Corpus de Crossword (5 page)

Taki nodded and climbed out of the dig. Sean turned his attention to Nikos.

“Alright, Nikos, we've got to get rid of this stuff. And we've got to get it out of here without anyone seeing us. I want you to finish digging it up with the backhoe. Then smash the bones with the bucket as best you can—enough so that no one can figure out what the hell it is. Especially the skull—that's the first thing these guys will recognize. One of 'em might even want to take it home for Hallowe'en … I'll bring my truck around; you can drop the load into the bed; and I'll dump it in the lake or somewhere tonight.”

Nikos looked down at the skull, then toward the backhoe, and eventually back to Sean. “I can't do that, boss.”

“What do you mean, you can't do that?”

“This is a person. This is the skeleton of a person. It is sacred. He must be given a proper burial.”

“What? Are you nuts? He's an Indian. That's who lived around here originally … All those tribes, hunting and stuff … living in the woods. He already had a proper burial. That's why he's here in the first place …”

When Nikos didn't answer, Sean continued in what he hoped was a rational explanation. His pink-red hair bristled, and the skin of his ruddy face glistened with sweat and nervous exertion. “Look, Nikos, if anyone finds out about this thing we're going to be shut down for weeks. Maybe longer. Maybe a lot longer … We could get archaeologists in here, tribal representatives poking around … Maybe the site is declared off limits for building … Maybe they start uncovering more stuff … a burial mound, stuff like that. Hell, they could even find an entire Indian village up here. And you know what that would mean? It would mean you, me, Taki, everybody on this site will be out of work—and even worse, we'd have one really angry homeowner on our tails. And I bet our Mr. Gordon knows from lawsuits: breach of contract, stuff like that. If he's got the kind of dough he's throwing into a place like this …? Hell, I could be out of some major bucks—”

“You don't know the skeleton belongs to an Indian.”

Sean let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Oh, man, what am I talking to here, a wall? The point is:
Whoever's
skull this is is dead. A long time. And if our anxious homeowner's
real
lucky and the skeleton
doesn't
belong to a Native American, the police are still gonna come in here with tweezers and spoons and yellow crime scene tape. Do you have any idea how long that could take?”

“It's still not right.”

Sean placed his arm over Nikos's shoulder. “What's the problem here? Do you need a raise? Is that it? A little bonus, maybe?”

“This man must have a proper burial.”

“Dammit, Nikos, he's already had one. You found him in the earth, right? Well, that's where people get buried.”

Nikos walked over to the backhoe, removed the keys, and dropped them into his pocket. “We need to call the authorities, boss. It's the only way.”

“You do that and you're fired, buddy. Do you hear me? You'll never work for this company again. I swear, Nikos, your name will be mud from Rhode Island to Maine.”

Nikos shrugged. “So be it.”

CHAPTER 7

“You've got to be kidding me,” Sean Reilly snapped at Lonnie Tucker. He took a step closer to Lonnie, making his superior size and strength all the more conspicuous. “If you think you can close down this site, you've got another think coming, buddy. Mr. Gordon will have every lawyer in Boston down your throat before the sun sets.”

Lonnie Tucker owned the Chevron station that had once belonged to Gus Waterwick. Besides providing Taneysville with gasoline, car oil, an air pump, and numerous laconic remarks from the various folks who manned the place, the filling station was the only auto repair shop in the vicinity. Tucker, a master mechanic, did double duty as the community's elected constable. It was a job he took very seriously, even though its sole requirement, as of late, seemed to be helping the volunteer fire department search for missing dogs and cats. Lonnie was a short five feet two inches tall, but solidly built for his age—an age revealed by a receding hairline and the deeply sun-etched lines of his perpetually tanned face. A fading reminder of his twenty-two years in the navy was visible in a tattoo of an anchor on his left forearm.

Taneysville's constable didn't bother to look up at Sean, but instead kept his eyes fixed on the skull that protruded from the ground near his feet. “Well, first off, Mr. Reilly, when I was stationed down in Groton—that's in Connecticut—I had the opportunity to visit an archaeological dig. See, I can trace my family tree way back, and some Pequots show up here and there, so it's always been a kind of interest of mine—Native American culture, that is.”

“Come off it. This is no damn burial ground and you know it.” Sean moved closer to Lonnie, but the intended intimidation had no effect.

“I wouldn't be too sure there, Mr. Reilly … but, then, I'm no expert, not by a long shot … However, in support of
your
theory, I'd have to agree that this skull doesn't look nearly as aged as the ones I saw down in Connecticut. Actually—”

“Look, buddy, if you're lookin' for some casino deal up here like the one they got themselves in Connecticut—”

Lonnie lifted his hand and Sean fell silent. “You're not helping your case by calling me ‘buddy,' Mr. Reilly. You've been presented with my I.D.; and until we're drinking beers together over at Eddie's Elbow Room, I suggest you try calling me Constable … or Mr. Tucker. Understood?”

Sean groaned slightly, resisting the temptation to mutter,
Short guy with way too much power
.

“Now, this can go one of two ways,” Lonnie continued. “I can either call the state's Council on Native American Indian Affairs—”

“Hold it. Stop right there,” Sean barked. “These local yokels have put you up to this. I'll place money on it.” He pulled his cell phone from his work belt. “I'm calling Mr. Gordon. We're getting some lawyers out here … You can't get away with this.”

“You're not hearing me out, Mr. Reilly. The other option I have—at this point—is to assess that these skeletal remains do not belong to a Native American. Which, believe it or not, I'm inclined to do.”

“Meaning …”

“Meaning, I do some digging … see what else I unearth before that nor'easter blows in. Then I send my findings over to the forensics specialists in Newcastle for analysis.”

Sean smiled, sensing a glimmer of hope. “And then I can get my men back to work …?”

“As long as their work doesn't involve any more digging, sure.”

Sean exploded once more. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Until the Newcastle lab confirms that this skull is not that of a Native American, or that this is not a crime scene—meaning that no criminal activity has been committed on these premises—I want nothing disturbed. No further work can be done in this vicinity until I get the okay from Newcastle. That goes for the interior of the house, as well. We've got to be careful here. After all, we might be talking homicide. I'm not saying we are …”

“Are you crazy?”

“That's my position.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“I don't know. Depends on how busy the forensics lab is. It's a city, know what I mean? They got homicides like any other urban population … So it depends on what kind of priority they put on it. Shouldn't be more than three weeks, a month at the most … that's my guesstimate—”

“A month? You can't do this. I'm calling the lawyers.”

“Call whoever you like.” Lonnie walked back to his truck. He returned with six wooden stakes, a small sledgehammer, and a roll of yellow Caution tape. He then began cordoning off the area where the skull had been found. “I'm going to block this section off. I only have Caution tape, but inform your men to read it as ‘Police Line, Do Not Cross.' I don't want anyone, and I mean
anyone,
to enter this area until I return. If I find anything moved, people are going to be arrested, and I mean that. Yokel or no yokel, it's within my authority, so don't push me. I'll be back in an hour … If I were you, Mr. Reilly, I'd dismiss my crew. Just a suggestion, but no point keeping them on the clock.”

Lonnie headed back toward his truck. Before he climbed up into the driver's seat he called out to Sean, “Tell your lawyers to rustle up a restraining order if you want to stop me. If they can't get one before five
P.M.,
they're wasting their time because I'll be driving those remains to Newcastle myself.”

True to his word Constable Tucker returned to the old Quigley property an hour later. He brought with him a large plastic bin he'd purchased from the hardware store, two shovels—one with a pointed tip, the other flat nosed—and Amanda Mott, a grade-school teacher and volunteer EMT with the Taneysville Fire Department. Amanda was in her late thirties, and taller than Lonnie by a good eight inches. Her demeanor was of the sunny, apple-cheeked New England variety that made strangers immediately think of fresh powder skiing, white-water rafting, and day-long hikes on unmarked mountain trails. She was also the type who insisted on looking at the bright side of things—at all costs. She liked to laugh, liked to see other people laugh, and wasn't opposed to. taking a caustic jab at those she felt deserved it. Pretensions—whether social, physical, or intellectual—didn't sit well with Amanda Mott.

“I appreciate your leaving your classroom to help me with this, Amanda,” Lonnie said as they approached the pit, back-hoe, and yellow tape. “I didn't know who else to call, but I figured you had some good knowledge of anatomy.” Then fearing an unattached and good-looking woman might take this statement the wrong way, he added, “I mean, you know … how bones fit together?”

“Ah, it's so nice to know that my reputation as a bod-person precedes me … Anyway, this breaks the routine. What's more exciting for a bunch of fifth and sixth graders than an emergency? And a dead body? The eighth grade English teacher's taking over till I get back.”

“The new guy?”

“One and the same … Mr. English Lit from Andover … He'll probably have them quoting Longfellow by the time I get back … ‘Listen my children, and you shall hear …'”

“Hey, I remember that one … ‘Paul Revere's Ride' … What comes next?”

“Sorry, that's the end of my literary party tricks. I fare much better with the bod thing.”

“I didn't mean it the way it sounded …”

Amanda raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “I'm a healthy female. Nothing wrong with that.”

Just as he'd been when Tucker had last seen him, Sean Reilly was leaning against the backhoe, arms folded aggressively across his chest, legs locked in defiance. The only difference to the scene was that he'd apparently taken the constable's advice and dismissed his crew, making the hilltop eerily empty and quiet. But when Sean saw Amanda he straightened and his face took on a guy-sizes-up-good-looking-woman grin. “Well, well, things are certainly starting to improve around here.” He extended his hand to Amanda. “The name's Sean Reilly. I'm the one who found the body … er, skull.”

Amanda gave him a quick once-over. Rather than shaking his hand, she tossed him her shovel as she ducked under the yellow tape. “I guess I heard the story somewhat differently, Mr. Reilly. Constable Tucker told me one of your workers found it. A gentleman by the name of Taki, was it?”

“Well, technically, yeah, sure, Taki did find it … but I phoned it in.”

“Now, I heard something else there, too—like, another worker made the call. Nikos, was it?”

“Sure … Nikos. But under my directive.”

“Well, you must be very proud of yourself. Being able to give important ‘directives' like that.” She gave Sean a disingenuous smile. “I don't think you'll be needed here any longer, Mr. Reilly. Actually, I've been told some men can find this sort of thing nauseating—especially if the flesh hasn't decomposed. We wouldn't want you to get ill, now, would we? I can take my shovel back now.”

“Hey, doll, I can handle anything.”

“Doll? Doll? Did you say
doll?”
Amanda placed a finger in her ear and wiggled it. “Am I hearing correctly? You did say doll, didn't you? As in Barbie … that kind of doll? Do I look like a doll to you?”

“Ahhh …”

Amanda turned toward Lonnie. “Do you need Mr. Reilly for further questioning, Constable? Or should he also vacate the premises? As was suggested only a moment ago.”

Lonnie suppressed a chuckle. “No, I don't think I'll be needing him, Ms. Mott.”

She turned back to Sean. “Well, then, I guess it's
adios, doll
. Be careful you don't slip and hurt yourself climbing up the embankment.”

The muscles in Sean's face twisted and pinched as he tried to develop a snappy comeback. Nothing came to mind, so he stormed off and clawed his way out of the hole.

Lonnie laughed. “Don't say I didn't warn you,
buddy.”

Amanda stared at Sean's departing figure and shook her head. “That kind always gets my goat. I wonder why?”

“Ahhh … too full of themselves?” Lonnie said, lacing it with a dose of facetiousness.

“By a long shot.” Amanda looked down at the skull. “So. Where do you want to start?”

“Head to toe, I guess. I want to get it all out of the ground and give this area a good once-over; especially with this nor'easter coming in … I don't want to miss a thing. It's either that or tarp over the entire site, and hope to keep the rain from turning this into a mud pit … which I don't think's gonna work.” Lonnie rubbed the back of his neck. “There's no way Newcastle's going to get someone out here before that storm rolls in, so I think this is the best approach.”