Stillborn Armadillos (John Lee Quarrels Book 1) by Nick Russell Page A
Authors: Nick Russell
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already at home, why would I ride a bicycle into town just to turn around and ride it back home?"
"Because..." John Lee realized this wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he just said, "You better not scratch up my new car putting that bicycle in the trunk."
Chapter 17
D.W. was back from his lunch with the Rotary and John Lee gave him an update on what he had learned in Tallahassee.
"Anything on that slug they found in the dirt with those bones? Or the bullets that got shot into your car?"
"That's a different part of the crime lab," John Lee told him. "Those are the ballistics people and apparently they're swamped. There was a big gang shooting in Pensacola, and half a dozen other incidents that they are working their way through. The fellow I talked to there said he hoped to get back to us in the next two or three days, but he wasn't making any promises."
"Violent times we live in," the sheriff said. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, this." John Lee took the disk out of the evidence bag and handed it to him.
D.W. studied it for a moment and asked, "What am I looking at?"
"I was hoping you could tell me. It's some kind of tag. Someone said it might've been a dog tag, but I don't think we had any kind of dog ordinances back then. And a couple people think it's a key fob, kind of like the plastic tags we use now for Department vehicles."
"That makes sense," D.W. said.
"I thought I'd ask around town, see if anybody remembers seeing anything like this."
"Have at it. But keep in mind, this may not be connected to those bones at all. It could've been dropped or lost at anytime and just be in the same area by coincidence."
"That's true," John Lee said. "But I still think it's worth checking out."
"Sure, but before you do that, I need you to just write me out a quick rundown of everythin' so I can prepare a statement for the press. They're all over this and I don't want to keep them waitin' and give them enough time to get distracted by some other story and forget all about us."
John Lee knew that having the press forget about him would be crushing to his father-in-law. D.W., like any politician, thrived on exposure, and getting face time in front of television cameras was not something a sheriff from a small county like Somerton got very much of. He needed to make hay while the sun was shining. John Lee didn't want to waste much time writing things out for D.W., but he wanted to stay on the man's good side as much as possible. Lord knows he had done enough to test D.W.'s patience lately.
"I'm on it."
As he was going out the door, D.W asked if he had heard about Flag's latest temper tantrum.
"I sure did. I'd have liked to have been there to see that."
D.W. shook his head in disgust. "Man thinks he's fit to be sheriff, and he pulls some dumb stunt like that?" And though there was a frown on his face, John Lee didn't miss the glint of delight in D.W.'s eyes, knowing his nemesis had given him new ammunition to use against him if he ever needed it.
***
"Never seen nothin' like that."
"Sorry, John Lee, nothin' I'm familiar with."
"Ya say it ain't a dog tag? That would a been my guess."
And so it went at Taylor's Hardware Store, Farmer's Supply, Somerton Auto Parts, Overton's Propane, and everywhere else John Lee showed the disk around town. The closest he got was at Gus Martin's Hunting Supply.
"I wouldn't swear to it," Gus said, "but it could be a trapper's tag. Trappers would put a tag with some identifying mark on each one of their traps. That way if the game warden or whoever came across a trap, they'd know who it belonged to."
***
"It very well could be a tag from an old steel leg hold trap," Kevin Stringer, a warden with the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, told him when John Lee sent a picture to his phone. "But there's no way to know for sure, and if it was, no way to know when it was used or who it would have belonged to. We don't have any records dating that far
"Because..." John Lee realized this wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he just said, "You better not scratch up my new car putting that bicycle in the trunk."
Chapter 17
D.W. was back from his lunch with the Rotary and John Lee gave him an update on what he had learned in Tallahassee.
"Anything on that slug they found in the dirt with those bones? Or the bullets that got shot into your car?"
"That's a different part of the crime lab," John Lee told him. "Those are the ballistics people and apparently they're swamped. There was a big gang shooting in Pensacola, and half a dozen other incidents that they are working their way through. The fellow I talked to there said he hoped to get back to us in the next two or three days, but he wasn't making any promises."
"Violent times we live in," the sheriff said. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, this." John Lee took the disk out of the evidence bag and handed it to him.
D.W. studied it for a moment and asked, "What am I looking at?"
"I was hoping you could tell me. It's some kind of tag. Someone said it might've been a dog tag, but I don't think we had any kind of dog ordinances back then. And a couple people think it's a key fob, kind of like the plastic tags we use now for Department vehicles."
"That makes sense," D.W. said.
"I thought I'd ask around town, see if anybody remembers seeing anything like this."
"Have at it. But keep in mind, this may not be connected to those bones at all. It could've been dropped or lost at anytime and just be in the same area by coincidence."
"That's true," John Lee said. "But I still think it's worth checking out."
"Sure, but before you do that, I need you to just write me out a quick rundown of everythin' so I can prepare a statement for the press. They're all over this and I don't want to keep them waitin' and give them enough time to get distracted by some other story and forget all about us."
John Lee knew that having the press forget about him would be crushing to his father-in-law. D.W., like any politician, thrived on exposure, and getting face time in front of television cameras was not something a sheriff from a small county like Somerton got very much of. He needed to make hay while the sun was shining. John Lee didn't want to waste much time writing things out for D.W., but he wanted to stay on the man's good side as much as possible. Lord knows he had done enough to test D.W.'s patience lately.
"I'm on it."
As he was going out the door, D.W asked if he had heard about Flag's latest temper tantrum.
"I sure did. I'd have liked to have been there to see that."
D.W. shook his head in disgust. "Man thinks he's fit to be sheriff, and he pulls some dumb stunt like that?" And though there was a frown on his face, John Lee didn't miss the glint of delight in D.W.'s eyes, knowing his nemesis had given him new ammunition to use against him if he ever needed it.
***
"Never seen nothin' like that."
"Sorry, John Lee, nothin' I'm familiar with."
"Ya say it ain't a dog tag? That would a been my guess."
And so it went at Taylor's Hardware Store, Farmer's Supply, Somerton Auto Parts, Overton's Propane, and everywhere else John Lee showed the disk around town. The closest he got was at Gus Martin's Hunting Supply.
"I wouldn't swear to it," Gus said, "but it could be a trapper's tag. Trappers would put a tag with some identifying mark on each one of their traps. That way if the game warden or whoever came across a trap, they'd know who it belonged to."
***
"It very well could be a tag from an old steel leg hold trap," Kevin Stringer, a warden with the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, told him when John Lee sent a picture to his phone. "But there's no way to know for sure, and if it was, no way to know when it was used or who it would have belonged to. We don't have any records dating that far
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