At the Patch-Five everyone already knows about the ongoing Police investigation. The Emergency Response cart with a real running horse is impossible to hide, especially from the curious Chinamerican kids. Besides, Woxman's trainees have marked their presence by asking their stupid questions, and Python Tom, in his blue scene coverall and with his aluminum CSI box looks just like an astronaut from Sci-Fi comics. Fortunately enough, yesterday I've got a brief second to whisper some proper instructions to the trainees' ears.
“If a single soul in the Patch learns about the blood and the gut-driver,” I've told them, “I am not going to investigate who can't hold his mouth shut. I shall rip the balls from two very specific, known to all of us, trainees. Deputy Investigator Woxman, with all his might, will not be able to help these poor bastards, understood?”
As far as I can tell by asking few indirect questions this morning, two specific trainees have kept their mouths shut, no problems. The Patch population believes that Mr Victor Chen has reported his father missing. To cover the trail completely, I've shared with some key local gossip-makers (“only for you ma'am, I know I can trust you such a secret”) that Victor Chen and Deputy Investigator Woxman have spent the night checking all the medical facilities this side of Sheldon Reservoir. Obviously, the people don't need to know that Victor Chen has spent the night in the Station slammer, as the primary suspect in a murder case.
I've managed neither two nor even one hundred volunteers, but my morning recruiting session results turn out above the initial pessimistic expectations: five adults and sixty-seven teenagers, of which fifty-five are boys. Exactly at half-past seven, I line up my barefoot search party in front of His Excellency Deputy Investigator Woxman, may he fry himself in hell for eternity.
“Deputy Kim, why you are not wearing your uniform today?” Deputy Investigator raises his eyebrows, “And why, for god sake, you have no shoes?” Well, he may not understand the practical psychology, and surely he has no idea how to collect volunteers in the slum, but why does he start the day with a confrontation?
“We will be searching in such places, sir. A bit on the dirty side, you know. Personally I prefer to save my uniform for some better occasion. As for you, I strongly recommend to leave your boots at the Patch and roll up your pants. On the rice paddies, the boots are not very practical. You end up falling in the mud.”
Woxman ignores my proposal. I don't insist. If somebody has no common sense, even the best advices are useless. “And if I remember correctly, yesterday I've asked for two hundred volunteers, but you only have fifty. At that – only kids, goddammit.”
“Quite a bit more than fifty, sir. Seventy-two all together, including five adults. All we can do at such a short notice. Naturally, if you want, you and I can do another loop through the Patch. If you convince five more people to join our search party, I shall give you… let say, one hundred bucks. But hence we don't want our bet to be one-sided, let's also do this: if we can't add five more volunteers, you've got to give me one hundred, deal?”
“OK, Deputy, let's not waste time on stupid bets. Seventy-two volunteers are probably enough.” He is well aware that there is no way he can summon five more volunteers, and he does not want to lose one hundred. “Where do you want to start the search?”
Oh, finally! The first reasonable sentence through the entire morning. After all, Woxman is not a total dummy. Just one more guy with near-zero experience but overinflated self-esteem. Honestly, I have been expecting the worst: that he would start giving orders himself, alienate the locals and screw up the search.
“I suggest we start with that thicket in the West.”
“Why not from the vegetable beds?”
“If you have only few hours, no way you can hide a body in there. There are some exceptions, but on average the Chinese here wake up before sunrise and treat each little cabbage as the first child in the family. Those obsessed veggie owners will positively see the beds being tampered with. It would be as obvious as dumping the corpse at the Patch common grounds.”
“Good logic, sir. Well, let's proceed with the thicket.”
OK, and proceed we will. First thing first, the volunteers' briefing. Ladies and gentlemen! Our good neighbor, Mister. Chen Te-Sheng, fifty-four years of age, has been reported missing. I trust everybody here knows him quite well. Mister Chen left home yesterday, presumably after four PM. Very likely, he had a medical emergency of some sort, for example a heart attack. We must find Mister Chen! Now listen carefully. If someone finds a body: do not touch anything, repeat: no touching! Step back and report the find immediately. If someone finds anything unusuaclass="underline" a garment, or a bag, or something like this, do not touch it. Step back and report the find immediately. Is that clear? Step back and report immediately.
Now special instructions! For the boys. Do not chase small animals! Do not look for birds' nests! And for God sake, leave the snakes alone. The snakes don't attack you unless you step on them, right? Is everything clear? Questions?
What if we find the old man alive? Easy. If he is conscious, bow politely and say hello! Ask if he needs any help. If he is unconscious, do the CPR! No, wait! You don't know much about the CPR. Who knows? You, sir? From the Army? Excellent! Boys and girls! Uncle Nathan will be our dedicated paramedic. Call Uncle Nathan for the CPR, OK? More questions?
Can you bang from my gun? Do you see I have my sidearm with me today, young man? No, no, you cannot bang from the sidearm of Mister Deputy Investigator. Why? Because for each bang he has to write a report, that's why! I also have to write such reports. One bang, two hours of paperwork. Absolutely no fun, believe me. Well, if any of you finds Mister Chen, I will trust this good scout to disassemble and clean my Glock-17, agreed? Yes, I will allow this hero to touch my handcuffs too! What? Of course, my handcuffs are real! We don't have no toys in Police! OK, boys, the other questions you will ask at some later date. Line up for the starting point! Chop-chop!
Twenty minutes later, the line is combing the undergrowth. Woxman and I walk behind, enjoying the cheerful shouts of our young volunteers and providing overall command and quality control. I carefully push tall grass with my bare feet. Fourteen years after the Meltdown, all the metal and plastic garbage has been collected, but in the thicket like this one may still encounter a broken bottle. Woxman stomps the grass with his army boots. Admittedly, for the forest the boots are quite useful. Perhaps, I have been a bit overconfident leaving my tire sandals at home.
“I admit, the boys are better suited for this type of work,” the Deputy Investigator says. “The adults don't give a damn about the dead body. Instead of searching, they would be thinking about their veggies, or the next trip to the 'Fill, or about their shops, or whatever else they have here.”
“I believe we have a pretty good cut,” I nod, “Enough adults to keep the boys under control, and enough kids to keep the search enthusiastic. In about an hour, we will be done with the thicket, and can start on the main thing – the ditches.”