Mad Dog and Englishman: A Mad Dog & Englishman Mystery #1 (Mad Dog & Englishman Series) by J M Hayes Page A

the international face finished his tea and Bertha came cautiously back down the counter. “More?” she inquired.
    “No thanks,” he answered. “But there is something you might be able to help me with.”.
    Bertha raised her eyebrows and kept her hand near the bin with the steak knives.
    “Can you tell me how to find the Sourdough Ranch?”
    “Lookin’ to buy a horse?” a farmer at a table by the front window asked.
    “No, trying to find someone.”
    Eyebrows raised again. Bertha’s, not having fully returned to a normal position after the first query, threatened to merge with her hairline.
    The stranger reached into his pocket, pulled out a photocopy, and unfolded it. “Have you seen this girl?” it asked above a surprisingly good reproduction of a school photo. There was a reward mentioned, along with a series of addresses and phone numbers to contact with information. He passed it to the man by the window, a wise choice since Bertha might have hurled her rag in his face and gone for a steak knife if he’d reached in her direction.
    “Why, this looks like…” the farmer said, then paused a moment, “…a right pretty young lady,” he finished. “See you’ve got some numbers to contact on here. You mind if I keep this, let my family have a look?”
    “No problem,” the stranger said. “But about that ranch?”
    The farmer considered a moment before deciding. “Get back on the highway and head east,” he said. “Twenty-six miles. There’s dirt roads every mile, one way or the other or both. There’s a sign on that one directing you south toward Sourdough. It’s easy to find, the turn’s just a mile past a little old abandoned cemetery. After you leave the highway, Sourdough’s another eight and a quarter miles. First driveway after you cross the bridge over Sweetwater Creek. Big sign over the drive. Can’t miss it.”
    The dark man nodded. He dropped a fifty on the counter. “I’ve got this man’s bill,” he said, “and whatever change is left from that and the tea, just keep it.” Before anyone could protest he was through the door and walking back into the sunlight.
    As soon as he was out of view the farmer held up the picture of the girl. “Will you look at this,” he demanded of Bertha and the others. “Where’d this fellow get a picture of Heather English?”
    “You sure that’s Heather?” Bertha asked. “Sure looks like her but the hair’s different.” Indeed, the girl in the picture was wearing her hair down over her shoulders, longer than Heather English had ever grown hers. This girl was a couple of years younger than Heather would be now and none of them were quite sure Heather hadn’t looked exactly like that two years ago. They were sure, however, that the sheriff should know about it.
    Bertha rang the Sheriff’s Office and got a busy signal. Mrs. Kraus was back from the restroom and deluged with calls.
    ***
     
    “Four AM,” Doc said. “Give or take a day. Actually, I’m pretty confident he died within two hours of that. The weapon may have been a razor blade, maybe an antique one, or something with a finely honed cutting edge. Even with all the wounds that were inflicted, there’s no indication the blade was getting dull. I’d say the victim probably lived a good five minutes after the cutting started. Cause of death is going to go on the autopsy as heart failure, after that heart ran out of anything to pump, but there’s a chance one of those cuts across his throat was deep enough to cause bleeding directly into the trachea and he may have actually drowned on his own blood. On the bright side, if there is one, Simms was unconscious for the worst of it and the mutilations were all post-mortem.” Doc cleared his throat.
    “I’ll have a written report for the sheriff by the time he gets back to town. You tell him to call me as soon as he checks in. There’s a couple of things he and I need to discuss that you’d probably rather not know about, Mrs.