FOLLOW THE LEADER Chapter 15

Chapter 15



In Petaluma Sheriff Calder was answering a call early the next morning from a farmer who had heard a woman scream for help. He had not been sure of the time.

         “So this morning I went out to investigate,” the farmer continued. “There’s this redwood tree in the middle of my cornfields…”

         “I know exactly where it is,” Sheriff Calder said. “Go on.”

         “That’s where she is. What’s left of her.”

         “What do you mean?” asked the sheriff. He flashed on a mountain lion tearing into a corpse.

         Silence.

         “You’ll have to see it for yourself.”

         “I’m on my way.”

Minutes later the sheriff saw buzzards flocking below the redwood tree. Not circling, he noted. He saw a road leading off Highway 101 that headed in that direction.

         It was seven in the morning when Calder drove up and saw the farmer oiling his tractor. The farmer set the oilcan down and quickly wiped his hands with a rag.

         The two men introduced themselves and shook hands. Then they solemnly turned and gazed out at the buzzards. Calder took out his pen.

         “Let’s start from the beginning. So you heard a shout for help,” said the sheriff. “Anything else?”

         The farmer recounted the sounds of the car that left the scene. There was not much to tell.

         “Can you tell me what time of the night it was when you heard this cry for help?”

         “No.”

         “Take a guess.”

         “Eleven somethin’?”

         The sheriff asked for his full name, scribbled that down, along with other required information.

         “Judging from what you told me, it was a young woman’s voice.”

         “Correct.”

         Sheriff Calder closed his notebook and clipped it onto his belt.

         “Thanks for comin’ so soon,” said the farmer.

         The sheriff nodded and looked out at the cornfield. He could drive back the way he came and turn onto the road and park near the big Redwood.

The first thing he noticed was that the Redwood was much more impressive than it had seemed from the farmhouse. He realized immediately why the farmer had not cut it down. The tree was too beautiful.  With a small oak and the brush, this seemed to him to be an islet in a sea of corn.

This pleasing aesthetic vanished at once as he got out of his patrol car. The stench of carrion assaulted his nostrils. The buzzards were landing on something. He pulled out a red bandana and tied it over his nose. It was little help. Even out here in the open, the stench of death was overwhelming.

He held his breath and headed into the brush.

He saw a baseball cap lying on the ground. It had an image of Snoopy on it. Just ahead the sheriff saw an old tree stump coated with dried blood.  He spotted a single sneaker poking out from brush. As he drew closer he saw a headless corpse. Female. Young. A flock of buzzards were pecking at it, fighting off the others.

        He waved his cowboy hat and yelled “Git outta here!” and the birds flew away. He saw bruises on the dead girl’s left upper arm. They had dragged her to the stump, he guessed.

        More birds were landing on something in an irrigation ditch. The sheriff knew exactly what it was. But he would have to shoo away the birds and see the severed head for himself.

        “Go on!” he shouted and the big birds flew off, along with a swarm of flies. He went to the ditch and looked down.

Then he turned away and threw up.