Part 13 (2/2)

Sid Lomax followed Dwight and Jack Jamison back to a cl.u.s.ter of outbuildings, which were screened from sight of the farmhouse and garage by a thick row of tall evergreen trees and bushes. In addition to the usual shelters, several of the sheds held specialized equipment for the different crops. The two trucks pulled up in front of a shed where Richards was already cordoning the place off with a roll of Denning's yellow crime scene tape. This shed was built for utility, not beauty: a concrete slab flush with the ground, steel studs, steel framing, a tinned roof that sloped from front to back, no windows. One of the tall double doors stood open and gave enough light to see that a silver BMW was parked inside.

”What's this shed used for?” Dwight asked Lomax as they walked closer.

”It's where we store the tomato sprayers, but we sent them on to the other farms before Christmas because we're going to grow beans here this year. It's supposed to be empty right now.”

”Watch where you put your feet and don't touch anything,” Richards cautioned him as he started to follow them inside.

Not that there was that much to touch. The car was the only object of any size in a s.p.a.ce designed to hold at least two large pieces of machinery.

As they entered, Dwight paused and examined the door fastenings. The hasp was a hinged steel strap that slotted over a st.u.r.dy steel staple meant to hold a padlock and secure the strap. A wooden peg hung from a string but there was no padlock in sight and no sign that the doors had been forced.

Lomax followed his eyes. ”We keep the sheds locked if there's something worth stealing in them,” he said, ”but we don't bother when they're empty, just peg the doors shut. I doubt I've stuck my head in here since Christmas.”

Carefully, Denning used a screwdriver to pull a chain that released the catch for the other door and let it swing wide, then used equal care to switch on a couple of bare lightbulbs overhead that immediately lit up the gory scene at the rear of the shed.

Blood, lots of blood, had pooled at a slight low spot and blow flies and maggots were busily churning it on this mild spring day. Small dried chunks were scattered around.

”Bone,” Denning said succinctly.

The b.l.o.o.d.y axe had been flung to one side but there were deep gouges in the concrete floor where the blade had come down heavily.

But that wasn't the worst.

The real horror was a length of b.l.o.o.d.y rusty iron chain that lay in heavy loops, the links caked in blood and gore, the two ends secured with a lock.

”Dear G.o.d,” Lomax murmured. ”He was alive and conscious when the hacking started?”

Denning nodded grimly. ”Looks like it.”

”And after it was finished,” said Dwight, ”the killer didn't need to open the lock. He just pulled away the pieces.”

Lomax turned away and bolted for the door. They heard him retching, but there were no grins from any of them for a civilian's involuntary reaction.

Except for Denning, all of them had grown up on working farms where food animals had been routinely slaughtered to fill the family freezer for the winter, but that sort of killing was done cleanly and as humanely as possible.

This though-!

I'm getting too hardened, Richards thought sadly. What would Mike think of me that I'm not out there throwing up, too?

”Looks like his clothes over here,” said Denning.

Jockey shorts lay tangled with a jacket, s.h.i.+rt, and pair of pants. Shoes and socks had been tossed into a corner.

”No blood,” said Richards. ”So he was stripped naked before the chain went on.”

Jamison was appalled by the level of cruelty. ”Somebody really hated his guts, didn't they?”

”But where the h.e.l.l's the head and p.e.n.i.s?” asked Dwight. ”Either of y'all check the car?”

”Not there,” Richards said. ”The keys are in the ignition though.”

Dwight peered through the winds.h.i.+eld. The steering wheel sported a black lambswool cover, so no chance of fingerprints from it.

”Y'all open the trunk?”

”Not yet,” Richards admitted.

They waited for Percy Denning to dust the door handle. ”Too smeared,” he reported.

After gingerly extracting the key from the ignition, he fitted one of them into the trunk lock.

Richards held her breath as the lid lifted and immediately realized she was not the only one when the others collectively exhaled.

The trunk was upholstered in dark gray and, except for the spare tire, appeared at first to be empty. And then they took a second look.

”s.h.i.+t!” said Denning. He got his camera and took pictures of the stains on the floor and lid of the trunk and of the once-white unders.h.i.+rt with which the killer had probably wiped the worst of the blood from his hands. ”This was the delivery truck.”

CHAPTER 19.

With a zest, seasoned and heightened by congenial companions.h.i.+p, let him have at times ... such festivities as sweep from the brain the cobwebs of care.

-Profitable Farming in the Southern States, 1890 DEBORAH KNOTT.

MONDAY AFTERNOON, MARCH 6.

After lunch, I finished up the first appearances. Normally, unless an address is familiar for other reasons, I don't pay much attention to the ones given by the miscreants who come before me, but so soon after talking with Dwight and with the Harris divorce on my mind, I looked closer at the Latino who had been picked up Sat.u.r.day night and was charged with possession of two rocks of cocaine.

”Ward Dairy Road?” I asked through the interpreter. ”Harris Farms?”

”Si,” he said and followed that with a burst of Spanish. The only word I caught was Harris and the interpreter, a young woman going for an a.s.sociate degree in education out at Colleton Community, confirmed that he lived in the Harris Farms migrant camp out there on the old Buckley place.

I appointed him an attorney, set his bond at five thousand, and before remanding him to the custody of the jailer, asked if he knew Mr. Harris.

”Conoce el Senor Harris?”

From the negative gestures and the tone of his reply, I was not surprised to hear that this guest worker knew the ”big boss” by sight but had never had direct dealings with him.

The rest of his reply was almost lost to me as a distraught white woman burst through the doors at the rear of the courtroom with a wailing infant. There was a huge red abrasion on the side of her face and blood dripped from her cut lip onto the dirty pink blanket wrapped around the baby.

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