“If you’re wrong, we’re going to place your hand flat against a tree,” I said. “Then I’m going to let Ed smash it with a shovel as hard as he possibly can.”
“I’m surprised we’re not best friends, considering how sadistic you are,” said Mr. Martin.
“Is that where you want us to dig?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Thank you. How far down is he?”
“A couple of feet.”
“We’re going to work in quick shifts,” I announced. “Ed, Mick, and I will start. Then we’ll switch to Tina, Burt, and Josh.” I’d considered giving Tina an exemption from the digging part, but I decided it might offend her. “If you’re not digging, you’re responsible for holding the flashlights, and for beating the shit out of Mr. Martin if he tries to escape.”
Josh gave me his snow shovel and the digging began. I had the best tool for the job, but Ed and Mick were keeping pace using the wrong kinds of shovels.
It wasn’t long before we’d cleared out the snow.
Burt unscrewed the cap on his gasoline can and poured the fluid all over the cleared-out area. I had no idea how well this was going to work, but it couldn’t hurt, unless somebody got caught in the burst of flame and set their clothes and hair on fire. We’d be careful.
When the gasoline can was empty, we all stepped way back. Burt lit a match and tossed it onto the burial site.
There was a huge whoosh as the gasoline ignited. The heat from the fire felt wonderful, but it disappeared all too quickly.
“That didn’t do shit,” said Mr. Martin.
We returned to the area and began to dig.
22
Mr. Martin was right. The gasoline hadn’t done any good, at least as far as I could tell. A pickaxe would’ve been much more helpful, but none of us owned one. We weren’t really digging with our shovels; it was more like we were chipping away at the frozen ground.
We handed the shovels over to Tina, Burt, and Josh and gave them their turn.
After a few minutes, we switched back. We were making very slow progress, but we were still making progress. I’d stay out here all night if I had to. And if we dug down a couple of feet and found nothing, I might splatter Mr. Martin’s hand myself.
We were digging a rectangle about the size of a coffin, even though Todd wouldn’t be in a coffin.
The process got easier as we went along. Not that the ground was less frozen a foot down, but we were finding a rhythm. When I broke off a particularly large chunk of the dirt, I actually smiled at my accomplishment, before remembering the grim nature of the task.
Nobody gave up.
Mr. Martin looked angry and jittery. He didn’t make any attempt to escape—he simply watched us work in silence.
We’d dug about two feet down.
Another large chunk of dirt came loose, revealing something black.
“Let me have your flashlight,” I told Tina. She handed it to me and I crouched down to get a closer look. It was part of a garbage bag.
I tore it away. Underneath it was the sole of a shoe.
I thought I’d been digging at the front of the grave, by Todd’s head. If this was the sole of his shoe, then we were an entire body-length off, and all of the other digging had been a waste. But there was a shoe in the ground. Though I obviously couldn’t identify Todd’s shoe by the rubber sole, it suddenly seemed very likely that Mr. Martin had indeed taken us to the correct spot.
“We’re only going to dig here,” I said, pointing to a spot in the center. We didn’t need to dig him all the way up. The state troopers could do that. I just needed to know that it was him.
I didn’t want to accidentally jam the shovel blade into his face, so I wanted to expose his chest, see what the buried body was wearing.
I did it myself, moving with renewed vigor. I refused to let anybody take over. I dug down until I reached the garbage bag, and then tore it open, revealing light green fabric.
Todd had been wearing a light green shirt when he was abducted.
The realization hit me so hard that I collapsed. Todd was dead. I’d known this. I’d suspected it in the days after his disappearance, and known it after the time that I pretended to interview Mr. Martin before pulling a gun on him. Todd was not living happily in California with a foster family. He was not chained in a basement, praying for rescue. He was dead in the frozen ground beneath me.
I sobbed. Nobody said anything, giving me the moment I needed, until Tina finally put her hand on my shoulder.
“We should go,” she said.
I wiped my nose on the back of my glove and nodded. I stood up.
Mr. Martin was staring at me. He looked amused.
“Burn in hell,” I told him.
“You won,” he said. “How do you feel?”
“Don’t talk to him,” said Tina. “He’s going to prison for the rest of his life. He doesn’t have any more power over you.”
“Look, I know it’s cold as crap out here,” said Ed, “but we don’t all have to go back. A couple of us could stay here and watch over this asshole, and the rest of you can go get help.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “I’ll stay.”
“Can we trust you not to bash his head in with a shovel?”
“Yeah. I need him alive.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll stay,” said Tina.
“You sure?” Ed asked. “You look like you’re freezing to death.”
“We’re all freezing to death.”
“That’s true. You two better not get it on while we’re gone. Although I guess that would be a good way to generate warmth. I take that back. You two better get it on while we’re gone.” Ed grinned, but nobody else seemed amused. We’d succeeded, but it was difficult to be in a
