The headlights of the jeep caught the Aukowies swaying in the night’s air, still drunken from their feast. Durkin wished Dan Wolcott could’ve seen it. That sight would’ve changed his mind. But it was too late for that now. He went back to where the remains of the shed had been scattered, searched through the rubble and found one of his blankets. He brought it back to the jeep and used the machete to cut a strip widthwise from the material. After popping the trunk open, he used the dipstick to spread oil over the strip and then pushed it into the jeep’s fuel tank. He got back into the jeep, started it, and waited until the cigarette lighter turned hot enough. He took the lighter and held it against the oil-coated fabric until it caught on fire. It burned slower than he expected-the blanket must’ve been treated with flame retardant chemicals-but because of the oil spread on it, it did burn. When it had burned three-quarters of the way up, Jack Durkin placed the rock on the gas pedal. The rock wasn’t heavy enough to push it down much, but enough to where he could get the engine to rev up a bit. Reaching in, he put the jeep in drive. The jeep lurched forward, knocking the wind out of him and dragging him almost into the field before he was able to push himself out of it. Holding his ribs, he sat on the ground and watched as the jeep drove into the field and exploded. The blast knocked him over. He could feel the heat of it over his body. Then he could hear them screaming. Thousands of Aukowies burning to death, their cries piercing the night’s air. He cupped his hands hard over his ears and tried to block out the sound. Rolling up, he could see the flames spreading over the field and shooting up into the sky.
The ashes were still smoldering when the police car showed up. He looked over his shoulder and saw Bob Smith getting out of the car. He turned back to watch the dying embers blinking red across the field. A light flashed on the side of his face. He heard Smith call out, asking if that was him. He didn’t bother to respond. A minute later he could hear Smith breathing heavily out of his mouth. He looked out of the corner of his eyes to see Smith holding his nose.
“Gawd, it reeks here,” Smith said. “I don’t think I ever smelled anything worse. What did you do out here tonight?”
“Only what I had to.”
“Did you see Dan Wolcott?” Smith asked. “I got a call from his wife. He was supposed to be heading out here a while ago, but he hasn’t come home yet. She’s worried.”
“He was here,” Jack Durkin said. “He’s gone now.”
The police officer was flashing a light across the field and it hit the burned out shell of Wolcott’s jeep. The light froze on it.
“Oh my God,” Smith said. “What did you do tonight?”
Durkin didn’t bother to answer him. He just stood up and put his hands out in front so Officer Smith could cuff him.
Jack Durkin was taken to the State Police Station in Eastham and put in an interrogation room and told to wait. It was many hours later when police detective Dave Stone came in and introduced himself. He was about Durkin’s age, large-boned, with bloodshot eyes and a rumpled look about him. Along with a manila file stuffed under one arm, he carried a box of donuts and a tray holding two coffees into the room. He took a few sips from one of the coffees and slid the other over to Durkin and offered him a donut. Durkin looked blankly at both before shaking his head. He stared bleary-eyed at his watch until he could focus on it.
“It’s nine-ten in the morning,” Durkin complained. “I’ve been left alone here almost eight hours.”
“I apologize for that,” Stone said. He took another sip of his coffee and then a bite of his glazed donut. Brushing the crumbs from his lips, he added, “As you can probably guess, we’ve been busy. Now, Mr. Durkin, why don’t you tell me what happened last night.”
“I already told Bob everything.”
Stone nodded agreeably. “I know you did,” he said. “And we appreciate your cooperation, but why don’t you tell me again so that I can hear it in your words.”
Durkin stared hard at Stone’s artificially friendly smile. He was sure the detective was struggling not to react to how badly he smelled. He knew full well he reeked with both the stench of burnt Aukowies and all those weeks outside by himself. Fine with me, he thought. Let him suffer if he’s going to keep me here all night like that. He shrugged and took the coffee that had been offered to him. “You got cream and sugar for this?”
Stone took some sugar and cream packets from the cardboard tray and slid them over to Durkin, along with a plastic coffee stirrer.
“I ain’t got nothin’ different to tell you than what I told Bob Smith.”
“Why don’t you tell me anyway.”
“I killed Dan Wolcott, just like I told Bob.”
“That’s the part I’m confused about when I read your statement. How’d you do it again?”
“Wolcott didn’t believe me about the Aukowies. I challenged him to walk into the field. When he did they tore him apart.”
“And that’s how you killed him?”
“Yep.” Durkin stared coldly at Stone as he drank his coffee. “I knew what they were going to do to him. He wouldn’t have walked out there if it weren’t for me.”
Stone opened the manila folder and searched through the papers in it. He found the one he was looking for and skimmed his finger over it as he read it. Like Durkin, he had thick stubby fingers.
“And what about the machete?” he asked.
“What about it?”
“You didn’t use the machete to kill Sheriff Wolcott and cut his body up?”
“Of course not.”
“Mr. Durkin, we know you bought a machete yesterday from Hallwell’s Army Surplus store. We found it at the field.”
“I told you what happened.”
Stone flipped through the manila folder and pulled out a photograph. He placed it on the table in front of Durkin. The photograph showed the lower part of a boot that had been cut off at the ankle. A severed foot was plainly visible inside the boot.
“We brought dogs to the field,” Stone said. “They found this foot in the woods. It’s Sheriff Wolcott’s, isn’t it?”
Durkin nodded softly as he stared at the photograph. “They must’ve flung it out there in their frenzy.” He jerked his head up to meet Stone’s red eyes. “You took dogs out there? I bet they wouldn’t step foot in that field!”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“’Cause of the Aukowies growing there, that’s why!”
Stone let out a heavy sigh. “There’s nothing growing in that field.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Mr. Durkin, I left there only a half hour ago. There’s nothing there but ashes and a burnt out jeep. Your setting fire to the field did the trick. I doubt anything’s going to be growing there for a long time.”
Durkin sat back in his chair, a confused look spreading over his face. “That don’t make sense,” he said.
“Mr. Durkin, where’s the rest of Sheriff Wolcott’s body?”
“What?”
“I know you cut up Sheriff Wolcott’s body and left his foot in the woods. I also know you did this because you wanted to be caught, the same reason you hung around waiting for Officer Smith to come by and arrest you. Mr. Durkin, for the sake of Dan’s family, what did you do with the rest of his body?”
Durkin closed his mouth, his eyes vacant as he stared at the detective. “From this point on, I ain’t talking to you without a lawyer,” he said.
Jack Durkin was taken to the County Jail for processing. When the warden saw him, he immediately had one of his guards get Durkin a clean set of clothing. “You change into this,” the warden told Durkin, putting the new clothes and a bag outside his cell. “Leave what you got on in this bag. We’re going to have to throw your clothes away. No use trying to save them.”