Then Annie Clyde Dodson came stumbling along the river as he was rolling the panther in a tarp. Ellard froze, watching as she ran down the slick bank. It was only when she fell that he and the other men rushed to her side. They tried to help her up but she shook them off, her dress front heavy with mud. She went to the tarp and dropped on her knees, pulling a flap back. She stared down for a long time. When one of the men made as if to cover the stinking corpse Ellard stopped him. They allowed Annie Clyde to look until she was satisfied, the babbling river filling their silence. When she stirred at last they all scrambled again to help her to her feet. Ellard asked if he could take her home but she turned and went off on unsteady legs into the trees without him. He started after her but didn’t know in the end what she might do if he interfered. He’d told the constable before heading for Knoxville to keep an eye on her.
Now he felt like he had been away from Yuneetah too long. He began to regret his decision to come this far from home. He pulled out his pocket watch and shoved it back in his coat. He was considering going inside without Washburn when he heard the rap of knuckles against the glass at his ear. He dropped the stub of his cigarette into his lap and then flicked it out the window crack. Washburn stood back waiting as Ellard brushed the ash from his trousers and opened the door to get out. He was a handsome but solemn young man with startling blue eyes and dark blond hair slicked under a fedora. Their paths had crossed more than once in their effort to relocate the people of Yuneetah. In two years, Ellard hadn’t seen Washburn’s tie crooked or his shoes unpolished. He always smelled of pomade and aftershave, though he didn’t look old enough to grow whiskers. When Washburn offered his hand, their last meeting came back to Ellard. A month ago they had spoken in Ellard’s office about Annie Clyde Dodson. Ellard supposed they had known then it could come to something like this.
“Are you ready to go in?” Washburn asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” Ellard said.
He followed Washburn up the steps under the columned portico and into the lobby, their heels ringing as they passed a crowd of potential hires waiting outside the employment office. They rode up in the elevator to the third floor and went down a hallway, clacking typewriters behind the closed doors. At the end of the hall they were ushered by a secretary into the office of a man named Clarence Harville. The room had a low ceiling and one window with a half-pulled shade, showing a glimpse of the Tennessee Theatre sign across the street. Under the window there was an oak desk and beside it a row of filing cabinets. Against another wall were shelves stacked with ledgers and boxes of supplies. Ellard’s eyes moved over these things without seeing them. He and Washburn sat in silence as Harville spoke to someone outside the office door, wavy shapes behind patterned glass. When he came in at last, a dour old man in a tailored suit and round spectacles, Washburn and Ellard stood. “I’ve already kept you gentlemen too long,” Harville said, taking a seat behind his desk. “So I’ll get to the point. You both know as well as I do this could have been prevented.”
Ellard held his hat in his lap. “I don’t see that it matters now. There’s a child missing.”
Harville nodded. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’ve been concerned something like this would happen.” He looked at Washburn. “I want you to work with Sheriff Moody however you can.”
“Of course,” Washburn said. “I’ve made some calls about getting dogs out there—”
“Let’s leave that to state law enforcement,” Harville interrupted.
Washburn shrugged in his stiff-looking suit coat. “So far the state police have been slow to get involved. They might be more inclined to act if we put some pressure on them.”
“I’d rather not step on any toes, if we can avoid it,” Harville said.
“With respect, sir,” Washburn said. “We can’t worry about that.”
“I want to hear from the sheriff. What’s the quickest way to solve this?”
Ellard stared at the desktop, sun from the window lighting the objects there, a wire basket, an ashtray, a stamper, a mercury glass paperweight shaped like a globe. Anything to keep from looking at Harville’s smug face. “If the water was drained, we could cover more ground.”
Harville regarded Ellard overtop his spectacles. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“We’re going to need a drawdown. That’s all there is to it.”
Harville’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “A drawdown? We can’t do that.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“It would take a week to drain the lake. They’ve got to be out in two days.”
“Two days?” Washburn broke in. “You still mean to enforce the deadline?”
“I hope it won’t take a week to find her,” Ellard said. “But I have to plan on it.”
“I don’t have the authority to order a drawdown anyway,” Harville told him.
Ellard put on his hat. “Well then, I need to see somebody that does.”
“Wait a minute,” Washburn said. “Let’s talk about what we can do, not what we can’t.”
Harville turned from Ellard to Washburn. “You can go down and be with the family.”
Washburn shifted in his chair. “I’m heading out to Yuneetah as soon as we’re finished here. I’ll talk to the public relations staff first. We should get the child’s picture in the Sentinel—”
“Public relations is not your area either,” Harville spoke up, cutting the boy off again.
“Public relations,” Ellard said, his blood heating and his voice rising. “What in the hell are we talking about?” He rounded on Washburn. “What’s wrong with you, son? I might as well have come here by myself. You’re supposed to be an advocate for these people. You know them. This man don’t. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, letting him run over you this way.”
“There’s no reason to get loud,” Harville said. “We’re all on the same page.”
“But not on the newspaper page,” Ellard said. “Ain’t that right?”
Harville pursed his lips. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what I can do for you?”
“I done told you,” Ellard said. “I need a drawdown. I need the state police. I need the word out in the newspapers. I need bloodhounds. And I need you to put yourself in James Dodson’s shoes. He’s looking for his daughter while we’re sitting here talking about what all you can’t do. Washburn don’t have any children, but I’d say you’ve got some. Grandchildren, too.”
Harville slouched behind the desk, as if wearied by the turn things had taken. “Yes.”
“Then you ought to understand. Unless you think your babies are worth more than ours.”
Harville flushed. “I won’t sit here and listen to this.”
Ellard got up with balled fists. “You ain’t hearing me noway,” he said. Washburn sat forward, knees knocking against the desk. Ellard made himself pause. He lowered his voice. “That’s all right, Harville. I see how it is. It’s my problem and you people don’t give a damn.”