DAFS - Chapter 3

I’ve seen a few things in my 35 years that frankly I find disturbing. I admit helping Nicole deliver my niece and nephew made me more than a little squeamish. Rushing Dandy to the veterinarian after his run-in with a mountain lion (I had to shoot that one) was another. Playing dead victims on increasingly gory crime dramas isn’t pretty, but isn’t really comparable.

I guarantee that watching a naked, dead, pregnant teen-age girl get pulled out of a “Keep Washington Green” bag is right up there in the “been there, done that, not going back” category of experiences. In fact, it was right up there in the “throwing up in the ditch” category.

The usual “cop in action” furor erupted. Clay called for back-up. The rest of us were ordered into the SUV so as not to disturb the scene. That worked for five minutes until Sully started making emu dooky smells again. At that point, badge, or no badge, Clay got outvoted. North, Sully, and Fine made their way into town in the SUV. Since Dandy and my shaken nauseous self found the body, and therefore became material witnesses, we had to stay. I borrowed a Sheriff’s jacket from the back of the SUV to shield myself from the wind and rain, and stood with Dandy despondently watching the rest of the crew head into town and dry warmth.

Clay bent over Calise’s State-provided shroud studying the scene. In an effort to get as far away from the scene as I could, I took Dandy and circled widely around the pull= out, looking for a trail or path we could explore during our wait for authority. The pull-out itself was wide and gravelly, with spots of mud, and puddles. Most of the ecology trash bags were piled near the center of the turnout, toward the brushy hillside that emphasized that side of the road. I could hear, but not see, the unmistakable sound of rushing water. Walking a few hundred feet up the highway, we came to a bridge where the road crossed the Little Quilcene River on its way to the bay. So the river wasn’t far from the pull-out, in spite of the cliffy terrain.

We made our way back down the side of the highway, emergency vehicles whirling past with lights flashing and sirens blaring. There wasn’t much space in the pull-out itself by the time we got there, so we backtracked a few feet along the highway until we found what amounted to little more than a deer-path winding its way up along the cliff-side. Whippets are tougher little dogs than they look, and Dandy was completely game for a trek through the wilderness. Especially when there were good smells. I’ve been observing my dogs for a long time, and this path had Really Good Smells. The problem was that I was cold, tired, and miserable, and exploring Really Good Smells didn’t seem like fun. I wanted a nice warm vehicle, a blanket, a cup of coffee and one of those little Men in Black mind erasers to forget finding Calise.

As usual, Dandy didn’t care what I thought. He took off up the deer path with all the enthusiasm of a bunny hunt. I followed him half-heartedly winding our way along the base of the cliff, my jeans getting soaked by salal and Oregon grape invading the trail space. In a few places rotting downed trees and thick brambles made the trip slow going. Dandy was small enough to slink around, under and through most of the brush, but I was slowed down by having to navigate with the leash. An advantage of leash walking dogs is that you tend to notice things that you might normally not. The dogs stop to smell everything that they classify as “interesting”, and in a forest obstacle course you pay more attention to the obstacles.

This particular deer path looked to have been recently disturbed by something less lithe than a deer. Branches and brambles were broken, and moss on the path was disturbed. In a couple of places the salal was flattened. Dandy was interested in those spots, and I wondered if a deer had nestled down for the night, or if something else had made it’s way through to the road.

Eventually, we crested the bluff above the turnout. I could look down on several emergency vehicles through the trees. The bald head of Doc Thibodeau, the Medical Examiner, stood out, as did Clay’s red buzz cut. I cut back to the path, more defined at this point. It switch-backed down the hill and through the fir and cedar forest, ferns, and moss I could hear the roar of the river below.

“Natalie!” I could just barely hear Clay’s voice calling over the noise of the river. “Nat, where are you?”

I made my way back to where the path opened up above the turnout, dragging Dandy reluctantly back with me. “I’m up here” I hollered down, waving at my brother. Clay finally looked up and peered up the bluff. “How’d you get up there?” he yelled.

Uhhhhhhhhhhh. I flew? How’d he suppose we got up here. “I hiked” I yelled back. “Well, hike back down. We’re going to head into town, we’re done here.”

Huh? Done here? Wasn’t it a crime scene? Dandy and I began our precarious descent down the deer path. We were almost back to the road when he jerked the leash and nearly pulled me off the trail. Nosing at the base of a rotting stump, he picked up something with his mouth and continued trotting down the trail with it. “Dandy” “Icky, leave it” The dogs had a delightful propensity for picking up all things dead, disgusting and generally undesirable. Dandy stopped and obediently gave up his treasure. It looked like a hard plastic concave bowl or cover. Before I could examine it, Clay shouted again, “Nat, COME ON”. I stuffed Dandy’s toy into the Deputy’s coat pocket and made my way back to the turnout.