Body of Evidence (11 page)

T
oday was the day.

Jennifer slipped on her oldest pair of wading boots and grabbed an apple. It was time to move Boudreaux and Bobby Wayne to their fancy new home. She prayed there wouldn't be any more trouble.

She chewed on the sweet, red apple, trying to put images of fire and shadowy figures out of her mind. The last couple of days since the barn fire had been thankfully quiet around here. Becky was back and taking care of the birds in the aviary today and she had helpers lined up to feed the corralled animals so Jennifer could take care of the gators.

Since Anderson had been staking out the new pen, the vandalism had stopped. But she only had to look at the tense lines in his face to see that this wasn't over yet. It would be a while before she could rebuild the barn but in the meantime, it had been cleaned and sealed off. She was thankful the insurance should cover most of the renovations.

The vet had checked over the horses and other animals and declared all of them fit. Another blessing. And she had a team of volunteers on loan from the San
Antonio Zoo coming in to help contain and transport the alligators.

Now if she could just assure Anderson that moving the alligators as soon as possible was the right thing to do.

He didn't like the idea. He'd told her so last night. “It's too dangerous right now, Jennifer. A lot could go wrong.”

But she'd put her foot down. “Anderson, I can't hold off. I've had people on standby for months now. Everyone's arranged their schedules and it's now or never. Drug runners or no drug runners.”

And that would explain why he stood off to the side, sulking like an ever-watchful big cat, while everyone around him talked in excited tones. Anderson obviously liked to be in control of a situation, but moving two gigantic reptiles wasn't in his playbook. He didn't think the gators should be moved until his investigation was finished, but Jennifer couldn't wait for that. With few leads and no solid evidence of what was going on, they were in limbo. She could deal with it, but she wouldn't make her animals suffer or wait.

And her alligators had been waiting months for a better habitat. So today was the day and Ranger-man would just have to live with that.

Jennifer didn't waste any time making a beeline right to the intimidating Ranger. He had a serious avoidance issue. The man didn't like to talk things out, unless it had to do with his aggravating case, of course.

“How are you?” she asked, her smile bright and full of a courage she didn't feel.

“I'm just fine,” he said, tipping a finger in the air like a salute.

Yeah, Jennifer could see the “fine” all over him. Even dressed in khaki pants and an old work shirt, the man cut a striking pose. Several of her female helpers had sighed each time they walked past Anderson.

“Want to watch the process?” she asked, hoping she could show him that she actually knew what she was doing.

“I don't know if I can watch,” he said, his expression bordering on apprehensive. “I mean, they're both kind of big. And they have big teeth. What if you get your arm bitten off?”

“We know how to deal with that,” Jennifer replied, thinking he looked really cute when he was just a tad afraid. His concern for her softened her feelings for him even more and caused some of her own anxiety to level off. “Just stand out of the way, Ranger-man.”

“I'm not scared for myself,” he said on a defensive tone. “But…I'm wondering how someone as tiny as you…and wearing bright blue waders embossed with yellow rubber ducks…could possibly wrestle something that powerful.”

“Watch and learn,” she said, striding away. He'd noticed her waders. That was kind of sweet.

Putting thoughts of Anderson and his endearing, confusing ways out of her mind, Jennifer rallied the team. “Okay, y'all know the drill. We contain them, tape their snouts and secure their legs, then we lift them with the crane and drop them inside the crates.” She pointed to the two long plywood crates they'd use to transport the alligators on the back of a pickup truck. “Once the boys
are inside the crates, we'll let Dr. Jenkins examine them to make sure they're up to this and then we're off to the new pond.”
And please, Lord, don't let me find anything crazy or illegal going on back there.
Lifting her head, she called out to the zoo biologist. “Okay, get ready to feed the bait line. Let's get this done.”

Then she gathered her hooks and the lasso she'd use to catch the alligators and headed into the shallow water.

 

Anderson's heart raced like a herd of wild ponies. He didn't think he could stand out of the way, even if Jennifer had suggested that very thing. How could he let her march right in there with those brutes, and wearing the cutest pair of duck-covered waders at that? It was almost as bad as having to watch her take the alligators to a spot that by all rights should be cordoned off as a possible crime scene.

Reminding himself that Jennifer knew her stuff and that she was excited about getting this under way, Anderson bit back the need to offer her advice and counsel and decided he'd have to think long and hard about falling for a woman who knew no fear. Because she scared him all the way down to his boots.

Jennifer went into warrior mode, circling back behind where the gators had pulled up in the shallows to enjoy some bad-smelling raw meat. Taking slow, measured steps, she went after unpredictable Bobby Wayne first, sneaking up on the big alligator's backside and with the help of some nearby strong-armed nuisance trappers, lassoing the gator before he could finish his meaty appetizer.

Anderson let out a breath and then watched as Jennifer straddled the gator and quickly wrapped his jaws shut with strong duct tape. Even though she'd explained that this was safe if you knew what you were doing, Anderson prayed she was right.

Closing his eyes in a vivid prayer, he held to the fence so he wouldn't rush forward and drag her away from that tail-wagging alligator. But he needn't have worried. The trappers helped Jennifer with the tape, then quickly secured his legs as if he were a wanted criminal being handcuffed. After using the crane to help lift the now-still alligator into his crate, they cajoled Boudreaux, who'd retreated to the deep side of the pond, back to get his treat then lassoed him into a flip. On his back now, his underbelly glistening in the early morning sun, the old gator seemed to go into a quiet trance.

Maybe like Anderson, the gator was having a heart attack.

“Let's flip him,” Jennifer called. “It's okay, Boudreaux. Just going for a nice little ride.”

And then with the help of the trappers on either side, she flipped the big snarling gator over again, careful to get out of the way of his swatting-mad tail. Soon, poor Boudreaux was taped and handcuffed and ready to be read his rights. He went into a crate beside Bobby Wayne and both alligators had a thorough exam from Dr. Jenkins.

“Fit and fancy,” the gray-haired vet declared.

The zoologists examined the alligators to their satisfaction, too. And then the boys were quickly freed of their taped snouts and legs and the crates were shut up tight.

Everyone clapped in relief. And Anderson let out a sigh, beads of sweat cooling his backbone. His job now was to watch for any human varmints at the site.

Jennifer turned toward Anderson, a big smile radiating across her face. “Time to upgrade your habitat,” she said as she patted Boudreaux's big box. “Let's go,” she called to her many helpers.

Then she waved to him. “Coming?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he called, his breath still coming way too quick. He liked Jennifer's looks and her spunk already. But now, his feelings of awe and amazement had taken on new heights.

The woman had just wrestled two alligators.

And what wasn't there to love about a woman who could do that while wearing rubber ducky boots? He wondered as he got in his truck and followed the convoy down to the new pen.

 

Halfway toward the pen, Anderson got a call from Ben.

“We finally got a hit on the photos we put out on the coma patient. You know that neighbor you've been looking for, Chason? He called in this morning and said he thinks he's seen the man in the photo.”

Anderson stopped his truck, letting it idle while he jotted notes. “You don't say? I went to Chason's place several times and he either wasn't at home or he was hiding.”

“He claims he was in Dallas on business. Just got back late yesterday and saw the photo on the news,” Ben replied. “Go back over to his place and see what
he says. Could just be a ploy to protest the alligator compound.”

“I'll get right on it,” Anderson said. He did a U-turn on the grass and headed away from the alligator pond and right on out the open gates of the rescue compound. He'd catch up with Jennifer later. Right now, she was in a controlled crowd, so she should be safe until he got back.

A few minutes later, Anderson once again stood at the door of Ralph Chason's barn-like studio. No point in pretending with this man about why he was here. Chason would have to know Anderson was here in an official capacity. “Mr. Chason, I need a word with you, sir.”

The door swung open and a man with long gray bushy hair stood there wearing a chambray shirt and old worn jeans.

Anderson flashed his badge. “Ranger Anderson Michaels. Can I come in?”

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” Chason shot back. But he waved Anderson inside the cluttered confines of his work space. “I told that fellow I talked to on the phone I can't be too sure about this.”

Anderson had hoped for a more definite report. “Let's just talk about things and see.”

Chason motioned to a rickety old chair next to a scarred desk. “Take a load off, son.”

Anderson glanced around at the eccentric artwork lining the long building. “Can I ask where you've been the last couple of days, sir?”

“What business is that of yours?”

The man was obstinate, that was for sure. And Ander
son's antennae immediately went up. All that bluster could be hiding something sinister. “Just getting my facts straight since I've been informed you have a beef with Miss Rodgers over her new alligator pond.”

“That ain't got a bit to do with me running into that squatter back there,” Chason replied.

“I think it does,” Anderson said, dropping the conversational tone and going into intimidating law enforcement mode. “Especially if you had anything to do with the vandalism and fire on Miss Rodgers's property.”

“What vandalism? And a fire? I been in Dallas setting up an exhibit at an art gallery, young man. So if you're here to accuse me of something, just spit it out so we can clear things up.”

Deciding to change his tactics, Anderson pulled a copy of the coma patient's photo out of his pocket. “Is this the man you think you saw, sir?”

Chason put on his glasses and squinted at the photo. “Well, he didn't look this bad when I spotted him, but yeah, I'd say that's the man.”

Anderson jotted that down. “And when and where exactly did you see him?”

Chason grunted. “A few months ago, back there on the property being overrun by Miss Rodgers.”

“You mean the property she bought and is adding to her rescue compound?”

“Yeah, the very same,” Chason said, his tone dismissive. “I tried to tell her to stay away from back there. I think something fishy is going on, but that woman is as stubborn as a mule. Didn't listen to me.”

“You mean all your threats toward her were to warn
her off?” Anderson said, surprised at this new take on things.

Chason pushed at some drawings on his messy desk. “No. I didn't want anybody back there since it runs into my property and I like my privacy, but that spot seems to be mighty popular with vagrants. I was out there looking for materials to work with when I spotted a campsite and found your John Doe shouting into a cell phone. And he wasn't too happy with whoever he was shouting at, let me tell you.”

“Do you remember the exact date?”

Chason named a day about six months back. That was a while before Gregory Pike had been murdered, the unidentified man lying in a coma found beside him.

“Did you hear what he said?” Anderson asked, waiting for Chason to respond.

“I heard enough,” Chason replied. “Something about needing to take care of the matter before things got out of hand. I don't know what the other person said to him, but he went on to say he hadn't signed up for this kind of thing. He wanted his pay so he could split—or at least that's what it sounded like to me.”

“Did you confront the man?”

“I sure did. Me and my shotgun, that is. Told him to get off the property. He glared at me but he left when he saw I meant business. That was before I knew the property had been sold to Jennifer Rodgers. I had thought about buying it up, but she beat me to the draw. And when I found out about her putting alligators back there and fencing the woods off, I got real mad.”

“But not mad enough to ransack her tack room or set fire to her stables?”

“I told you, boy, I didn't do any of that. You're barking up the wrong tree there and you can verify my whereabouts by calling the gallery in Dallas. Probably that Irishman's friends paying her a visit, up to no good.”

“Irishman? What do you mean?”

Chason looked up, his aged eyes squinting at Anderson. “The man I talked to and warned away—he had an Irish accent. Don't get that a lot around these parts.”

“Are you sure?” Anderson asked, dumbfounded. What would an Irishman have to do with a Mexican drug cartel?

“Of course I'm sure,” Chason shot back. “I heard the man. Before he saw that I was willing to shoot first and ask questions later, he told me I was trespassing on private property and told
me
to get gone. Only he was doing it with a heavy Irish brogue. I ducked behind some shrubs, but I had my twelve gauge trained on him, so I made him leave instead. But for the life of me, I can't figure why an Irishman would be camping out on a remote pasture in South Texas.”