Jeffrey asked, “You ever been out this far on a call?”
“I didn’t even know there were houses out here.”
“There weren’t the last time I checked.” Jeffrey handed her a file with a slip of paper containing the directions paper clipped to the outside. “What road are we looking for?”
“ Plymouth,” she read. At the top of the page was a name. “Ephraim Bennett?”
“The father, apparently.” Jeffrey slowed so that they could check a faded road sign. It was the standard green with white letters, but there was something homemade looking about it, as if someone had used a kit from the hardware store.
“ Nina Street,” she read, wondering when all of these roads had been built. After working patrol for nearly ten years, Lena thought she knew the county better than anyone. Looking around, she felt like they were in foreign territory.
She asked, “Are we still in Grant?”
“We’re right on the line,” he told her. “ Catoogah County is on the left, Grant is on the right.”
He slowed for another road sign. “ Pinta Street,” she told him. “Who got the call first?”
“Ed Pelham,” he said, practically spitting out the name. Catoogah County was less than half the size of Grant, warranting no more than a sheriff and four deputies. A year ago, Joe Smith, the kindly old grandfather who had held the post of sheriff for thirty years, had keeled over from a heart attack during the keynote speech at the Rotary Club, kicking off a nasty political race between two of his deputies. The election had been so close that the winner, in keeping with county law, was decided by a coin toss, two out of three. Ed Pelham had entered office with the moniker “Two-Bit” for more reasons than the two quarters that went his way. He was about as lazy as he was lucky, and he had no problem letting other people do his job so long as he got to wear the big hat and collect the paycheck.
Jeffrey said, “The call came in to one of his deputies last night. He didn’t follow up on it until this morning, when he realized they’re not in his jurisdiction.”
“Ed called you?”
“He called the family and told them they’d have to take it up with us.”
“Nice,” she said. “Did he know about our Jane Doe?”
Jeffrey was more diplomatic than Lena would have been. “That cocksucker wouldn’t know if his own ass was on fire.”
She snorted a laugh. “Who’s Lev?”
“What?”
“The name under here,” she said, showing him the directions. “You wrote ‘Lev’ and underlined it.”
“Oh,” Jeffrey said, obviously not paying attention to her as he slowed down to read another sign.
“ Santa Maria,” Lena read, recognizing the names of the ships from her junior high school history class. “What are they, a bunch of pilgrims?”
“The pilgrims came over on the Mayflower.”
“Oh,” Lena said. There was a reason her school counselor had told her college wasn’t right for everyone.
“ Columbus led the Niña, Pinta and Santa María.”
“Right.” She could feel Jeffrey staring at her, probably wondering if she had a brain in her head. “ Columbus.”
Thankfully, he changed the subject. “Lev’s the one who called this morning,” Jeffrey told her, speeding up. The tires kicked back gravel and Lena saw a cloud behind them in the side-view mirror. “He’s the uncle. I called back and spoke with the father.”
“Uncle, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jeffrey said. “We’ll take a close look at him.” He braked to a stop as the road made a sharp left into a dead end.
“ Plymouth,” Lena said, pointing to a narrow dirt road on the right.
Jeffrey reversed the car so he could make the turn without going into a ditch. “I ran their names through the computer.”
“Any hits?”
“The father got a speeding ticket in Atlanta two days ago.”
“Nice alibi.”
“ Atlanta ’s not that far away,” he pointed out. “Who the hell would live way out here?”
“Not me,” Lena answered. She looked out her window at the rolling pastures. There were cows grazing and a couple of horses ran in the distance like something out of a movie. Some people might think this was a slice of heaven, but Lena needed more to do than look at the cows all day.
“When did all this get here?” Jeffrey asked.
Lena looked on his side of the road, seeing a huge farm with row after row of plants. She asked, “Are those peanuts?”
“They look a little tall for that.”
“What else grows out here?”
“Republicans and unemployment,” he said. “This has to be some kind of corporate farm. Nobody could afford to run a place this size on their own.”
“There you go.” Lena pointed to a sign at the head of a winding driveway that led to a series of buildings. The words “Holy Grown Soy Cooperative” were written in fancy gold script. Underneath this, in smaller letters, it said “Est. 1984.”
Lena asked, “Like hippies?”
“Who knows,” Jeffrey said, rolling up the window as the smell of manure came into the car. “I’d hate to have to live across from this place.”
She saw a large, modern-looking barn with a group of at least fifty workers milling about outside. They were probably on break. “The soy business must be doing well.”
He slowed the car to a stop in the middle of the road. “Is this place even on the map?”
Lena opened the glove compartment and took out the spiral-bound Grant County and surrounding areas street map. She was flipping through the pages, looking for Avondale, when Jeffrey mumbled a curse and turned toward the farm. One thing she liked about her boss was that he wasn’t afraid to ask for directions. Greg had been the same way- usually it was Lena saying they should just go a couple of more miles and see if they lucked out and found their destination.
The driveway to the barn was more like a two-lane road, both sides rutted deep from tires. They probably had heavy trucks in and out to pick up the soy or whatever it was they grew here. Lena didn’t know what soy looked like, but she imagined it would take a lot to fill a box, let alone a whole truck.
“We’ll try here,” Jeffrey said, slamming the gear into park. She could tell he was irritated, but didn’t know if it was because they had gotten lost or because the detour kept the family waiting even longer. She had learned from Jeffrey over the years that it was best to get the bad news out of the way as quickly as possible unless there was something important to be gained from waiting.
They walked around the big red barn and Lena saw a second group of workers standing behind it, a short, wiry-looking old man yelling so loud that even from fifty feet away, she could hear him clear as a bell.
“The Lord does not abide laziness!” the man was screaming, his finger inches from a younger man’s face. “Your weakness has cost us a full morning’s work!”
The man with the finger in his face looked down, contrite. There were two girls in the crowd, and they were both crying.
“Weakness and greed!” the old man proclaimed. Anger edged his tone so that each word sounded like an indictment. He had a Bible in his other hand, and he raised it into the air like a torch, shining the way toward enlightenment. “Your weakness will find you out!” he screamed. “The Lord will test you, and you must be strong!”
“Christ,” Jeffrey muttered, then, “Excuse me, sir?”
The man turned around, his scowl slipping into a puzzled look, then a frown. He was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt starched to within an inch of its life. His jeans were likewise stiff, a razor crease ironed into the front of the legs. A Braves ball cap sat on his head, his large ears sticking out on each side like billboards. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe spittle from his mouth. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Lena noticed that his voice was hoarse from yelling.