1
There comes a crystalline moment in the lives of most young male virgins when they realize that they are about to get laid, and they will clutch that moment to their hearts for the rest of their days.
For some, maybe most, the realization comes nearly simultaneously with the moment. With others, not so much.
For Layton Burns Jr., of Red Wing, Minnesota, a recent graduate of Red Wing High School (Go Wingers!), the moment arrived on the night of the Fourth of July. He and Ginger Childs were wrapped in a blanket and propped against a tree of some sortneither was a botanistin a park in Stillwater, Minnesota, looking down at the river, where the fireworks were going off.
Fireworks were not going off in Red Wing, because the city council was too cheap to pay for them.
In any case, Stillwater did have fireworks. Layton, a jock, had his muscular right arm wrapped around Gingers back, then under her arm and in past the unbuttoned second button on her blouse, where he was getting, in the approved parlance of the senior class at Red Wing High School, a bare tit. One of those hot, nipple-rolling bare tits. Not only a bare tit, but a semi-public one, which added to the frisson of the moment.
While intensely pleasant, this was not entirely a new development. Theyd taken petting to a fever pitch, but Layton was the tiniest bit shy about asking for the Big One.
Ginger had her hand on Laytons thigh, where, despite his shy- ness, his interest was evident, and then as the final airbursts exploded in red-white-and-blue over the hundred boats in the harbor below, Ginger turned and bit him lightly on the earlobe and muttered, Oh, God, if only you had some . . . protection.”
Until that very moment, one of the few people in Red Wing who wasnt sure that Layton was going to get laid that summer was Layton himself. His parents knew, her parents knew, Ginger knew, all of Laytons friends knew, all of Gingers friends knew, and Gingers youngest sister, who was nine, strongly suspected.
But Layton, there in the park, wasnt organized for the moment. He groaned and said, in words made memorable by thousands of impromptu daddies, Nothinll happen.”
Cant take a chance,” said Ginger, who was no dummy, and for whom, not to put it too bluntly, Layton was more or less a passing bump in the night. Do you think by tomorrow night?”
Wul, yeah.
· · ·
By the next night, Layton was organized.
Hed gotten the green light to borrow his moms three-year-old Dodge Grand Caravan, which had Super Stow n Go seating in the back, converting instantly into a mobile bedroom. Hed stashed a Target air mattress and a six-pack of Coors with a friend. And hed stolen three, no make it four, lubricated condoms from a twelve- pack that his father had conveniently left unhidden in the second drawer of his bedroom bureau, for the very purpose of being stolen by his son, his wife being on the pill.
Layton also had the perfect spot, discovered a year earlier when he was detasseling corn. The perfect spot had once been a farmyard with a small woodlot on the north side. The farm had failed decades earlier. Most of the land had been sold off, and the house had fallen into ruin and had eventually been burned by the local volunteer fire department in a training exercise. The outbuildings had either been torn down or had simply rotted in place. Still, the home site had not yet been plowed under, though the cornfields were pressing close to the sides of the old yard.
A narrow track, once a driveway, led across a culvert into the site; and there were good level places to park. An hour before he was to pick up Ginger, Layton signed onto his computer and went out to his favorite porn site to review his knowledge of female anatomy; which also reminded him to put a flashlight in the car in case he wanted to . . . you know . . . watch.
Layton had built a sex machine, and it worked flawlessly.
He got the beer and air mattress from his friend, picked up Ginger, and they headed west on Highway 58, out of the Mississippi
River Valley, up on top, then down through the Hay Creek Valley, up on top again, and out into farm country. The ride was short and sweet in the warm summer night, with fireflies in the ditches and Lil Wayne on the satellite radio, which was a good thing, because Ginger was hotter than a stovepipe, and had her hand in Laytons jeans before they even got off the main highway and onto the back roads.
They found the turnoff into the farm lot on the first try, pushed aside some senile, overgrown lilacs as they wedged into a parking space, pumped up the air mattress with an air pump powered through the cigarette lighter, and got right to it.
There was some confusion at the beginning, when Layton un- rolled the first rubber, rather than rolling it down the erect append- age, and was reduced to trying to pull it on like a sock. A bit later, if Layton had been more attentive, he might have noticed that Ginger knew a good deal about technique and positioning, but he was not in a condition to notice; nor would he have given a rats ass.
And it all went fine.
They did it twice, stopped for a beer, and then did it again, and stopped for another beer, and Layton was beginning to regret that he hadnt stolen five rubbers, when Ginger said, demurely, I kinda got to go outside.”
What?”
You know . . .”
She had to pee. Layton finally got the message and Ginger dis- appeared into the dark, with the flashlight. She was back two minutes later.
Boy, something smells really bad out there.”
Yeah?” He didnt care. She didnt care much either, especially as shed reminded him about the flashlight.
So they messed around with the flashlight for a while, and Ginger said, Youre really large,” which made him feel pretty good, al- though hed measured himself several dozen times and it always came out at six and one-quarter inches, which numerous Internet sources said was almost exactly average.
Anyway, the fourth condom got used and stuffed in the sack the beer had come in, and Layton began to see the limits of endurance even for an eighteen-year-oldhe probably wouldnt have needed the fifth one. They lay naked in each others arms and drank the fifth and sixth beers and Ginger burped and said, We probably ought to get back and establish our alibis,” and Layton said, Yeah, but . . . I kinda got to go outside.”
Ginger laughed and said, I wondered about that. You must have a bladder like an oil drum.”
Im going,” he said. He took the flashlight and moved off into the trees, wearing nothing but his Nike Airs, found a spot, and as he was taking the leak, smelled the smell: and Ginger was right. Some- thing really stank.
It was impossible to grow up in the countryside and not know the odor of summertime roadkill, and thats what it was. Some- thing big was dead and rotting, and close by.
He finished and went back to the car and found Ginger in her underpants, and getting into her jean shorts. I want to go out and look around for a minute,” he said. In the back of his mind he noticed his own sexual coolness. Even though her breasts were right there, and as attractive and pink and perky as theyd been fifteen minutes ago, he could have played chess, if hed known how to play chess. Theres something dead out there.”
Thats the stink I told you about.”
Not an ordinary stink,” Layton said. Whatever it is, is big.” She stopped dressing: You mean . . . like a body?”
Like something. Man, it really stinks.”
When they were dressed, and with Ginger holding onto the back of Laytons belt, they walked into the woodsas if neither one of them had ever seen a Halloween moviefollowing the light of the flash. As they got deeper in, the smell seemed to fade. Wrong way,” Layton said.
They turned back and Ginger said, Hope the light holds out.” Its fine,” Layton said. Fresh batteries: Layton had been ready. They walked back toward the area where the house had been, and the smell grew stronger, until Ginger bent and gagged. God . . . what is it?”
Whatever it was, they couldnt find it. Layton marched back and forth over the old farmstead, shining the light into the underbrush and even up into the trees. They found nothing.
Dont ghosts smell?” Ginger said. I saw it on one of those British ghost-hunter shows, that sometimes ghosts make a bad smell.”
Every hair on Laytons neck stood up: Lets get out of here,” he said.
They started walking back to the car, but by the time they got back, they were running. They jumped in, slammed the doors, clicked the locks, backed out of the parking place, and blasted off down the gravel road, not slowing until they got to the highway. The bag with the used condoms and the empty beer cans went into an overgrown ditch, and fifteen minutes later, they were headed down the hill into the welcoming lights of Red Wing.
Layton lay in bed that night and thought about it allmostly the sex, but also about Gingers best friend, Lauren, and what a wicked threesome that would be, and about that awful odor. Ginger called him the next morning to say it had been the most wonderful night of her life; and he told her that it had been the most wonderful night of his.
The night had been wonderful, but not quite perfect. Thered been that smell.
Laytons best friends older brother was a Goodhue County deputy named Randy Lipsky, who was only six or eight years older than Layton. If not quite a friend, he was something more than an acquaintance.
Layton got up late, shaved, ate some Cheerios, and still not sure if he was doing the right thing, called the sheriff s office and asked if Lipsky was around. He was.
I need to talk to you for a minute, if I could run over there,” Layton said.
So he went over to the law enforcement center, found Lipsky, and they walked around the block.
Layton said, Just between you and me.” Depending on what it is,” Lipsky said. Im a cop.” Well, I didnt do anything,” Layton said.
What is it?” Lipsky asked.
Last night, my girlfriend and I went up to this old farm place, out in the country, and parked for a while.”
Ginger?” Uh-huh.”
Shes pretty hot. You nail her?”
Hey . . . But, yeah, as a matter of fact.” He was so cool about it that ice cubes could have rolled out of his ears.
Anyway . . .”
Anyway, theres something dead up there. Something big. I never smelled anything like it. I thought it was a cow or a pig. The weird thing is, we couldnt find anything, and there arent any dairies or pig farms around there. We could smell it, like it was right there: like we were standing on it. It made Ginger throw up it was so strong. I was thinking last night, what if we couldnt find it because . . . somebody buried something?”
You mean . . .” Lipsky stopped and looked at Layton. Layton was a jock, but not an idiot.
Yeah. I thought I should ask,” Layton said. Now you can tell me Im a whiny little girl, and we can forget about it.”
Lipsky said: Ill tell you something, Layton: Ninety-five percent its nothing. Probably somebody shot a buck out of season, and you were smelling the gut dump. Those can be pretty hard to see in the dark, once they go gray. But, five percent, we gotta go look.”
Lipsky went to get a patrol car and Layton called Ginger and told her what hed done. Well, God, dont mention me,” she said.
If its something, Ill probably have to,” he said.
Well, if its something . . . sure. I worried about it, too, last night,” she said. Like you were saying, it smelled big. What if its a dead body?”
Ill call you when we get back,” Layton said.
The drive in the daytime was even faster than the drive the night before, out into the countryside and the hot July sun. Layton pointed Lipsky into the abandoned farm lot and Lipsky said, What a great place to park.”
Yeah, itd be okay, if it didnt stink so bad,” Layton said. Over here.”
He led the way back where the old house had been, and the smell was like a wall. They hit it and Lipskys face crinkled and he said, Jesus Christ on a crutch.”
I told you,” Layton said.
Wheres it coming from?” Lipsky asked.
They quartered the area, kicking through the underbrush, and eventually always came back to the yard where the house had been, and finally Lipsky pointed to the edge of the clearing and said, Go over and pull out that old fence post, and bring it back here.”
The fence post was a rusting length of steel still attached to a single strand of barbed wire. Layton wrenched it loose, pulled the barbed wire off, and carried it back to Lipsky. Lipsky was walking around a patch of fescue grass twenty feet across, a distracted look on his face.
What do you think?” Layton asked.
Might be an old cistern here, or an old well,” Lipsky said. You see that line in the grass?”
Maybe . . .”
Lipsky took the fence post from Layton and began probing the patch of grass. Hed done it four times when, on the fifth, there was a hollow thunk.
There it is,” Lipsky said. Should have been filled in, doesnt sound like it was.”
He scraped around with the fence post and found the edge of the cistern cover, which was a circular piece of concrete. A whole pad of fescue lifted off it, in one piece, and Lipsky said, Just be- tween you and me, I dont think were the first ones to do this.”
Maybe we ought to call the cops,” Layton said. Lipsky gave him a look, and Layton said, You know what I mean. More cops.”
Lets just take a look,” Lipsky said.
They pulled the grass off, and Lipsky said, Check this out.”
One edge of the concrete cover showed what seemed to be re- cent scrapes, perhaps made with a pick, or a crowbar; and all around the edges, older scrapes. Lots of them. Lipsky found a place where he could get the good end of the fence post under the rim of the cistern cover, and pried. There was a pop when it came loose, and the gas hit them and they both reeled away, gagging, vomiting into the grass away from the cistern.
When theyd vomited everything in their stomachsLipsky had gone to his hands and kneesthey went back and looked into the cistern, but all they saw was darkness.
Let me get a flash,” Lipsky said. Dont fall in.” He spit into the weeds as he went, and then spit again, and Layton spit a couple times himself, his mouth sour from the vomit.
Lipsky got the flashlight and walked back to where Layton was standing, his forearm bent over his nose.
They looked into the hole and Lipsky turned on the six-cell
Maglite, and they first saw the two white ovals. Is that . . . ?” Layton asked.
What?” Lipsky looked like he didnt want to hear it.
Feet? It looks like the bottoms of somebodys feet,” Layton said. Lipsky turned back toward the squad car.
Wherere you going?” Layton asked.
To call the cops,” Lipsky said. More cops. Lotsa cops.”
2
The Bureau of Criminal Apprehension is housed in a modern redbrick-and-glass building in St. Paul, Minnesota. Lucas Davenport had once explained the somewhat odd name to an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation this way: In Minnesota, see, we actually apprehend the assholes, instead of just investigating them.” The fed said, Really? Doesnt that get you in trouble? Id think the paperwork would be a nightmare.”
Lucas parked his Porsche 911 in the lot below his office window, where he could keep an eye on it. The last time hed parked it out of eyesight, somebody had stuck a vegan bumper sticker on it that said: Beef: Its Whats Rotting In Your Colon.”
He hadnt found it until he pulled off the interstate, wondering why other drivers were honking at him: A tire problem? Something about to fall off ? When he saw the sticker, he crawled home in shame, through the back streets, and then spent a half hour peeling it off, cursing the rotten bastard whod stuck it there.
Today, he would park within pistol range.
· · ·
His office was on the second floor, in a corner, and when he got there . . . there was nobody home. He walked back out to a conference room, where the door was open. One of his agents, Del Caps- lock, was sitting at the conference table, looking solemn, part of a crowd of solemn agents. Lucas was sure he hadnt missed a scheduled meeting, so . . .
Del looked out through the door, saw Lucas, and crooked a finger at him.
Lucas had been out of the office since the previous afternoon. Before leaving, hed heard that the BCA crime-scene crew was leaving for a murder site west of Red Wing, a small Mississippi River town something less than an hour south of St. Paul, famous for boots and country crocks and the state reform school: If you dont eat your Capn Crunch, the cops will send you to Red Wing.”
Something about a cistern, with a body in it.
Lucas slipped into the conference room. All the chairs were full, so he propped himself in a corner. Henry Sands, a bald man of limited emotional dimension, sat at the head of the table, the flats of his hands pressed to his temples, as though he were trying to hold his head together. Not a good sign, since Sands was the director of the BCA.
Rose Marie Roux, the commissioner of public safety, and Sandss boss, whose office was in a different building entirely, was sitting at one corner of the table, rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers. Another bad sign.
Almost everyone elsea dozen people, ten male, two femalewere staring at them, waiting, or looking at a variety of yellow legal pads, laptops, and iPads. When nobody else spoke, Lucas did. How bad is it?”
Roux looked up and said, Lucas. Good morning. Theyve got fifteen skulls. They dont have them all, yet. Theyre not even sure that theyve got most of them. We just had Beatrice Sawyer on the phone, and she said its like excavating ten feet of cold bean soup. She says there might be four feet of bones at the bottom.”
Holy shit.”
Thats the prevailing sentiment,” Roux said. She was a heavy- set woman with a notorious smoking habit and hair of an ever- changing color. A politician and former prosecutor, Minneapolis police chief, and, briefly, a street cop, she was one of Lucass oldest friends and a longtime ally.
Have they identified anyone?” Lucas asked.
Sands said, Mary Lynn Carpenter. She disappeared from Du- rand, Wisconsin, two weeks ago. They found her car at the Diamond Bluff cemetery, across the river from Red Wing. Shed go there every once in a while to clean up her grandparents graves. The cemeterys on the Mississippi, above a slough. Theyd been looking for her body in the river.”
Who else?” Lucas asked.
Sands shook his head. Dont know, but Beatrice said that judging from the skulls, theyre all women. Carpenter had been strangled with a piece of nylon rope. Its still around her neck. Whats left of her neck. Shes probably been in the well for two weeks.”
Cistern,” somebody said.
Cant they pump it out?” Lucas asked.
Theyre trying, but the bottom of the cistern is cracked and the cracks below the water table,” Sands said. Water seeps back in almost as fast as they can pump it out. They cant pump too fast, be- cause they dont want to lose any of the . . . material.”
What towns are down there? Besides Red Wing?” Roux asked.
One of the agents was looking at a laptop and said, Not much closest town, besides Red Wing, is Diamond Bluff, across the river in Wisconsin, less than five hundred people. Thats where Carpenter was when she disappeared. Ellsworth is fourteen miles away, also in Wisconsin, three thousand people. In Minnesota, theres Lake City, seventeen miles south of Red Wing, Holbein, fourteen miles southwest, Zumbrota, eight miles past Holbein, Hastings, more or less twenty-five miles north, and Cannon Falls, twenty miles west. The cistern is eight miles from Red Wing, nine miles from Holbein, eleven from Lake City, quite a bit further from Cannon Falls and Hastings.”
Are we talking to the Wisconsin DCI?” Lucas asked.
We are,” Sands said. They already had an agent involved, on the Carpenter disappearance. Hes down at the scene now.”
Another agent, a woman, jumped in: On a sheer numbers basis, the killers probably from Red Wing. Next most likely is that hes from here in the Citieswere fifty miles from the cistern. But if you were originally from that area, and knew about the cistern, and you were living up here and needed a body dump . . .”
A third agent: We dont have the facts. Weve got to identify more of the bodies before we can start talking about where the killers from. Right now, with one identifiable body, picked up in that area, Im betting hes from down there. If we find a couple more from down there . . .”
That set off a round of squabbling, until Roux held up a hand and said, Okay, okay, okay. You guys can do the numbers later. Henry, we need a structure here. We need the most intense investigation weve ever run, because, my friends, this is pretty much it. You are all standing in front of the fan that the shit just hit. Theyll be screaming about this from every TV station in the nation tonight and they will continue screaming until we get the killer. Is that perfectly clear to everyone?”
Everyone nodded.
Sands said, Bob Shaffer will run the investigation. Therell be a lot of ins and outs to the case, so hell need a lot of guys. Anybody who isnt closing out a case, Bobll be talking to you. The only ex- emptions are Lucass crew . . .”
He looked over at Lucas: Can you switch off the Bryan case?” Lucas shook his head. Not really. We still havent figured out whether hes dead.”
Hes dead,” somebody said.
Somebody else disagreed: No, hes not. Ten-to-one hes in Honduras, or someplace like it.”
Lucas said, I just dont know.” Whats Flowers doing?” Roux asked.
Lucas said, Vacation, down in New Mexico. He left two days ago, pulling his boat. He wont be back for three weeks.”
New Mexicos a fuckin desert,” somebody offered.
He says theres a musky lake,” Lucas said. He said hes gonna clean it out.”
He ought to bring the boat back. We could use it in the cistern,”
Roux said. And: All right. Bob, get your crew together and get going.”
Shaffer, who had been sitting silently taking notes, nodded and stood up and said, I want to talk to Jon and Sandy right now, my office. Everybody else, well meet back here in a half hour.”
Roux stood up and said, Lucas, I want you to take a look at whatever Bob comes up with. Henry, I want updates every couple of hours today, and then every morning and evening until we close this out. Lets get this done, guys. Lets get it done in one big hurry.” While they were all there together, so theyd all hear it at once, Lucas pushed away from the wall and said, I dont think thats going to happen, Rose Marie. If there are really that many dead women, and we didnt know about it, didnt connect the disappearances, then the killer is smart and careful. I mean, really careful.
This could take time.”
I dont want to hear that,” Roux snapped.
You need to,” Lucas snapped back. He looked around. We dont want anyone hinting to the media that this is gonna be a walk in the park, that well get the guy next week. If we do, thats fine. But if we dont, the medias gonna be a hair shirt, and were all gonna be wearing it.”
All the cops looked at him for a moment, then Roux said, Okay. Hes right. So: we have one guy talking to the media. Anybody else talks, youll be manning the new bureau down in Bumfuck, Minn. Everybody understand?”
Lucas spoke to Shaffer for a few moments after the meeting broke up, with Del orbiting around them. Shaffer and Lucas didnt particularly like each other, but had worked several ugly cases together, with good results. They agreed that Lucas would be on the distribution list for everything coming out of the investigation, but would stay away from the main case.
I might talk to a few people, if I come across any that are interesting,” Lucas said.
Thats fine,” Shaffer said. If you get anything, be sure to up- date the files.”
I will do that,” Lucas said.
Shaffer started to step away, then said, Lucas: I appreciate what you said to Rose Marie. This could take a while. You were the right guy to tell her that.”
Lucas nodded: Had to be said.”
Lucas and Shaffer had been successful, when they worked together, precisely because they were so radically different in style.
Shaffer was a data collector and a grinder: with enough data, he believed, you could solve anything. His files were wonders, his spreadsheets were remarkable, his decision matrices were monuments to game theory. And they worked. Anytime his agents could collect enough relevant data, his clearance rate was exceptional.
Shaffer looked like a grinder: neatly dressed at all times, in short- sleeved shirts in the summer, blue or white oxford cloth in winter, with bland neckties, wrinkle-free khaki trousers from Macys, and blue blazers. He exercised extensively and efficiently, ate right, didnt drink or smoke. Married to his high school sweetheart, he was slender, of average height, with pale brown hair.
Hed come up the hard way: a patrol officer in Duluth, then a detective, then up through the ranks at the BCA, until hed become one of the go-to investigators. He knew statistics: hed taken college courses in statistics and geography at the University of Minnesotas extension school. Hed kept his nose clean.
Lucas was a connection collector, an investigator who liked to knit people together, to put one source with another and let them fight it out. He thrived on mysteries.
A tall, brooding man with dark hair, friendly blue eyes, and a sometimes frightening smile, Lucas was hawk-faced and heavy in the shoulders, and scarred from encounters with the misbegotten. Like Shaffer, hed gone to the University of Minnesota, where in- stead of statistics, hed studied hockey and women.
Hed never had to work his way up. Hed spent a short time on patrol, and then jumped over three dozen senior men to become a Minneapolis detective. Nor had he tried very hard to keep his nose clean. Hed been pushed out of the Minneapolis police department after beating up a pimp whod church-keyed one of his sources.
Hed gotten back into the department when Roux, the new chief, made him a deputy chief, a political appointment. That job ended when Roux quit to become the states commissioner of public safety. But as soon as she reasonably could, Roux had dropped Lucas into the BCA, right into a top slot.
His clearance rate, like Shaffers, was excellent. Lucas exercised, but inefficiently: running frequently, but not every day, playing basketball and senior hockey. Lucas had once had a reputation for chasing skirts; and catching them. He had a daughter out of wedlock, two children from his only marriage, and an adopted daughter. Hed drink a beer in the evening, and knew his barbecue.
With all their natural differences, in career path and personality, Shaffer and Lucas were never going to be close: but with all the important differences, their real distaste for each other came on relatively minor issues. Shaffer was a natural socialist, whod grown up in an Iron Range union family. He didnt like rich people, not even self-made rich people.
Lucas was self-made rich.
Even worse than the money was Lucass whole lifestyle: the Porsche, his history with women, the wardrobe. Lucas bought his working clothes in mens boutiques, and every couple of years, went to New York.
To shop.
Lucas thought of Shaffer, when he thought of Shaffer at all, as a clerk.
Shaffer knew it.
When hed finished talking to Shaffer, Lucas and Del went down to his office, where Shrake and Jenkins were waiting. They were both big men, in suits that were too sharp, as though theyd fallen off a truck in Brooklyn. Both had even, extra-white teeth, and for the same reason: their real, natural, yellower teeth had been knocked out at one time or another. Lucas told them about the find at Red Wing.
Were throwing Bryan out the window?” Shrake blurted.
No, Shaffers doing the work,” Lucas said. Well be mostly talking.”
I hate to see that officious prick get all the glory,” Jenkins said. Hes the kind of guy who wouldnt give you a six-inch putt.”
He does good records,” Del said.
Hes also exactly the right guy to run this case,” Lucas said. Its gonna be all sorting bones and extracting DNA and running the spreadsheets.”
Still wouldnt give you a putt,” Jenkins said.
Probably because hes not fuckin stupid enough to play golf,” Lucas said. Anyway, if Shaffer doesnt find this killer in a hurry, theyll be sniffing around our asses, looking for help. Lets close out Bryan.”
Bryan.
Bryan had run a St. Paul investment company that turned out to be a Ponzi scheme, a scheme that had eventually come up a couple of Ponzis short. Hed been arrested and the state attorney generals office was trying to get back the thirty-one million dollars that had been entrusted to him by 1,691 small investors, most of them elderly. Bryan said the money was gonespent on fast Italian cars, slow Kentucky horses, and hot Russian women, along with a
$250,000 RV, which lost half its value when he turned the key on it, and an unprofitable ostrich ranch in Wyoming. Rumor said that a good deal more of the cash had gone up his nose.
There were doubters.
Bryan had divorced three years earlier, and his ex-wife, Bloomie, now lived in a house very near, but not quite on, the Atlantic Ocean in Palm Beach. According to the local conspiracy theorists, Bryan had seen the trouble coming, had given an overly generous divorce settlement to his wife, who would support him when the problems be- came public and the company went broke. There was also talk that he owned a Cabo San Lucas estate under a Mexican corporate shadow.
That may have been true, but apparently had become irrelevant when Bryans court-ordered ankle monitor went dead, and his BMW M6 convertible had been found parked near the St. Croix gorge at Taylors Falls with the front seat soaked in his blood. No body had been found. There were, at latest count, 1,691 suspects in Bryans disappearance.
Well, weve already interviewed twelve of them, so that only leaves one thousand six hundred and seventy-nine to go. We should have that done by 2020,” Jenkins said.
Start with the ones young enough to move a body,” Lucas suggested. Thatll cut the workload by ninety-eight percent.”
Are you gonna help?” Shrake asked.
First, Im gonna go down and take a look at this cistern, this well, where they found all the bodies,” Lucas said. Then this evening, Ill be talking to the beautiful Carrie Lee Pitt, about Bryans missing clothes. Im hoping shell let me peek in her closet.”
How come were not talking to Carrie Lee Pitt?” Jenkins asked.
Because that will take some savoir faire, which you dont got any of,” Lucas said.
Jenkins looked offended, lifted an arm and sniffed his armpit, and said, Yes, I do.”
· · ·
Jenkins and Shrake left, and Lucas turned to Del, who had taken Lucass visitors chair and put his feet up on a file cabinet.
Del was a thin man, with a sun-darkened face of knobs and wrinkled plains, a little more than average height: a dusty guy in his mid-fifties, who looked like he lived on the street. He was wearing a long-sleeved turquoise cowboy shirt and faded jeans over hiking boots. Were going down to the well?”
Cistern,” Lucas said. Yeah, I guess we better. But Jesus, that shirt makes me want to pluck my eyeballs out. You been hanging out at Goodwill again?”
From what I hear, if were going down to the wellthe cisternwere gonna want to burn the clothes afterwards,” Del said. Id rather burn a polyester shirt than a two-thousand-dollar Italian suit. Or three-thousand-dollar Romanian shoes.”
British shoes. And when youre right, youre right.” Lucas pushed himself out of his chair. Well stop at my place on the way out. You ready?”
As ever.”
Fifteen skulls so far,” Lucas said, as he turned off the office lights. And there are more down the well.”
Somebodys been a bad, bad boy,” Del said.