of their son's nightmares? That Don had had some type of psychic experience?
'No,' he said. 'I don't have to tell your parents if you don't want me to.'
The boy looked relieved.
Jim lightly punched Don's arm. 'I'll see you later,' he said. 'I have to go.' He strode quickly down the hall and out the front doors, waving without looking back. Carl was waiting in a patrol car, the engine running. Jim got into the car, flipped on the roof lights and told his deputy to take off.
The car pulled onto the highway, tires squealing. 'What happened?'
Carl asked. 'What'd the kid tell you?'
'He told me where the bodies are buried.' Carl whistled. 'Did he actually see anything?' Jim stared out the windshield as they sped north through town. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes he did.'
The sky was covered with blackened monsoon clouds by the time they turned off on the control road, twenty minutes later. The dark thunderheads were backlit periodically by the strobe flashes of lightning, although there was no rain yet. 'Goddamn it,' the sheriff said. 'Does it have to rain every fucking day? We're going to be out there digging in a downpour.'
They had to go a little slower here than they had on the highway. The control road was narrow, barely one lane, and the campers, hikers, hunters, and fishermen who drove their pickups down the dirt road usually assumed no one would be coming toward them. They invariably sped around the hairpin turns as though they were the only ones on the road. Usually they would be. The control road, winding as it did through the forest along the base of the Rim, was so rough and rutted that it was absolute hell for anyone without a four-wheel-drive vehicle.
The convoy encountered no other traffic on their trip to Geronimo Wells, however, and they pulled into the landfill just as the rain started. Jim got out of the car and walked back to tell the other members of the posse that they could either wait in their cars and trucks for the rain to stop--which might take several hours-or they could start digging now. 'Me and Carl are going to dig,' he said. 'The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get out of here.'
He looked around the landfill as Carl took the shovels out of the trunk. The dump did not look as familiar to him as it should have. He had been out here before, of course, and he knew that scrap metal was dropped off near the large pile just to the north of the cars, that wood went on the pile of combustibles to the left of that, and that regular garbage was dumped over the small dirt cliff just beyond the woodpile and buried. But it looked like only a dump to him; it did not look like the scene of ritualistic killings. He had no intuitive flashes about the landfill, no psychic revelations. He did not even feel any bad vibrations. The dump seemed to him the same as it always had. He had nothing to go on but the kid's testimony.
The other members of the posse got out of their vehicles and took their own picks and shovels from their trunks and the beds of their trucks.
They stood in a huddled group in the drizzling rain, looking toward the sheriff.
Jim jumped onto the hood of the brown sheriff's car and held up his hands. 'All right!' he said. 'Listen up! We're going to split into two groups. Six of us are going to dig through the garbage by that big tree over there.' He pointed toward a tall pine tree by the sandy cliff. A tractor was parked next to the tree, just as Don had said it would be. 'Three of you will dig through the woodpile there.'
'The boys 'n' I'll take the woodpile,' Scott Hamilton said, gesturing toward his two sons. All three of them were still wearing around their necks the protective goggles required for all mill workers.
'You know what you're supposed to be looking for?' Jim asked.
The three nodded grimly.
'AH right then. Let's get to work. Everyone else, come with me.' He jumped down from the car and led the rest of the posse past the woodpile to the garbage area. He let his shovel fall into the rain-softened ground. 'Start digging anywhere,' he said. 'We don't know the exact spot where we're supposed to be looking. Just make sure you all stay near the tractor.'
The six men spread out along the garbage pile. Jim and Carl moved to the edge of the cliff. It was starting to drizzle harder now, and the ground was soft and spongy beneath their feet. Jim's clothes were already soaked clear through, and he took off his hat and dumped the water from the brim. He put the hat back on and started digging.
It was Kyle Heathrow who, almost half an hour later, called out:
'Sheriff!C'mere ! I think I've found something!'
Jim stepped through the wet pile of garbage, his feet sinking almost to the ankles, toward the spot where Kyle was digging. It was pouring, the rain coming down in torrents, and all of the diggers looked like drowned dogs. He stopped and stood next to Kyle, staring down into the newly dug hole. A woman's face looked up at him, eyes open, a bloodless gash across the cheek where Kyle's shovel had made contact.
Mrs.Selway .
Jim looked away, forcing himself to look at a plastic garbage sack. He licked his lips, suddenly dry despite the rain. 'Okay!' he yelled.
'Over here! We're going to dig around this area!'
The others slogged their way through the wet garbage and stared into the hole. Rain had already washed some of the mud from Mrs.Selway's face, making it look strangely alive. Drops of moisture caught on the long eyelashes, and a puddle had formed within the open mouth. None of the men said a word as they turned away.
Carl went to the car to get a body bag.
Jim stared upward, into the falling rain. The water that had collected on the brim of his hat went cascading down the back of his neck but he hardly noticed. He realized suddenly that he did not know Mrs.
Selway'sfirst name.
He looked again at the ground, at the wet and muddy garbage, and picked up his shovel. He started digging.
Gordon spent the evening making phone calls. As Marina lay on the overstuffed couch in the living room trying to watch a snow and static-tingedGoldfinger on the only TV station they could get--an ABC affiliate out of Flagstaff--Gordon dialed St. Luke's Hospital in Phoenix and made Marina an appointment with the resident obstetrician, Dr. Kaplan, for one o'clock Monday afternoon. Marina had refused to make the call herself, and Gordon had agreed to do it for her. He understood how she felt.
After hanging up, he called Brad and told him that he needed to take Monday off. Monday was their busiest day because most of the local stores ran out of Pepsi over the weekend; and since they still had some of the outlying areas to do he assumed he'd have to fight Brad tooth and nail for the day off. But Brad was uncharacteristically understanding, and he told Gordon that he'd get Clan to take his place for the day. Gordon promised to be in extra early on Tuesday.
Next was a call to Dr. Waterston. Gordon told the doctor his fears and outlined his plans. Dr. Waterston agreed wholeheartedly with his decision to take Marina to Phoenix. 'Best thing you could do,' he said.
After some initial, abstract conversation on the subject of babies and births, they got down to specifics.
'I really have no facts to go on,' Dr. Waterston said. 'This is all conjecture. But as I explained to your wife, there are similarities between Julie Campbell, Joni Cooper, and Susan Stratford that I find are just too close for comfort.' He paused. 'Similarities your wife shares with them.'
'That's what Marina told me.'
'Like I said, I have no proof. But I have sent a sample of water taken from the Geronimo Wells pump station to a lab in Phoenix for analysis.'
'The water!' Gordon said. 'That's exactly what I thought.'
'I'm not saying that's what it is. I could be way off base, here. But you know there's a county landfill just a half a mile or so east of the pump station, off the control road, and some of that might be seeping into the groundwater system. There's been no toxic waste buried there so far as I know, but something could be leaking down. From where I
sit, it sure as hell looks like it.'
'Have you told anyone?'
Dr. Waterston laughed shortly. 'Have I told anyone? I've told the mayor, the town council, the county board of supervisors, the state water control board, even the local chapter of the AM A.'
