I shook my head silently. I was trying to decide if I was up to any more bodies or not. There was always the fact that it was the way I made our living; but there was also the fact that I felt like hell.
"Who do you think the bodies are?" I asked the sheriff. "I found all the locals that were missing."
"We went over the missing persons reports for the past five years," Rockwell said. "We found two more, somewhat over the age range of the boys in the Davey homesite."
"The what?"
"That house and garage and yard used to belong to Don Davey and his family. Don was a widower in his eighties. I barely remember him. He died about twelve years ago, and the house has been empty since. The relative who inherited lives in Oregon. She's never come back over here to look at the property. She hasn't made any move at all to dispose of it. She's about eighty herself and very indifferent to the idea of doing anything at all with the land."
"Did anyone offer to buy it before?"
Rockwell looked surprised. "No, she didn't mention anything like that."
"So where is this other place?"
"Inside an old barn. Dirt floor. Hasn't been used in ten years or more, but the owners just left it to fall down."
"Why do you think there might be more bodies there, specifically?"
"It's actually on the property of a mental health counselor named Tom Almand, who never comes this far back on the property. With all the to-do at the Davey place, the next-door neighbor, a deputy named Rob Tidmarsh, thought he'd check it out because it meets the same criteria as the Davey place: secluded, not in use, easy to dig. The barn floor's mostly dirt. Lo and behold, Rob found some disturbed spots on the floor."
"Have you checked it out yourself?"
"Not yet. We thought you could point us in the right direction."
"I don't think so. If the spots are that easy to make out, just sink a rod in and see if smell comes up. Or go for broke and dig a little. The bones won't be that deep, if the surface disturbance is so easy to see. It'll be a lot cheaper, and I can get out of Doraville."
"They want you. Twyla Cotton said they had money left, since you found the boys in one day." Sheriff Rockwell gave me a look I couldn't read. "You don't want the publicity? The press is all over this, as you found last night."
"I don't want any more to do with this."
"That's not my call," she said, with some apparently genuine regret.
I looked down at my lap. I was so sleepy, I was worried I'd drift off while I sat there in the sheriff's office. "No," I said. "I won't do it."
Tolliver rose right along with me, his face expressionless. The sheriff was staring at us as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You have to," she said.
"Why?"
"Because we're telling you to. It's what you can do."
"I've given you alternatives. I want to leave."
"Then I'll arrest you."
"On what grounds?"
"Obstructing an investigation. Something. It won't be hard."
"So you're trying to blackmail me into staying? What kind of law enforcement officer are you?"
"One who wants these murders solved."
"Then arrest me," I said recklessly. "I won't do it."
"You're not strong enough to go into jail," Tolliver said, his voice quiet. I leaned against him, fighting a feeling of terrible weariness. His arms went around me, and I rested my head against his chest. I had a few seconds' peace before I made my brain begin working again.
He was right. With a cracked arm and a head that hadn't healed, I wouldn't have a good time even in a small-town jail like the one in Doraville. And if the town shared a jail with other nearby towns, as was probably the case, I might fare even worse. So I'd have to do what "they" wanted me to, and I might as well bite the bullet and get it done. But who were "they"? Did Sheriff Rockwell mean the state police?
I had to pull myself away from Tolliver. I was accepting his support under false pretenses, and sooner or later I'd have to admit it.
"You need to eat," he said, and I thudded back down to reality.
"Yes," I said. I did need something to eat, and it would help if we had a place to stay afterwards. I'd need to rest, whether or not the result was a fresh crop of bodies.
"All right then," I said. "I'm going to go eat something, and then we'll meet you."
"Don't think you can get out of town without us seeing you," she said.
"I really don't like you," I said.
She looked down. I don't know what expression she wanted to hide. Maybe at the moment she wasn't too fond of herself.
We stole out of the back of the station and finally found a fast-food chain place that looked pretty anonymous. It was too cold to eat in the car. We had to go in. Fortunately, no one in there seemed to read the papers, or else they were simply too polite to accost me. Which meant there weren't any reporters. Either way, I got to eat the food in peace. At least with food this simple, there was nothing Tolliver had to cut up for me. All the aid he had to supply was ripping open the ketchup packets and putting the straw in the drink. I ate slowly because after we finished I'd have to go to the damn barn, and I didn't want to.
"I think this sucks," I said after I'd eaten half the hamburger. "Not the food, but the situation."
"I do, too," he said. "But I don't see how we can get out of it without more fuss than doing it will be."
I started to snap at him, to remind him that it was me that would be doing the unpleasant task; that he would be standing by, as always. Fortunately, I shut my mouth before those awful words came out. I was horrified at how I could have ripped up our relationship based on a moment's peevishness. How many times a week did I thank God that I had Tolliver with me? How many times did I feel grateful that he was there to act as a buffer between me and the world?
"Harper?"
"What?"
"You're looking at me weird. What's the matter?"
"I was just thinking."
"You must have been thinking some bad thoughts."
"Yeah."
"Are you mad at me for some reason? You think I should have argued more with the sheriff?"
"I don't think that would've done any good."
"Me, either. So why the mad face?"
"I was mad at myself."
"That's not good. You haven't done anything wrong."
I tried not to heave a sigh. "I do wrong things all the time," I said, and if my voice was morose, well, I just couldn't help it. I knew I wanted more from Tolliver than he could or should give me, and I had to hide that knowledge from everyone, especially from him.
I was definitely on a "my life sucks" kick, and the sooner I got off of it, the better life would be.
We called Sheriff Rockwell on our way back to the station so she could meet us outside. We parked our car and climbed into hers. "He doesn't need to come," she said, nodding her head at Tolliver.
"He comes," I said. "That's not a negotiation point. I'd rather talk to the reporters for an hour than go somewhere without him."
She gave me a very sharp look. Then she shrugged. "All right," she said. "He comes along."
As she turned out of the parking lot, she turned yet again so she wouldn't drive past the front of the station. I'd wondered if she might be a glory hound, yet she was avoiding the media. I couldn't figure her out at all.
Even though I'd had some food and some time out, by the time we reached our destination at the very edge of town I was realizing my body was far from healed. There were some pain pills in the pharmacy bag back in our car. I wished I'd brought them with us, but I had to admit to myself that I wouldn't have taken one before I worked. I didn't know what would happen if I fiddled with the procedure. For a moment, I entertained myself with a few possibilities, but the fun of that palled pretty quickly. By the time Sheriff Rockwell pulled to a stop, I was leaning my head against the cold glass of the window.