Bone Dry (Blanco County Mysteries) (2 page)

After doing a little research, finding out precisely what this land-clearing was all about, Sal realized there was an enormous amount of money to be made in the brush-removal business.
This,
Sal thought,
could be exactly what I’ve been looking for.

Hell, he had run a successful concrete company back in Jersey, and had even taken on several juicy projects here, before the water issue brought new construction to a screeching halt. And this brush-removal business, how hard could it be? The concrete business required large machines; cedar-clearing required large machines. All you needed was some operating capital and some big, dumb guys to run the equipment. Piece of cake.

So Sal had jumped right into the brush-removal business with only two things in mind: Number one—stashing away some serious cash. Number two—buying a one-way ticket to some off-the-map Caribbean island where nobody asked questions, checked for proper papers, or cared who the hell you had been in a past life. Sal could almost smell the salty breeze and the coconut oil. He could picture a tanned, nubile body—definitely not his wife’s—lounging in the chair next to him.

Sal had noticed something else in the last few months: The Feds seemed to be loosening their grip a little. He no longer had a team of deputies on his tail every time he left the house, no longer heard strange clicks on the line during every phone call. There was still a plain vanilla sedan outside his home on occasion, government plates, but the fat putz inside was easy to handle.

It made Sal laugh to think they actually trusted him.

On the other hand, he
had
been their star witness half a dozen times already, and they seemed to think he was a man of his word, that he’d stick around to the end. With more freedom than he had had in three years, now was the time to make a break for it. Or at least get the plan in the works.

With his new business in full swing, the money starting to pour in, Sal was consumed around the clock by thoughts of flight. That’s why, on this particular morning, as Sal was getting a piece of tail, his heart really wasn’t in it. He had too much to think about, including tomorrow’s meeting. Sal was getting together with a rich old bastard named Emmett Slaton, Sal’s largest brush-removal competitor. Sal was going to offer Slaton twice what his business was worth.
Hell of a deal,
most people would say. Of course, the “deal” consisted of a reasonable down payment now, and a balloon payment next year that, in reality, poor old Emmett would never see. It was the same arrangement Sal had with several other area business owners. Better yet, Sal had secured the down payments via a small-business loan at a local bank, another obligation he had no intention of fulfilling. The idea was to have as much money as possible coming in, and as little as possible going out. Then, when the time was right, he’d skip the country, leaving his creditors holding the bag.

If he tried the same stunt back home, he’d wind up with his throat cut and his body tossed in the Hudson River. But down here? Shit—who was gonna stop him?

At ten o’clock Saturday morning, Susannah Branson, senior reporter for the
Blanco County Record,
wheeled her Toyota into Big Joe’s Restaurant in Johnson City. There was a scattering of vehicles in the parking lot, including John Marlin’s cruiser—a green Dodge Ram pickup issued by the state.

She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror and fluffed her wavy brunette hair. Susannah had been looking forward to the interview with the county game warden for several days. Rumor had it that John Marlin would soon be back on the singles market, and Susannah had had her eye on him for a long time. Ever since high school, actually. He was just her type: a big, strapping guy, with broad shoulders, dark hair, and dark eyes.
No sense in wasting time,
Susannah thought, and unsnapped one more button on her blouse.

She entered the small cafe and spotted Marlin at a booth, sipping coffee. He rose to greet her. “’Morning, Susannah.”

“John, thanks so much for meeting me,” she said with a smile. She gave him an appraising look. “Have you lost weight?”

“Tapeworm,” Marlin replied.

“Oh, uh, well,” Susannah stammered, unsure whether to laugh. After all, the man
was
a game warden. Who knew what he might pick up out in the woods? “I know you’re busy today, with opening day and everything, so I won’t take up much of your time.”

“I appreciate that, but this is important stuff. Don’t rush on my account.” Marlin gestured toward the booth and they took a seat.

A waitress quickly took Susannah’s order—coffee only—and scooted away.

Susannah ran her hands through her hair and said, “What we’re working on is a piece that addresses the environmental effects of clearing brush. Any possible effects on wildlife, livestock, et cetera. I figured you’d be the best man to talk to—especially with Trey Sweeney in the shape he’s in.”

Trey Sweeney was the county wildlife biologist—an ace in his field, but somewhat eccentric. Sweeney had recently returned from a vacation in Brazil, where he had contracted a mean case of dengue fever. His health was much better now, but Trey had been acting a little more strangely than usual lately. The previous Saturday night, a deputy had found Trey at the high school football stadium, rooting wildly for the home team. Unfortunately, the football game had been played the night before.

Marlin nodded at Susannah. “I’m glad you called. I think it’s important that the ranchers and other landowners hear the other side of the brush-clearing story.”

Six months ago, with Blanco County in the middle of a severe drought, county commissioners had recommended that residents remove as much brush from their land as possible. After all, brush—chiefly small scrub cedar trees—consumed an enormous amount of surface and ground water. By removing it, residents hoped to replenish the aquifer and pump life back into sluggish wells.

Residents had responded by conducting an all-out assault on cedar trees. Across the countryside, the buzz of chainsaws became as persistent as the droning of summertime cicadas. Huge mounds of cut cedar waited to be burned on every ranch, deer lease, and rural homesite in the county. To date, officials estimated that ten percent of the cedar had been removed. To John Marlin and other wildlife officials, this was cause for alarm. They knew that a drastic change to the ecosystem—like clearing every cedar in the county—could have less visible long-term implications.

Susannah removed a small tape recorder from her satchel. “You mind if I tape this?” she asked. “Helps me get all the quotes right.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Well, Mr. Marlin,” Susannah said with false formality—something she herself found rather charming—“tell me what you think about all this cedar-clearing.”

Marlin paused for a moment and took a sip of coffee. “Let me start by saying that it’s not necessarily a bad idea. But it might not be a good idea, either. We obviously have a water problem, as we’ve all known for some time. Seems like every year we hear about how it’s getting worse. Wells run dry, springs and creeks quit flowing, and Pedernales Reservoir is at a record low, even though we haven’t opened a floodgate since the dam was built. And just looking at the face of it, clearing cedar seems like a good way to attack the problem.”

“But...” Susannah prompted him.

Marlin shrugged. “I think we’re all kind of rushing things. We need to step back, take a look at the bigger picture, and think about how our actions could affect the wildlife. Animals have four basic biological requirements—food, water, space, and cover. Whenever man interferes with any one of those, it can have major consequences. For instance, white-tailed deer need brush cover to survive.”

“But the deer don’t eat cedar trees, do they?”

“No, but they usually bed down in thick brush. And they use it to move around without being seen. Without all the cedars, they’d be a lot more vulnerable to predators like coyotes, cougars, and bobcats. Especially the fawns.”

“I never thought about that.”

Marlin shook his head. “Most people don’t. But for all the ranch owners who are making good money with deer leases, it’s something they should consider. They should be wondering what the deer population will be like in five or ten years.

“It’s not just the deer,” Marlin continued, speaking with obvious heartfelt intensity. “Wild turkey, rabbits, raccoons—they all need a fair amount of brushy habitat. And people should keep in mind that if you fool around with one link in the food chain, it can cause a domino effect. Let’s say—just as an example—we remove all the brush, and rabbits become easy prey. Coyotes will have a field day for a while and their population will explode. Pretty soon, we’ve got coyotes all over the place, but they’ve eaten all the rabbits. So what do they go after next? Livestock. Goats, sheep, calves. I
know
the ranchers don’t want that.

“Or here’s another good example: the beaver. Five hundred years ago, before the Europeans came over, there were maybe three hundred million beavers in North America. Place was crawling with them, from Mexico all the way up to Alaska. But then one of the English kings ruled that only beaver fur could be used to make hats. So beaver fur became big business, and it almost wiped ’em out. Fewer beavers meant fewer beaver dams, and that had a horrible impact on the natural habitat. Suddenly, all the ponds and watering holes the beavers created were disappearing, which had an effect on waterfowl, songbirds, deer and elk, raccoons—the list goes on. Hell, those dams even helped keep the aquifers full back then by slowing down runoff. They limited soil erosion, even helped ease flooding.”

Marlin shook his head and smiled thinly. “I know I’m rambling on a little. We’re here to talk about cedar-clearing, right?”

“No, that’s all right,” Susannah said, leaning forward, trying to make eye contact. “Like you say, it all ties together. I can tell this issue means a lot to you. You’re a very passionate man, John. I can see that in you.”

The game warden held her gaze for a few seconds, smiling, playing the game with her. Then he glanced down at his cup. “I need a little more coffee. You want some?”

Susannah nodded, and Marlin gestured at the waitress.

“Okay, next question,” she said. “What about the red-necked sapsucker?”

“I was afraid you were going to ask me that.” He thought for a moment. “Yes, it’s an endangered species, and yes, it nests almost exclusively in cedar trees in Central Texas. So the official Parks and Wildlife Department position is that we are against most brush-clearing in sapsucker habitat.”

“And what’s your personal
position,
John?” Susannah asked.

He gave her an appreciative smile, acknowledging the double entendre. Just as he was about to respond, the waitress appeared to refill their coffee cups. After she left, Marlin’s face was serious again. Back to business.

“Can we talk off the record?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“I think, sometimes, when a species becomes endangered, that’s the way nature wants it. Think about it: More than ninety-nine percent of all species that ever existed are now extinct. And man has had little to do with the decline of the majority of them. Hell, with most of them, we couldn’t have kept them around if we
wanted
to. They just weren’t in Mother Nature’s plan anymore, and when that happens, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.”

“That’s an interesting point.” Susannah paused, stirring her coffee, unsure what to ask next. “You’re looking good, Susannah,” Marlin said, out of the blue. “Beautiful as ever.”

Susannah could feel her face getting warm. She was used to a little back-and-forth flirting, but nothing so direct and sincere. “Why, thank you, John. That’s…that’s very sweet.”

He nodded, drank the last of his coffee, then said, “So—we all done here?”

“One more question.” Susannah reached down and switched off the tape recorder. “Would you like to have coffee with me sometime?”