"That there, ladies and gentlemen, is a ninety-five-ton Bucyrus steam shovel circa early 1900s," Reedy said reverently. "It took seventy-seven of those monsters and another twenty-five or so Marions to dig the Panama Canal."
"So what?" Tom Warren asked.
"So what? So what, you dog-loving SOB," the geology professor replied in mock anger. "Digging the nearly fifty miles that it took for the Panama Canal was and remains one of the largest and most difficult engineering feats ever. More than twenty-seven thousand workers died, mostly of malaria and landslides. That beautiful piece of machinery you so crudely dismissed as a 'so what' chewed through rock like a rabbit through lettuce; it literally moved mountains. There's even a rather famous photograph of Teddy Roosevelt standing on one in the Canal Zone."
"Geez, do you like anything that actually has a heartbeat?" Warren teased.
"My rock hound," Reedy replied, and winked at Marlene. "Living things are too much trouble, give me minerals, give me rocks. Now, there's stability."
The rest of the group broke into smiles at the banter. The two men were best friends and their debates, usually fueled by beers, and hip-deep fishing in a trout stream, were legendary. "Then let me amend my question to 'So what does that mean to those of us in this room and the actual task we are trying to perform?'" Warren asked.
Reedy thought about the question for a minute before answering. "Bear with my little stream of consciousness here. First, Bucyrus International still exists. They're out of Milwaukee and are, in fact, one of the world's leading manufacturers of surface mining equipment. That dinosaur on the screen was state of the art in its day and for quite some time afterward, but the company has long since moved on. I'll bet not more than a dozen of these haven't been scrapped, and I'd be amazed if half of them can still fire up. I don't know if the one in the photograph is still in operating order, but I'll bet you the folks at Bucyrus have records on where their machines ended up, and might be able to tell us if any are in the Pacific Northwest."
Swanburg beamed. "Good work, James. I assume you'll want to follow this up with Bucyrus to narrow down our search."
"My pleasure," Reedy said. "I can't wait to see that baby up close and personal."
"That's still a lot of ground to cover to look for a buried car," Gates noted. "The landscape can change, and I suspect that's particularly true in a gravel pit. If they moved that machine, it will make it more difficult to pinpoint where to dig."
The group was silent as they looked at the photograph. "You said the gravel pit might be part of a dry riverbed?" Adare asked.
"Yep, the gravel may have been deposited by an ancient river or even pushed there by glaciers," Reedy replied.
"Well, my idea is to use the dogs," Adare said. "Remember how they picked up that child's scent in the groundwater downgrade from the actual grave?"
"We've had some luck that way," Warren agreed. "But it depends what time of year we're going to be searching."
All eyes turned on Marlene. "Well, the O'Toole trial is the end of this month and if finding Maria Santacristina has a bearing on that, I'd like to have the evidence available then," she said.
"Well, that could be tough for the hounds," Warren said. "In March, at that latitude and elevation, there may be quite a bit of snow on the ground, which isn't the big problem, but frozen soil can be. As you all know, cadaver dogs are trained to hit on the scent of chemicals released by the decomposition of human cells. In the case of burials, they catch the scent as it comes up through tiny cracks in the ground. But in winter, the snow falls, then it melts, then it freezes, which makes a barrier between the scent and the dog. They might walk right over a grave and miss it."
Again the group was quiet, thinking, until Reedy spoke. "The ground is only frozen two or three feet down," he said. "Below that, the groundwater is moving downhill just like it would be on the surface. That pit would have to be what, six feet deep at least to cover that car. Which means the groundwater at the bottom and even as high as our victim is still flowing."
It looked like a lightbulb went off above Warren's head. "I see what you're getting at," he said as the smile grew on his face. "You want to try our little theory on the pipes. But we've never had the opportunity to test it and see if it works."
Reedy grinned. "No time like the present." He turned to Marlene. "So do you know of any gravel pits in that neck of the woods? It would probably be near a highway to make it easy to supply road material and sand for snowstorms to the highway department."
Marlene nodded grimly. "Oh yeah, I know where I can find a gravel pit." She turned to Lucy. "It's owned by the Unified Church of the Aryan People, which also has its compound on the premises."
"Hmm," Swanburg mused. "I don't suppose they're likely to open the gates and let us snoop about, eh?"
Marlene shook her head. "Doubt it. I think we're going to need a warrant. Like I said, the local prosecutor will cooperate, but he's going to need everything you guys can give him to go before a judge with."
"We can do that," Swanburg said. "In the meantime, we also need to brainstorm about these 'pipes' the boys are talking about, as well as what else we might need to find and excavate a Cadillac with the ground frozen solid." Noting the concerned look on Marlene's face, he quickly added, "But these are the challenges we live for."
"I have an idea about that, too," Adare said.
"So do I," Reedy chimed in. "Especially if those damn dogs could for once pull their weight in Purina and get us close."
"Watch it, Reedy, or I'll bring my new addition to the team," Warren warned. "A pit bull that will love chewing on that tough old ass of yours."
The room was soon buzzing with excited scientists running theories past one another; then Swanburg brought the side discussions to a halt. "These Unified Church folks," he said, "I take it they might react violently if the law shows up and wants to poke around on their property. I can see another Waco, Texas, or Ruby Ridge. I don't fancy getting shot. So what are we going to have for security?"
Again, Marlene felt everybody's eyes on her. "I think you're right to be concerned," she said. "These types aren't always the brightest bulbs in the lamp. And they can get pretty nasty when the government comes calling. I'm not sure if the local police can be trusted either; we have reason to believe that there may be one or two sympathetic Aryan types on the force who might give a warning. I do have another idea, but I'll need to talk it over with Zook, the prosecutor."
The meeting broke up and the group moved down the highway to a roadside grill for burgers and beer, where they regaled Marlene, Lucy, and Ned with stories of their exploits.
The first to get up to leave was Reedy. "I'll call Bucyrus when I get back from my trip, and we can talk about this other stuff," he announced.
"Where are you going?" Marlene asked.
"Actually, I'm heading to your neck of the woods, at least when you're home. I belong to a group of bagpipers called the Irish Society of County Dunbar, Denver Chapter. We're off to march with the other Sons of Ireland in the St. Patrick's Day Parade in New York."
"What did you just say?" The group turned toward the voice. Lucy was just emerging from the restroom. "I didn't quite hear that," she said.
"I was just telling your mom that I belong to an Irish bagpipers association and…"
"No, about the St. Patrick's Day Parade?"
"Oh, just that we're going to march with the other sons of Ireland. It's the largest St. Patrick's Day Parade in the world, you know…" He would have said more, but Lucy turned white and pulled her cell phone out of her purse as she left the restaurant with Ned.