paperwork and a phone call before he managed to finally speak to them again.
“I apologize. A matter that couldn't wait. Now—how can I help you?” Mary explained. Told him about her husband's disappearance.
“My husband and I were friends with the Luther Lloyd family. Both Mrs. Lloyd and I had the same reaction, that something wasn't quite right about the large-scale land sale involving the World Ecosphere company. She told me in conversation that you'd advised her there might be a way to prove that the land deal wasn't completely on the up and up—that it had been done when Mr. Lloyd was under duress, perhaps.'
“I mentioned that as one theoretical possibility, not as a serious suggestion.'
“But you suggested Mrs. Lloyd should not pursue any legal action, is that correct?” Mary hadn't liked his curt tone, and her own took on a sharp, inquisitive edge. He fielded it easily.
“True.” So?
“I ask because I was considering retaining an attorney to pursue a similar matter on my—and on my husband's—behalf. And Mrs. Lloyd gave us the impression you thought World Ecosphere was too big. And that they were involved with the government and could tie any litigation up for years and years.'
“Are you asking me to represent you in a legal matter, Mrs. Perkins?” he said, rather frostily.
“I want to know if you think ... such an inquiry, you know ... could be...” It was getting too much for her, Royce sensed, and he jumped in.
“We wondered if they're actually involved with the U.S. government. If so, in what way? Obviously Mrs. Perkins can't sue the government.” He figured the lawyer would ask what his part was in this, but he didn't. Instead he simply finessed him.
“I haven't any notion, offhand, not having studied what Mrs. Perkins's particular situation is. As I understand it—” he waved a beringed hand in the air “—Mr. Perkins was an intermediary, representing the purchasing agent— so to speak—and I don't see what possible relation that would have to Mrs. Lloyd's situation. She thought her husband would have said no to the offer, which—again, I'm just guessing here, but—which your husband tendered. Is that about the way it was?'
“Yes.'
“As I say, there's no relation, other than the fact that each of you has had a tragic thing occur—but that has no provable basis for an action against the land developers. None that I see, anyway.'
“Are they a U.S. government-related company? Could you tell us if you have any knowledge about that?” Royce wasn't letting go.
“I have no knowledge, other than my own casual surmises which I made to Mrs. Lloyd. They're dealing in a massive amount of development on behalf of a holding company, and as I understand the project in question, it's some sort of environmental center, which, of course, suggests at least a working relationship with...” He droned on in a lawyerly, boring tone, and Royce let his mind relax. They were learning nothing here.
“A case with contingency fees ... limited when you're taking on the government ... twenty-five percent recovery ... lots of property work around this area ... trust lawyer ... be glad to recommend someone with a better...” Slick mumbo-jumbo legalese.
As soon as they could, they thanked him and left the law offices, once again going forward three paces and going back four.
“The more we learn about this thing, the less we know,” Royce said.
“You're not just realizing that, are you?” They laughed mirthlessly. “Let's hear some good ideas.'
Royce shook his head. “Um...'
“Me too.” They went to a phone and did their thing. Mary was first. It seemed to Royce as if she'd been on the telephone for a very long time, and most of it was listening.
“Listen,” she began, as soon as they were back in his vehicle, “you know Jimmie and Lurene Gallagher, don't you?'
“Uh-uh.'
“She's with the welfare office here, and Jimmie works on the county road crews. They live out by the land project. Alberta Riley heard that they had a run-in with the Ecoworld people. Jimmie Gallagher's dog was rolling around in some garbage they dumped out by the construction site, and the dog died. They got all crazy about it because they were afraid Jimmie's little boy might have played with the dog and got some of it on him.'
“What kind of stuff—something radioactive?'
“Pardon?'
“What kind of garbage?'
“Oh! I don't know—poisons, I think. Anyway, they went to Marty Kerns, and he said he couldn't do anything —naturally. They were supposed to go to the EPA about it. And they had an inspector come look at it, but he wouldn't do anything either. He said it was the Gallaghers’ fault for letting their dog run loose. Apparently the little boy is okay, but they're really mad about it.'
“Where was this garbage?'
“It was at the edge of the Poindexter farm—just over the property line on Ecoworld's ground. They're throwing chemicals and stuff out there, I guess.'
“Let's go look at it.'
“Okay. We could try. If it's still there. I don't know what we'd learn that the EPA guy doesn't already know, but—'
“Where did Alberta hear all this stuff, did she say?'
“Her hairdresser.'
“That figures.” In a small town the local hairdresser is the rough equivalent of “60 Minutes.” He should have known.
“Royce, wouldn't we have a chance of finding out a lot more by concentrating on getting inside that office out there? Couldn't we create some kind of a diversion and try to get it while—'
“Mary, those guys aren't doughnut-gobbling rent-a-cops we saw. I recognized the weapons they were carrying. The riflelike thing is called a Steyr AUG. It's a specialized assault weapon. This one was silenced and had a night-action scope on it. That's the sort of modification they use on a countersniper rifle. The other guy had what looked like a Heckler & Koch MP 5. This is serious, major-league armament. They've probably got another team asleep nearby—maybe in the office or the tool trailer. Two on, two off—revolving shifts, maybe—so they don't get tired. Working ‘em four out of eight hours and then a new set of teams comes in.
“We could create a diversion. Let's say we'd rent the services of a crop duster and he'd make believe like he was strafing the office—okay? Make a whole gang of noise. The guy with the Steyr would pop a 40-mm MECAR rifle grenade attachment over the muzzle, and if that didn't work, they've probably got a Stinger missile in the office. It'd be a diversion, all right.'
“What are we gonna do?” she asked in helpless tone.
“Whatever we can. Come on, kid. Let's go see if we can figure out what Jimmie Gallagher's dog got into.” He turned the ignition key and they headed across the river, behind an old clunker with “UT” and “Go Vols!” stickers on the bumper, replete with a fake license plate in the rear window reading, “I M 1. R U 1 2? O, I C, U 1 2 B 1!'
Royce realized it had been a good while since he'd packed his sinuses with nose candy. He passed the UT car on the Missouri side, getting in back of a dirty truck whose mud flaps warned about his wide turns. On the back of the filthy truck the moving finger had writ: “FUQ IRAQ.” Everywhere you looked, there was a joker waiting.
The vista was bleak and cold, with wintry tendrils of cirrocumulus woven through the pale gray sky. Intermittently clinquant glitters of sunlight flashed on the grimy windshield. There was corn stubble to the left, remnants of milo stalks to the right, and a muddy brown stretch of tractor and combine turnrow between.
They saw the garbage dump and the newly erected concrete construction work at about the same time. The concrete foundations were now complete over the three-hundred-acre building site, and many walls were already up. Near the southeastern edge of the property there were areas that already wore thick ceilings of reinforced concrete. The interiors of these sections appeared to have had their doors and passage entrances boarded up. A pair of guards could be seen in the distance.
Here, far away from the new construction, impedimenta and refuse from Ecoworld had been dumped unceremoniously into a kind of landfill hole, and hastily covered with earth. Here, it seemed, a pack of dogs had decided to dig for buried treasure, and Jimmie Gallagher's dog had been one of them. He'd been one dumb pup to wallow here.
