“Trouble just fol ows you around, doesn’t it.”
Jack turned at the sound of the voice and saw Tim leaning out the window of his
patrol car.
“What do you mean?”
Tim smiled. “You know exactly what I mean. My buddy Driscol says you were
right in the thick of things last night. Even found the pil .”
“Yeah, wel , just hanging with Steve.”
Tim nodded toward the Brussard house down the street. “Returning to the scene
of the crime?”
The whole town was buzzing with the news of the Brussard arrest and the Chal is confession. Jack had wandered over, wondering if he should stop in
and see how Steve was handling it. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty about exposing a murderer, but he couldn’t help it.
He’d chickened out on the visit, at least on his first pass, afraid Steve would take one look at him and somehow know Jack had got his dad arrested.
As he’d passed he noticed that the garbage can near the end of the driveway was ful of empty liquor bottles. Mrs. Brussard was cleaning house—a first
step toward helping Steve, but Jack had a feeling he’d need more.
“Brussard posted bail,” Tim said.
“He’s
“Not much on him beyond what Chal is said. But we’re analyzing that pil , and if it turns out to be some funky poison, we’l have a whole different bal
game.”
Now Jack was doubly glad he hadn’t stopped in. The way Steve’s dad had looked at him last night made it clear he suspected something.
Tim went on. “Chal is, on the other hand, didn’t want bail. Said he felt safer behind bars.”
Safe from the klazen? Or his Lodge brother?
“He give any reason for the way they—?”
“Cut him up?” Tim shook his head. “Not much. Told us Boruff was kil ed in a ‘sacred rite’ used for those who betray Lodge brothers, then clammed up.
Said it was a Lodge matter and nobody else’s business.”
Cutting off the arms at the elbows and sewing them into the armpits … what kind of sacred rite was that?
“Seen any more state troopers running around?” Tim said.
Jack used the title of another book on his summer reading list. “Al quiet on the western front.”
Tim nodded. “It
Mention of the Barrens reminded Jack of something.
“You went to the mound yesterday. How’s it look?”
Tim shook his head. “I saw it when we dug up the body. Gotta tel you, you wouldn’t recognize the place now. Al torn up.” Another head shake. “Shame.
One of the pointy heads we had doing the crime scene work-up said he was sure the mound was pre- Columbian.”
Jack had heard the term before. “Before Columbus? Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow. He said definitely pre-Columbian, maybe even prehistoric.”
“Oh, man. Weezy wil want to go back.”
Jack did too, but knew Weezy would want to even more.
“Nothing left to see. Trust me.” Tim poked his arm. “But even so, you two stay away from there for now … until things settle down. I asked one of the
medevac pilots I know to snap a photo or two on one of his many runs to AC.”
“Why?”
Tim looked away, through the windshield. “Not sure. Something about that place …”
A burst of static from his two-way interrupted with a report of an accident near Shamong.
“Gotta go. Remember what I said: Stay out of the Pines for now.”
As Jack watched Tim go, he figured he could manage that for another day or two, but there’d be no stopping Weezy once she heard “prehistoric.”
