viewfinder, he zoomed in on what was nailed to the
post almost exactly halfway between the grisly head and
the ground. “Was that his dick?”
If so, there was almost nothing left of it now except
where a nail held a flaccid strip of skin that fluttered in
the light spring breeze.
In the next hour, Dwight had called the sheriff in
Jones County, then sent two detectives down to start in-
terviewing the migrants who had been transferred over
to Harris Farm #3 between Kinston and New Bern. He
had pulled Raeford McLamb and Sam Dalton out of
Black Creek and they were now helping Jamison and a
translator question everyone who still worked here on
the Buckley place. Sid Lomax had volunteered his office
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desk and his kitchen table for their use. He was under
the impression that Juan Santos could be trusted to help
translate accurately, “But hell, bo,” he told Dwight wea-
rily. “At this point, I don’t know who’s telling the truth
and who’s lying through his rotten teeth. It’s gotta be
one of ’em though, doesn’t it?”
“Somebody familiar with the farm, for sure,” Dwight
agreed and led Lomax through a retelling of how they
had discovered Buck Harris’s head.
“Between the cold and then the rain, we’re behind
schedule on the plowing. This field’s so sandy though,
the rain drains right through it and I thought it’d be
okay to finally get the tractors out here this afternoon.
First pass they made, Vazquez spotted it. Santos had
the walkie-talkie and as soon as he saw that post, he
called me. Ten minutes later, I was on the horn to 911.
I thought your people had already left. Man, was I glad
to hear they were still here and you were, too.”
Mayleen Richards had given Dwight the third set of
names that Lomax had run off for them and he held
them out to the farm manager now. “How ’bout you
save us some time and put a check mark by every name
that ever had words with Harris.”
“I’m telling you. None of ’em had that much to do
with him. Yeah, he’d come out in the fields once in a
while, plow a few rounds on the tractor, haul a truck-
load of tomatoes to the warehouse, but he didn’t speak
a word of their lingo. Harris was one of those who think
if people are going to come work in this country, it’s up
to them to learn English, not for him to have to speak
Spanish. He’d talk real loud to them. If they didn’t
understand enough to answer, then he didn’t bother
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