“Funny, when I go out to question people, whatever the crime, I sweep up a lot of dust.”
“Guess you do.”
“In your line of work, I’m sure you pick up a lot, too.”
“People usually talk to their doctors.” Walter jingled the keys in his pocket.
“There’s jockeying for power in the hunt club. Hey, maybe it was a crank call. People are worried about Sister getting too old,” Ben said.
Walter took his hand out of his pocket, waving away this thought.“She’ll outlive us all.”
Ben laughed.“She just might.”
One of the divers surfaced, flipped up his face mask, and clung to the side of the boat.
Carl Walsh, sitting at the oars, cupped his hand to his mouth and hollered,“Sheriff, found the top of a fiftyfive-gallon drum. Can’t see the rest of it, it’s sunk all the way in the mud.”
Ben crossed the bridge to the northerly side.“Well, see if they can get chains around it.”
“Bet there’s a stove and a refrigerator down there, too.” Walter crossed over with him.
“Just one?” Ben hid his anticipation behind humor.
An hour later, a black fiftyfive-gallon drum rested on the shore directly under the bridge. The label had long since washed away, but it appeared to be an old oil drum, maybe a paint drum. A few holes, tiny, had been punched into the metal by rocks or fast-moving debris.
What was curious about it was that the top was welded into place. A rattle could be heard inside when the drum was jostled. And it was heavy, off balance.
“Must be someone in Norwood with an acetylene torch.” Ben didn’t want to move the drum any more if he could help it. “Carl, call in for a department photographer, too.”
Another forty-five minutes passed before Frank Kinser, a distant relative of Doug’s, was there with his torch. The photographer arrived, too.
Walter stood back as the blue sparks flew.
Within minutes the lid, cleanly cut, was lifted off.
“Jesus Christ!” Frank cut off his torch, his eyes wide.
A few scraps of cloth clung to a jumble of bones. In the bottom of the drum was a blacksmith’s anvil.
The photographer clicked away. Ben carefully observed the remains but did not touch or remove them.
Walter felt that there would be hell to pay.
CHAPTER 18
Technology makes a good servant but a bad master. When the Internet first got rolling, Sister Jane hopped on the bandwagon. Her phone bills soon reached stratospheric proportions. She continued using e-mail only to send out notes to the Hunt’s Board of Governors and dear friends. The research possibilities pleased her, but more often than not she found she’d much rather pull out her oldEncyclopaedia Britannicas. The writing could be quite good, and pausing to peruse subjects other than the searched-for subject always provided unexpected delights.
Keeping expenses down was a struggle she shared with millions of Americans who were no longer driven by hunger or need but were victims of advertising and their own acquisitive natures. Wonderful as the Internet might be, it cost money. Before you knew it you were paying for services and technology you didn’t really need.
One of these nonnecessities Sister still indulged was Caller I.D. When her mysterious phone call came in, the number appeared on the small telephone screen: 555-7644. Naturally, she gave the number to Ben Sidell, but she already knew it was the outside pay phone at Roger’s Corner.
The sheriff called Roger, who dutifully looked out the window, but by then no one was standing at the pay phone. The last hour before Roger’s ten P.M. closing time often proved hectic as people came by for a last pack of cigarettes or muffins for breakfast.
Roger’s Corner stayed open on Sundays, but Roger himself took the day off. That Sunday morning, Sister drove down there and parked by the blue eggshell that housed the phone. Gone was the tall glass phone booth with the folding door. The replacement was a cheap small plastic egg offering no protection from the elements. She knew what it looked like, but still for some reason she wanted to check out the phone.
People waved to her as they strolled in and out of the store. Why she wanted to pick up the phone, she didn’t know.
Kyle Dawson, Ronnie Haslip, and Dr. Tandy Zachs came and went, all of them riding or social members of the hunt. Finally, she realized she couldn’t stand there all day, as no new thoughts were coming to her. She climbed back into the truck and drove to After All Farm.
The sheriff’s car and Walter’s truck, parked in the driveway, made her question if she should go in. She decided she would when Tedi, who had heard her drive up, opened the front door and waved her in. “Come on. Kitchen.”
Seated in the cavernous kitchen she found Edward, Sybil, Ken, Ben, and Walter. The men rose when Sister entered the room.
Edward pulled up a chair for her.
Ben smiled but gave her a look. She interpreted it to mean she should keep quiet. Walter sat beside her, draping his arm over the back of her chair. She liked that.
“I’m sorry to barge in.”
“You could never barge in,” Tedi replied.
“Mrs. Arnold, I was just informing the Bancrofts that I received a telephone tip, a voice that was unidentified, telling me to search off the Norwood Bridge.” Ben kicked himself. He’d slipped up in his haste to gather together a team to rendezvous at the bridge at sunrise, and neglectedto order Sister to keep her mouth shut.
Ben assumed gossip wasn’t Sister’s lifeblood, but she could have told a few friends. He’d talk to her afterward, but he was worried. He’d made a mistake. He didn’t want Sister Jane to pay for it.
Sister understood Ben’s intention when he said that he’d received the phone call.
“Sheriff, I take it you found something or you wouldn’t be here,” Edward surmised.
“Yes. I asked the Doc to be with me this morning.” Again, Ben didn’t round out the fact that Sister had called Walter’s from Shaker’s cottage. “A fiftyfive-gallon drum mired in the silt and muck was discovered at seven-thirty this morning. Once we raised it, we cut off the top, as it was soldered shut.” Everyone held their breath as Ben continued. “Upon opening it, we discovered it contained human remains. How long the body had been there I can’t ascertain, but I would guess for years. We might have a positive I.D. later today.”
“So soon?” Ken questioned.
“Larry Hund is meeting the coroner in about an hour.” Larry was one of the area’s best dentists, a man who had been practicing for twentyfive years.
Tedi folded her hands together on the table and it seemed to Sister that the sapphire burned brighter on her hand.“Ben, you think you know who that body is. That’s why you’re here. Who is it?”
“Like I said, Mrs. Bancroft, I think we’ll have a positive I.D. in an hour or so.”
“Was the body recognizable?” Sybil felt a rising panic.
“No flesh remained, a bit of clothing. We know it was a man,” Ben replied.
“Oh God,” Sybil whispered.
“Hotspur.” Tedi Bancroft suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for Alice Ramy. “Does Alice know?”
“I have a deputy with her now and I’ll be going over there after I leave here,” Ben quietly answered. “Again, the I.D. isn’t positive, but we are working from the standpoint that the body may be Guy Ramy because of circumstances.”
“And you know that whoever killed Guy didn’t dispose of the body alone. It would take a Hercules to stuff a man like Guy into a fiftyfive-gallon drum, solder it, and then heave it over the bridge,” Edward said with a grimace.
“Yes, we are working from that angle as well,” Ben said. “Two or more people.”
Ken, ashen-faced, simply said,“Horrible. This is horrible.”
Ben had hurried to the Bancrofts’ because bad news travels fast. He did not want them to receive a phone call from Mr. Kinser or an onlooker. He wished the I.D. could be 100 percent certain, but the feelings of the Bancrofts were important to him. Ben was a sensitive man in a rough line of work. And he knew the discovery oftwo bodies would have the killer or killers rattled. What they had thought was long buried had arisen from the dead. Feeling in danger, they might endanger others.