Luther looked surprised. ‘Who put you on him?’
‘The Chief.’
‘He didn’t mention it to me,’ Luther said.
‘He just caught me in the lobby this morning,’ Ben said.
Luther nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s the way he works sometimes,’ he said, his voice faintly disgruntled. ‘Once in a while it screws things up down the line.’
Ben nodded, and for a moment the two of them stood in silence. Across the field, under the opposite goalpost, an old Negro man watched them cautiously, his ancient face half-hidden beneath a tattered straw hat.
‘Place is empty,’ Luther said, after a moment. ‘I guess everybody’s downtown raising Cain.’
‘Did it start up yet?’ Ben asked.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Luther said. ‘Same old thing so far. But they say the shit’s really going to hit the fan before long.’ He laughed. ‘You know, Ben, it’s a good time to be working Bearmatch. Hell, the whole place’s deserted.’ His eyes widened. ‘Down by the tracks, they say even the shothouses are empty.’ He laughed again. ‘Can you imagine that, even the whores and gamblers and such as that are out marching.’
Ben had never seen the fabled shothouses of Bearmatch, but he had heard of them for years. They seemed to swim in a hazy yellow light to the beat of honky-tonk pianos, and when they were spoken of by people who’d been in them, it was with a kind of distant, dreadful awe, as if life took on a wholly different texture as it moved southward toward the tracks. Down by the tangled iron railyard where the empty freight cars baked in the summer heat, you could hear the steady wail of the blues as it came from the shothouses and honky-tonks of Bearmatch. It was a slow, pulsing rhythm that seemed to sway languidly in the air, and Ben had often heard it during the years he’d worked as a young railroad guard. While searching the cars or patrolling the crisscrossed tracks, he’d glanced more than once toward the huge shantytown that spread out just beyond the high storm fence of the railyard. That was where it came from, the bluesy horns, sudden laughter and occasional gunfire. Others among the guards had sometimes ventured into it, looking for whiskey or a card game or a woman, but Ben had kept his distance in this, as in almost everything else.
Luther gave the tiny hand another peremptory glance. ‘They kill their kids down here,’ he said dully. ‘Sometimes the daddy does it. Sometimes it’s the mama.’ He took another drag on the cigarette, then tossed the butt out into the field. ‘Just ask anybody who’s been on the tour. They’ll tell you. It’s real different down here. Not the same world we live in at all.’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘Course, the Black Cat boys like it. But they’s something wrong with those two.’ He tapped the side of his head with a single, crooked finger. ‘You know, up here.’
Ben dug his toe into the dirt and made a ragged circle. ‘They should have a crew down here by now,’ he said impatiently. ‘It’s not right, leaving her in the dirt like this.’ He stepped away from the body and began pacing about, his eyes locked on the ground.
‘What are you doing?’ Luther asked after a moment.
‘Just looking around,’ Ben said. He walked a little further out into the field, his eyes still searching the tufts of brownish grass. Up ahead he could see the old man, still leaning against the post, his thin dark arms hugging to it loosely.
‘For what?’ Luther asked.
Ben shrugged. ‘Whatever you can find around a body.’
Luther laughed. ‘You’re lucky to even have a body. Most of the time they just load it onto a freight car, or take it out of town and dump it in the river.’ He shrugged. ‘Either way, it’s gone from our jurisdiction. It floats into the next county or rolls into the next state. Then it’s their problem.’
Ben continued to move outward slowly, his eyes latching onto bottle caps or scraps of paper. When he looked up again, the old man had vanished, and there was nothing but the naked post to block his view of the adjoining street.
Luther lit another cigarette and tossed the match onto the ground. ‘It’s the ones that keep on living that’s our problem.’ He glanced toward the distant buildings of downtown. ‘They’re probably piling into the lunch counter at Woolworth’s this very minute.’ He looked at Ben knowingly. ‘That’s why you’re lucky to be on the Bearmatch patrol right now, Ben. I’d rather be anywhere as downtown for the next few days.’
Ben eyed the last nondescript bit of paper which littered the ground at his feet, then looked up and saw two patrolmen approach from the opposite side of the field, both of them lugging shovels ponderously through the sweltering air.
‘They’re going to love this,’ Luther said. He glanced down at the hand. ‘Well, least it’s fresh. The smell won’t kill them.’
The two patrolmen began digging only a few minutes later. Slowly, they unearthed the body of a young girl. She was clothed in a flowered dress, white socks and dark-brown buckled shoes. Her eyes, nose and hair were matted with clay, and a single trickle of dried blood ran down from the left side of her mouth.
‘Turn her over,’ Ben said gently, after the body had been placed faceup beside the makeshift grave.
One of the patrolmen bent down and eased the body over, then stood up and stepped away.
Ben knelt down beside the body. The buttons at the back of the dress were missing, and its white collar had flipped open, exposing the dark back. A single shot had been fired into the base of the skull.
‘Looks like a twenty-two,’ Luther said as he stepped over and stared down at the body. He circled slowly around to the other side. ‘Have to be a twenty-two,’ he said. ‘Anything else would have blown the top of her head off.’ He scratched his chin slowly. ‘Pull her dress up.’
Ben looked up at him sharply. ‘What?’
‘Pull her dress up,’ Luther repeated matter-of-factly.
Ben did not move.
Luther looked at him oddly. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
Ben snapped to attention. ‘Nothing,’ he said quickly. Then he slowly lifted the girl’s skirt. She was completely naked underneath it, and her private parts were raw and reddened. Tiny crusts of dried blood clung to barely visible tufts of black hair.
‘See what I mean?’ Luther asked confidently.
Ben nodded.
Luther’s eyes scanned the girl softly. ‘Pretty little thing,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s a shame she’ll never grow up.’ He looked at the two patrolmen. ‘How come you boys didn’t bring a stretcher?’
The two young patrolmen glanced awkwardly at each other.
‘Ah, never mind,’ Luther said with a frustrated wave of his hand. ‘You got blankets in your car. We can load her up in one of them.’
The two patrolmen took off immediately, and Luther laughed as he watched them trot off down the field. ‘They stay dumb for a long time, don’t they, Ben?’ he asked.
Ben did not answer. He continued to stare at the small girl who lay in the dirt beside him.
Luther’s eyes narrowed pointedly as he glanced right and left. ‘Well, I don’t see no burning crosses, do you, Ben?’
Ben looked up. ‘What?’
‘Burning crosses,’ Luther repeated loudly. ‘Or anything else that would make this look like some kind of race killing.’
Ben shook his head slowly. ‘No, I don’t see anything like that.’ Luther drew a small camera from his jacket pocket. ‘Don’t usually do this,’ he said, ‘but things being the way they are right now …’ He waved Ben away from the body. ‘Stand back,’ he said. ‘Let me get a quick shot.’
Ben stepped away from the body.
Luther snapped the picture and headed off down the field.
‘Wait a second,’ Ben said.
Luther turned back to him quickly. ‘Find something?’
‘No,’ Ben told him quietly. Then he took the hem of the girl’s skirt and drew it gently back over her slender brown legs.
