Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“It was two cops who found her, coming here to hunt,” he said, having either missed or forgotten the reference Stacey’d made to their prior meeting.

Dolan grunted a response, which didn’t seem to discourage the old man’s garrulousness. “We got wild boar on the property. Owner lets hunters come in now and then to cull the herd. Boars is aggressive. I’ve had ’em turn and charge right at me, gash a hole in my leg. Mean sons a bitches, I can tell you that. Peckers like razor blades is what I heard. Mating season, the female sets up a squeal brings the hair right up on the back of your neck.”

“Actually, Lieutenant Dolan and I were the ones who found the body. We’d come up to hunt.”

“You two. Is that right? Well, I’ll be. I could’ve swore I knowed you from someplace.”

“We’re all a bit older.”

“I can testify to that. I’m eighty-seven year old myself, born January 1, nineteen double ought. Broke a hip here a while back when my horse fell on me. It hadn’t healed too good.

Nowadays, they can take out the old joint and put another in its place. This gimpyness don’t straighten out, I might get me a brand-new one. Say, what’s this all about now, anyway? I’m not entirely clear.”

Stacey said, “Sheriff’s Department is going over some old files, taking another look. We’re reworking this case in hopes of resolving it.”

“And you come up here why?”

“We wanted to see the crime scene so the reports would make more sense. Those old crime scene photographs don’t tell how the area’s laid out, relative distances, things of that sort.” This again from Stacey. So far I hadn’t said a word.

Johanson’s eyes strayed to my face with the same thinly veiled curiosity. “I can understand that. I brung my son down here when they was hauling her body out of the ravine. He was fourteen and thought it was just fine and dandy hitchin’ rides every time he had to go someplace. I wanted him to see where he could end up.”

“You have a son that young?” I said, trying not to sound too surprised.

The old man grinned, showing blackened and crooked teeth. “Got two,” he said. “I been married five time, but I never had kids until this last go-round. Youngest boy’s thirty-two yesterday. I got him workin’ on the ranch. Other boy’s a bum. I guess I have to think of it as fifty percent success instead of fifty percent failed.”

Dolan dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed the ember thoroughly with his heel. “You think that’s what happened to her? Someone offered her a ride and ended up stabbing her to death?”

“That’d be my guess. You know they never did figure out who she was. Pitiful, you ask me. All these years, her mom and dad never knowed what happened to her. Prob’ly still think she’s comin’ home and there she was laid out with her throat cut ear to ear.”

Stacey said, “Identifying the girl is part of what we hope to accomplish.”

Dolan was already firing up his second cigarette. “We appreciate your time, Mr. Johanson. I’m sure you’re busy and we don’t want to keep you. Thanks for meeting us.”

“Happy to oblige. You needn’t bother about me. I’ll just tag along ’til you’re done and lock the gate again.”

“We won’t be long. We’ll be happy to lock the gate after us when we leave.”

“I don’t mind the wait.”

Stacey and Dolan exchanged a glance, but neither said another word as they trudged the remaining distance to the edge of the ravine.

Johanson trailed along after us. “Wadn’t any gate here back then. I figure the feller must have cruised all up and down, looking for a place to dump her, and chosen this. He must not have knowed about the quarry. Lot of traffic on this road any time of day; fellers heading to the mine. Bad weather’s different. Operation closes down if things get too bad.”

“I’m surprised she wasn’t found by one of the Grayson employees,” Stacey remarked.

“Because she smelt?”

“That’s right.”

“Might’ve been for all I know. Lot of them boys are Mexican. Called ’em ‘wetbacks’ in those days. Made a point not to bring attention to theirself, especially where the law’s concerned. Probably thought it was a dog if they caught wind of her at all. I’m sure the last thing occurred to them was some young girl been kilt.”

Dolan’s response was noncommittal, perhaps in hopes of squelching further conversation. Ignoring Johanson, he scrambled a few steps down the embankment. The ground seemed soft, though the surface was powdery with dust. He anchored himself with his right foot on the downside of the slope and stood with his hands in his jeans pockets studying the undergrowth. “She was right about here. A lot more brush in the area back then.”