17
Running Hot Hazards to Walt Skeat’s Farm
Sheriff Chad drove faster than I had ever ridden in a car. Even though I was strapped in tight with my seatbelt, I was unsure of my safety. Chad said it was “Christmastime,” as he activated the overhead emergency lights and used a knob to switch on the siren. He let the wail run loud until we cleared the end of Main Street. Then he shut it off. Storefronts, side streets, and the rolling hills of the countryside whizzed by as in a blurred Monet painting.
Chad focused on his driving and except for his holiday description of emergency lights hadn’t said a word to me since we left his office. I figured we had about twenty minutes before we’d arrive at Walt Skeats farm, and this would be my best opportunity to ask him questions.
I started easy. “Was Walt shot?”
“Don’t know. Doug didn’t say.”
“Is he okay?”
“Don’t know,” Chad said.
“Okay. Well, I’m curious about some other things.”
He still didn’t look at me, but his jaw clenched. “Thought you were already asking.”
“Chad, what’s wrong with you? This is Sam you’re talking to, not some stranger.”
He shifted his butt and straightened in his seat. “I don’t know what’s on your mind, but you threatened to write up something that sounded like it might be negative if I didn’t cooperate. I don’t take to threats, Sam.”
I used the sweetest voice I could muster and said, “I’m not threatening you, Chad. But ever since I came home, there’s some weird shit happening and whether you like it or not, you’re involved.”
Now he glanced at me but returned his eyes to the road. “What do you mean involved?”
“I mean you’re the sheriff, you surely know more about these murders and the strangeness of dead cattle than anyone else. I want to let our readers know what’s happening. They’re just as concerned as you are, maybe more.”
“I can’t comment on ongoing investigations.”
I couldn’t help but drop my sweet tone and went straight to sarcastic. “Oh, really. How’s your ongoing investigation going with my mother’s murder?”
He didn’t respond.
“Well?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Chad, at least be honest. I talked to the coroner. He hasn’t heard from you. Hasn’t seen you. I get the feeling you’re not investigating at all.”
“Look Sam, I’m it out here except for Doug. We’ve got our hands full.”
“So, mother’s not a priority?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what is your priority? Junior high kids shoplifting candy bars? Tractors that roll through stop signs?” I couldn’t help myself.
He stared straight ahead. His face and neck flushed, and his knuckles turned white from the grip on his steering wheel.
Up ahead, the Skeat farm came into view. I could make out Doug Martin’s white patrol car parked in front of Walt’s house. We’d be in there in a couple of minutes. “All right. Change of subject. What have you heard from the KBI?”
“Nothing new. No leads yet.”
“And the dead cattle?”
“For God’s sakes, Sam. Lay off me. I’m trying to figure this out like everybody else.”
We pulled into Walt Skeat’s farm and parked next to Deputy Martin’s car. Doug wasn’t in sight, but we were greeted by Walt’s wife, Mary, who rushed from the house. She looked distraught. “Thank God, you’re here. Follow me,” she said.
We walked at a fast pace behind Walt’s faded red barn and out into the pasture beyond. Cattle dotted the rolling hills grazing idly and unconcerned with human affairs. If it weren’t for the urgent call, or the worried lines on Mary’s face, you’d think we were taking a hurried stroll to survey their property. Mary led us on. We walked silently in single file on a slim dirt path worn down over the years by Walt and his family, maybe horses, and maybe Walt’s cows where they headed in and out at night and morning to be milked.
At the first rise we stopped. Mary pointed down into the green valley of limestone outcrops and short woody trees. In the incision of grass, shale, and an ancient ecosystem of prairie, Walt sat his knees next to a prone form. Doug waved us down. The closer we got to Walt and Doug, it became obvious the prone figure wasn’t a beast. It was human. A dead male. Shot through the heart. A grimace etched on his face.
Doug spoke first. “There were two, Chad. This wasn’t didn’t make it. The other’s in the wind.”
The story I wanted to write had just taken another turn.
intrigue....!!!
Animals not concerned with human affairs .....favorite line.