At The Stroke Of Madness. Alex Kava
give me a break. Just two or three graduate students. Looks like you could use the help. I mean help, real physical help to dig up and bag what might be out here. We’ll only touch what you tell us we can touch. Look, Henry, if Carl’s already gathered up this much crap just from looking on the surface, think what might be buried in the rubble.”
“You got that right.” Watermeier reached under his hat and scratched at thin wisps of graying hair. Adam could see a slight slump of shoulders in the tall sheriff’s normal rod-straight posture.
“How many barrels are there?” Adam asked.
“Don’t know for sure. Could be almost a dozen. I’m having the crime-scene guys go over the area first, take their pictures and pick up stuff. ‘Cause once we start digging out barrels, anything lying around here could get buried or trampled.”
“Makes sense.”
“We’re gonna need one of those fucking earthmovers to get at some of the barrels. And we have to wait for Stolz. He’s testifying up in Hartford, probably won’t be able to get here until tomorrow morning. He had an assistant pick up the first barrel. That was before we realized there were more. Now he says he better be here himself for the rest. I don’t blame him. I’ve asked the state patrol to bring in a few guys to stand guard tonight. That’s all I need, one of these media mongrels sneaking in here. I’m not taking any chances. We’re likely to have the governor up our asses on this one.”
“That bad?”
Watermeier moved in closer to Adam and looked around, making sure the others were out of earshot, “There’re a few barrels with the sides rusted open enough to take a peek inside.”
“And?”
“It doesn’t look good, Bonzado,” Watermeier said in a low voice. “I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve seen some pretty freaky shit over the years. This is one fucking mess.”
CHAPTER 13
Luc Racine stared at the TV. He really liked this show. It was on every night at the same time. Syndicated repeats, but each episode seemed new to him. He couldn’t remember the characters’ names, except the old guy, the father, reminded him of himself. Perhaps only because he had a Jack Russell terrier, too. Eddie—that was the dog’s name. Figures he’d remember the dog’s name.
He looked around the living room, thinking he needed to turn on a light, the TV screen the only illumination in the darkening room. When had it started to get dark? It seemed like he had just sat down for lunch. He hated the dark. Sometimes he worried that he might eventually forget how to turn on the lights. What if he honestly couldn’t figure out how they worked? It had already happened with that box in the kitchen. That thing, that box … that food-warmer thing. Shoot! See, he couldn’t even remember what the damned thing was called.
He reached over and switched on two lamps, glancing around, wishing he knew what had happened to the remote control. He was always misplacing it. Oh well, he liked this show. No need to change the channel. He sat back and watched, absently scratching Scrapple behind the ears. The dog was worn out from their day’s adventure. It was still Monday, wasn’t it?
The phone startled Luc. It always did, only because he received few phone calls. Still, for some reason it was close by, within reach.
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