Highway Patrol from Utah and Nevada had shown up to support those already on the scene and began sifting the debris for clues. They did not touch anything that could be related to the explosion only things they could mark, photograph, and leave alone. They had also requested Las Vegas CSI for support along with arson investigators. By dawns light there was a herd of people craning their necks and taking pictures, wondering about what happened but more interested in the destruction and less in the lives lost.
It took a couple of hours for the Las Vegas CSI and Bomb squad to arrive. They didn’t come alone; they had six detectives and three members of the Las Vegas arson squad. That wouldn’t have been half bad, but in their wake a horde of reporters followed, buzzards on the loose looking for carrion.
The CSI and Arson squad took right over. “Sheriff we need to keep all the people back, we don’t want the crime scene contaminated. Your men haven’t touched anything have they?”
“No Sir, we just put number tags on what we could find and took some photos.”
“Thank you sheriff, you’ve done the right things. If it’s ok with you, we’ll take over now.” The detective offered.
“That’s why we called you. We are at your disposal.”
As the investigation preceded and they fought to keep the crowds away, traces of explosive material were found. There was enough residue from the material to determine it was C-4 in a large quantity and professionally prepared and placed. This was not an amateurish job. The only indication that anyone had been there was the smooth lines of two people who belly crawled for about two hundred yards, to the edge of what had been the foundation of the house. Then there were hand and knee prints that ran around the house and then back the same direction the snakes had slithered in from. The explosives had been placed in such a way as to insure complete destruction.
A detective from Las Vegas followed the tracks as they went from crawling to running and then until they disappeared in the rocks. He could still decipher foggy prints as they made it the next fifty yards to the road. There was no indication of direction after that. They could have taken Old Highway 91 back to I-15 or followed it over the pass ending up in St. George Utah, with a lot of options along the way. It was a blind trail.
“It looks like they left their vehicle here and ran back to it. There is no indication which way they went only the death they left in the wake.” He radioed the other detectives. “There is nothing to indicate what the vehicle was, not even tire tracks.”
All of this happened while Braydon was being held, not really being held but as a guest of whomever it was that had spirited him off to this uncertain location. It was not a prison or even a jail. He was utterly confused. The bed in the corner, more like a cot, did nothing to exit his confusion. No one had entered his room since being ensconced there and he had been left alone for a few hours. He knew nothing of events in Littlefield.
King Kong pushed through the door and sat beside Braydon. “I haven’t had time to give you a history of what is happening and what and who we are. First, I have to deliver” the big man hesitated; his eyes drooped to the floor. He was having a hard time facing Braydon. “Son, I don’t know how to approach this but head on. “Apparently the terrorists were able to track you to your home town. The damn press did you no favors when they dug into your history and published the information. It was a road map to your family in Littlefield.” Again he hesitated now looking Braydon in the eyes like an angel’s delivering bad news and expressing sympathy and love to a dying person. “I am truly sorry, they are both dead.” The air of pure non-believability was stronger than his fears. He couldn’t react.
“How could this happen?”
“This is a professional group and they wanted to make an example of you. Your parents felt nothing. The terrorists planted a large amount of C-4 under the house. It was over quickly.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better. How could let this happen, you should have known that there would be a retaliation attempt. You could have prevented it.” He yelled at the big man.
“We didn’t have time to get our people there. The news had the location of your home were laid out in the first broadcast. Don’t ask me how they get all this information so fast, even the FBI doesn’t work that fast. Again, I am extremely saddened by your losses.”
That was of little consolation to Braydon and the big man’s doleful eyes strained him more. If he had his druthers; he would go into the desert and live with his friends the animals and die there and no one would have to worry about him again. He would be a shadow in the sand.
“I know you have a lot on you plate but we need to get a few things straightened out. First, what should I call you?”
That brought him around, he was confused and why did it matter what they called him. “Why does that matter?” My family is dead and I’m in jail.”
“You’re not in jail just protective custody until we figure this out. Why it matters is that I would like to call you something besides ‘hey you’”.
“My given name is Braydon but I don’t really like that, so many people made fun of me. So I just go by Butch! I need you to tell me how this could have happened and why?” he went on again.
“You know the how; the reporters gave every bit of your back ground to papers, radio and television. Your whole history was laid out for public perusal, which of course was the map for the terrorist. As to why, they wanted to let everyone know they would retaliate if anyone got in their way, simple as that. Butch I want to let you know we will leave no stone unturned until we find out who did this. We aren’t certain at this time who it was but we’ll find them. The FBI is on the scene along with some of our people, combing the area for clues. As of right now all we know is two people placed explosives around the house. Again, your folks did not know what hit them. The explosion was so violent it shook the whole area. It left nothing.” He stood up to leave Braydon to absorb the deadly information and as he closed the door he said. “I am so sorry for your loss; I’ll leave you for a few minutes. Again, I am sorry for your loss.” The repetition was becoming annoying and he wanted to hit someone, just anyone.
The silence seeped in like a sea fog, holding tightly to Braydon’s feelings. He had never let a tear creep into his eyes or his thoughts. Even when his beloved mutt had passed away and his mother had cried for days, he never let go. He took the dog and buried her in the desert where God and the spirits of the desert would watch over her, and then he pronounced a little prayer for his beloved friend. Braydon wasn’t a church going man but he loved and believed in God who he felt was with him every hour of every day.
Now the pain in his heart was ready to explode. His parents had been everything to him and now they were gone and it was his fault, the sins of the son fell on the parent’s heads. The lead ball in his stomach was crushing him. He wanted to be spirited away with them, but even God did not seem to recognize him in this deep abyss of pain. He wanted to cry but he was not going to give into the pains of this life and let anything control him, not even his emotions. He wanted to find the Thing and run home to where he had lived and his parents had died. There in the quiet of the hills he might be able to relieve this terrible ache.
Then again he didn’t know where he was. The frustrations of the unknown were pressing against his thoughts and confusing his feelings.
An hour later the door slid open and the big man appeared as if an apparition. Setting across from Braydon he reached out his hand “My name’s Jacob and I have a lot of explaining to do. First of all, the news reported