Drew began, “Ladies, first of all you both did us a favor by finding and reporting the skeleton on Mr. Burkhardt’s property, but you are very lucky that he did not shoot you, or file charges against you.”

The two women glanced at one another with concern.

“We know that, Lieutenant,” Julie said, “but we were not going to let that old man and his stubbornness stop the progress in finding Brian’s killer.”

“Right,” Frances chimed in. “So, does the skeleton we found have anything to do with it all?”

“We don’t know for sure yet,” Drew said, “but it probably does. Dr. Sullivan here will be able to help us with that. She’s going to give the deceased his or her face back. Then we can begin to answer some questions.”

“I guess the finding of this skeleton could just be some kind of weird coincidence, though, huh?” Julie asked.

“I suppose it could be, Miss Paine,” Drew responded, “but I personally don’t believe in weird coincidences-particularly when it involves old skeletons in parts of the world where a murdered man and woman are known to have been previously buried.”

Julie looked upset now and stared down at her tea mug. Frances reached over and squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry, Miss Paine, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Drew said.

“Oh no, it’s not your fault,” she said shakily. “It’s just thinking of poor Brian…”

Now she began to cry and Frances put her arm around her.

“It’s not your fault, Lieutenant,” Frances said. “This is why I went with her. We had to try. We had to do something. Brian was our friend, and the thought of some wacko just murdering him like that-for nothing-it makes both of us crazy.”

“I understand,” Drew said.

Julie began to compose herself, and Drew asked detailed questions about exactly where they entered the property, how they got to the location where they found the bones, how often they went over there and what Brian’s favorite spots were. The women answered all of his questions, with he and Mike taking notes. Tommy left the note-taking totally to Mike, partly because Mike was the junior man of the team, but also because Tommy was renowned for having a mind like a steel trap. He had been known to recount almost verbatim information that his partner kept in notes-without ever reading the notes.

Drew indicated he was finished with his questions, and nodded to Mike and Tommy. Tommy looked thoughtful, and then cleared his throat.

“What other spots did Brian frequent in his bird watching? He didn’t restrict that activity just to the old Gunther place, did he?”

“No,” Frances answered. “He liked to go down by the livestock tank on Mr. Parker’s place, and along the creek that ran through his place and then on into the old Erickson place.”

“But you didn’t search any of those places, right?”

“No, we didn’t,” Julie said. “We knew he didn’t go to either of those places. We knew he had gone to Gunther’s that weekend.”

“How did you know that?”

“The bird he was looking for was there, and Mr. Gunther had given him permission to go to that part of his place anytime. You know, it’s three hundred acres out there, Detective. We didn’t have to traipse across the whole three hundred,” Julie said.

Tommy smiled and nodded. “You knew where to look for the evidence.”

“We knew where to look for the bird,” Julie said defiantly. “And we knew about Brian’s alternate exit.”

Tommy smiled broadly now. Julie knew what he was trying to do, and she was prepared to stand her ground. In that moment I saw a different Julie than I had seen before. I saw the strength of her love for Brian.

“Good,” Tommy said. “That’s all I needed to know.”

When they were through questioning the women, we went back out to the farm and talked to Mr. Burkhardt. He was ten years younger than my dad, but he was decrepit. He wheezed and shuffled and was all bent over. I couldn’t imagine how this old man ever got on a horse. It was probably all his crankiness that aged him so much. His wife was there, too, and she seemed very pleasant in contrast to her husband.

Drew questioned Burkhardt about going out to that part of his farm, and whether or not he ever noticed anything strange going on out there. Burkhardt cussed and carried on, and basically told Drew he never went out there, never saw anything suspicious and he didn’t appreciate trespassers being on his place. He was completely cross and uncooperative, and Drew Smith was fed up. Burkhardt had already effectively stonewalled this case. If it hadn’t been for the gumption of Julie and Frances, we would have been nowhere. Then Burkhardt told Drew how lucky Julie and Frances were that he hadn’t shot either one of them.

“Well, Mr. Burkhardt, you’re actually the lucky one there,” Drew replied.

“What in blazes are you talking about?” Burkhardt grumbled.

“Posting a No Trespassing sign isn’t a license to commit homicide in the State of Texas, sir. You might be able to report someone for being on your property, and have them arrested. You could also prosecute them for being there, but you cannot shoot them unless they are inside your home. If I ever have to come out here for a dead body on account of your shotgun, I will be hauling your sorry, cranky behind into the hoosegow on homicide charges. I would personally make sure you never see the outside of Huntsville State Penitentiary again. Do I make myself abundantly clear?”

“Hmmph,” Burkhardt grumbled.

Drew stood to his full six-foot-four-inch frame, and repeated, “I asked you if you understood me, sir.”

Mrs. Burkhardt moved to the edge of her seat with a scowl on her face and spoke. “The lieutenant asked you a question, Carl.”

“I heard him.” He looked up at Drew. “I heard you, and I understand,” he said grudgingly.

“Good. ’Cause I get riled when I have to come clean up behind homicides-particularly for nothing more than a conflict over a man-made boundary.”

Drew had completed the interview of Mr. Burkhardt and you could have heard a pin drop in that room. With that we left the Burkhardts’ home and headed back to Austin. I don’t think Drew and I spoke more than ten words the whole way back.

Chapter Sixteen

The victim from Hempstead was a man in his early thirties. That meant that Addie’s death was the anomaly as far as gender was concerned, but everything else seemed to fit otherwise. We had been fooled as to the identity of the remains that turned out to be those of Brian Ferguson. I didn’t want to make false assumptions again.

The man had been shot in the head, as Addie had been; however, he had been shot three times-once directly in the face. It made my work difficult, but not impossible. The crime lab had done a good job of putting all the bones back together.

The reconstruction was well under way when Drew came by with the packet of photos I had asked him for. I offered him some coffee or tea, but he declined saying he had to get back to work. He did want to see the reconstruct, so I took him into the studio.

The bust of the Hempstead victim stood on the table near the middle of the room. I had all the tissue-depth markers on it, giving it an ominous appearance. One of my big swing-arm work lamps was on and shed light across the whole area. Drew stood in front of it and nodded.

“So, how long before this thing develops a face?”

“Patience, Lieutenant Smith. You cannot rush this work. I’m going pedal-to-the-metal as it is.”

“All right, so when?”

“Give me another couple of days and I’ll be done.”

Drew sighed, but knew he’d have to wait. I wasn’t going to work all night on this just to finish it. I had done three reconstructs in an unbelievably short time frame already. I needed to take more time with this one.

Drew left and I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of hibiscus tea. While I waited for it to cool a bit, I took the photos out of the envelope and began to lay them across the table. The site was as chilling in the photos as it had been in person. The horror of what had been done there-the murders of at least three people, their burial here and then their exhumation. It was unthinkable and puzzling, and I wanted answers.