“This way.” Pickett led him to the body. “Don’t you need a warrant to do a search, Deputy?”
Mercer ignored him. He jumped onto a rafter, then crossed over the ruins of the woman’s bedroom. He had excellent balance and hopped nimbly from one spot to the next until he stood atop the mound of plaster.
“We came in through the front, initially,” Pickett said.
Mercer wrinkled his nose. “And destroyed valuable evidence in the process.”
“Which is what he’s doing,” I whispered to my grandfather. “The more they investigate, the less evidence there will be.”
Abner patted the breast pocket that stored his camera. “Pictures in, pictures out.”
His habit of taking photographs of every step of an investigation allowed him to revisit a crime scene as many times as he wanted, no matter how many cops had stomped the evidence into oblivion.
Mercer squatted on the plaster mound. “This is it? I can’t see a body here, just a bunch of maggots—Whoa! Whoa!”
His weight cracked the plaster. The mound crumbled. His feet scrambled for purchase in the rubble, coating his gray uniform in soot and dumping him onto the bedsprings.
Mercer landed hard.
“Can I get a hand?” he asked Pickett.
Pickett, Early, and Stuart shook their heads.
Abner took my hooligan and offered it to Mercer. “Take hold of this, deputy. Watch out for the tip, it’ll poke a hole clean through you.”
With a quick yank, Mercer was on his feet. “Thanks for nothing, Pickett. “
He was smacking the dust from his uniform when three more prowlers pulled in. They parked behind Abner’s Rover.
“Pete!” Sheriff Hoyt yelled. “What’re you doing wallowing in a crime scene?”
Mercer looked at us and then ran to meet Hoyt. “Sheriff! Maggots! Everywhere!”
“He didn’t even say thanks,” I said.
“They never do,” Abner said. “Take that poker back to my truck. Cover it in plastic so the blade doesn’t cut my seats.”
“Yes sir.”
A minute later, I opened the back of the Rover and slid the bare end of hooligan between the rear seats. I covered the head the way Abner asked, which seemed like overkill. The tool had never cut anything in my truck. But Abner was meticulous, and I’d learned a long time ago to follow his rules.
By the time I rejoined my grandfather, two deputies were carrying a body bag to the site. Another pair was stringing yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter, and Deputy Mercer stood next to the sheriff, still covered in plaster dust, taking notes as Hoyt questioned Abner. They moved on to Pickett’s men next.
I watched them intently for a few minutes as they gave nervous answers, with Pickett gesturing toward the house and then pointing at Abner.
“They’re making sure,” Abner said, “the cops knew I disturbed the crime scene.”
“If not for you, this wouldn’t be a crime scene.”
“Boone, it would’ve been easy to convince yourself the victim’s screams were wood whistling or air popping. Especially when your own folks thought you were wrong.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“I call ‘em like I see ‘em. For example, does the sheriff look like a man investigating a potential murder case to you?”
“Murder?” My voice dropped. “Is that what you think?”
“I think lots of things. It’s called an open mind.”
I tugged on my ear. “I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. If you need me, you know, to help investigate.”
“Didn’t you just get out of the hospital?”
“I’m tough, and I have meds.”
“There’s one problem,” Abner said. “Your mama. She thinks you’re at home, instead of picking through a burned out house.”
“She’s at work. We’re good.”
“Galax is a small town. Word travels fast.”
“If she catches me, I’ll tell her—“
“The truth. It’s not always the easiest thing to admit, but it’s the easiest to remember.”
Hoyt shook hands with Pickett. He walked the investigators to their cars, then called to us.
“Dr. Zickafoose,” he said. “Mr. Pickett tells me you popped that body out of the ground like you were harvesting carrots.”
“That’s about all there is to it,” Abner said patiently, as if he were explaining the mechanics of osteoarthritic lipping to a college freshman. “I used the floor plan to locate the two bedrooms. The individual wasn’t at the first location, so I traced fly movement to the second. There she was.”
“She?” the sheriff said.
Abner explained how he had identified the sex. “I’ll be glad to do a more through examination when the coroner is done. I could assist, if you like. Is Leroy Sweeney still your man? We’ve worked a couple cases together.”
Hoyt shook his head. “Leroy’s dead and buried two years at least.”
“Dead?” Abner said, sounding shocked. “You sure?”
“I was a pall bearer.” Hoyt let the news sink in. “And I’m going to have to pass on your offer, considering past history with this department. We’ll be contacting Dr. Windsor-Smith down at the university. She’s a crackerjack young forensic expert. Emphasis on the young part.”
“Very subtle, Hoyt,” Abner said.
I stepped in front of Hoyt. “Are you saying you don’t want Doc’s help?”
“I’m telling you to get out of my way.” Hoyt pulled his leather belt higher on his gut. “Be glad you’re a vet, Boone. Or your ass would be sitting in my prowler, handcuffed to an O-ring. Now excuse me, I got to go play with the grownups for a while.”
Hoyt waited until I stepped aside and then called for a deputy. He put on a pair of sunglasses and pull out a cellphone. What a pompous, officious, over-bearing, patronizing—
“Jackass,” Abner said.
“Sheriff!” I was going to find out who set the fire, and no expert, including the sheriff, Lamar, or that officious prick Mercer, was going to stop me. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I said, after I caught up to Hoyt. “Doc found the body, and you’re blowing him off?”
“Deputy,” Hoyt told Mercer, who was still shaking dust from his uniform, “escort Mr. Childress and Dr. Zickafoose to their vehicle.”
“What if I decide not to leave?” I said.
“Son,” Hoyt said, “after thirty-two years on the job, I got no sense of humor left, so I do not kid around. Go on, before I have to call your mama.”
Before I could dare him to to it, Mercer walked toward me, arms wide, like a human lariat.
“Keep walking,” Mercer said. He was on my heels the whole way to the Rover. “You heard the sheriff.”
“There’s no speed limit for walking.”
Mercer gave my shoulder a nudge.
I spun around. “You really don’t want to to that.”
Grinning, Mercer reached for the Taser on his belt. His face fell, though, as his hand groped his empty holster.
The Taser lay on the box springs, covered in plaster dust and soot.
“Oh no,” he said and bounded after it.
With Mercer out of the way, I confronted the sheriff again. “Are you going to arrest Eugene Loach now?”
“Eugene Loach?” Hoyt drew back. “What for? He didn’t start this fire.”
“Maybe he didn’t,” I said. “But he refused to render aid to a victim, and that victim died in the fire. That makes him a killer in my book.”
“You ain’t old enough to have a book, son.”
“It’s the law!”
“In this county, I am the law.”
“This whole situation stinks to high heaven.”
“You don’t like it?” Hoyt walked away. “Then don’t breathe through your nose.”
4
When she came home early and found me in the barn instead of bed, Mom screeched like a cat dropped down a well.
“Boon! What are you doing out here?”
“Charting the effects of certain insect larvae on decaying flesh.”