John Sandford - Naked Prey

"You got a string tied to the can, right?" Del called from the direction of the gate.

Lucas turned around, and saw Del with four of the California FBI crewmen walking across the dump toward them. Lucas popped the magazine from the.45, jacked the shell out of the chamber, thumbed it back in the magazine, then took a fresh magazine out of his holster and seated it in the pistol butt. The half-used magazine went into the holster.

"Good time to quit," one of the Californians said, talking through the snorkel of his snorkel parka. "If you'd kept it up, I would have been tempted to take out my piece and kick your sorry ass. No offense, ladies."

"I don't want to seem insulting, or vulgar, but none of you fuckin' FBI humpty-dumpties can shoot half as well as Del over there, and I personally can shoot several times better than Del," Lucas said.

"Au contraire,"Del said. "You can hold your end up on the nice, heated, lighted range. But out here, in the real world, you can't hold a candle to me. Though you're right about the fuckin' FBI humpty-dumpties."

Ruth looked at Letty and said, "Oh, God. This is why you should never get married, honey. These people got a rivulet of testosterone running through them, and anything can set it off. A cheese sandwich can set it off."

The lead Californian was digging under his parka and produced a.40 Smith. "You are a bunch of rural people who have never seen good shooting, so you don't have to apologize for what you just said."

One of the other Californians jerked the back of his coat and he turned, and they conferred, snorkel to snorkel. Then the lead Californian turned back to Lucas and said, "Uh, are we doing this for free? Or is there some money in it?"

They spent twenty minutes banging away at cans, without conclusion, but they all felt better afterward. Lucas then showed the crew the area that needed to be surveyed, and the lead man suggested that they needn't survey all of it. "We can do stripes; we don't even have to set up guidelines, because on that thin snow, we can see where we've been… We can do it in a couple of hours, quick and dirty. Done before dark, anyway."

The crew had a radar set mounted on a wagon, which the Californians rolled back and forth over the raw patch. The radar was pointed down into the dirt, and returned echoes from lumps of differing density. The data was fed into a memory module, which was dumped into a laptop back in one of the FBI trucks. The laptop then produced a density map of the surface covered.

Striping the dirt patch took an hour and a half. Halfway through, Ruth and Letty, bored and a little cold, decided to head back to the church and eat. "Stop by when you're going back to Armstrong," Letty said. "I want to know how it comes out."

When the striping was done, the lead Californian dumped the data to the laptop, let it churn for a few minutes, then tapped a few keys and a map began scrolling up. Two-thirds of the way from the back edge of the dirt strip, toward the working edge of the landfill, he said, "Whoops."

"Got something?"

"Got a hole. We got it on the third and fourth runs. It looks like it's, uh, four feet long and three feet wide."

"Anything else?"

"Mostly what look like tread tracks from the bulldozer, both current ones and some buried ones… but the hole cuts through all of that. It looks like there're a few inches of packed stuff, then it goes soft." He tapped the computer screen. "You can see the edges of it."

"Better get some shovels out here," Lucas said. "Why don't you guys pin down the edges of the hole, and Del and I'll get the shovels."

"Get some sandwiches," one of the Californians said. "There's a place in town called Logan's… "

"Fancy Meats," Lucas said. "Give me your orders. Might as well do it right. I'll get some lights, too."

They went through Broderick without slowing down and as soon as they were within cell-phone range, Lucas called Ray Zahn. "I need to get the guy who runs the dump bulldozer. Know where we can find him?"

"Yeah, he's about three blocks from me, if he's home," Zahn said. "What do you want him for?"

"We need him to show us around the dump," Lucas said. "It's serious."

"I'll drag his ass up there," Zahn said. "When do you want him?"

At the Ace Hardware, Lucas bought four long-handled shovels and four spotlights with cigarette-lighter adapters. "Haven't sold that many spotlights since deer season," the counterman said. "Pick out a deer at two hundred yards."

Lucas thought about that for a moment, then went to the back of the store and found four two-by-four-foot pressed-board handy panels with one white side, and a roll of duct tape. "Reflectors," he said to Del. Outside, it was getting dark.

Back at the dump, the Californians had outlined the hole, and using a long-bladed screwdriver, had determined that there were about six to eight inches of compressed dirt over a looser fill.

Lucas used a tire-iron to pop the lock off the dump gate, and they drove Lucas's truck and the two FBI vehicles into a circle around the dig site. Lucas brought the spotlights out, the Californians set up the white panels, and when the lights were plugged in, Lucas focused them on the panels, and the dig-site was bathed in a smooth reflected light.

"Cool," one of the Californians said.

They started digging, three at a time-four shovelers was one too many-and cleared out the ' dozer-compacted cap in ten minutes.

"Looks like a grave," Del said from the sidelines.

Another set of headlights swept over the dump, and a minute later, Ray Zahn had pulled in beside Lucas's Acura. Zahn and another man got out, and Zahn said to Lucas, "This is Phil Bussard. He runs the 'dozer."

"You remember seeing anything that looked like a hole, or a dug spot, right here, this morning?"

"Nothing like that," Bussard said. "Did see a bunch of truck tracks. Somebody unloaded something back here. Didn't think nothing of it."

"How did they get through the gate?" Lucas asked. "Is it always locked when you're not here?"

"Yeah, but about half the people in town know the combination," Bussard said. "All kinds of people are authorized to get in here, and the number gets around. It's ten-twenty-thirty."

"So why lock it at all?"

"For the lawyers. If somebody works the lock and gets in here, and gets hurt, I guess it's breaking and entering, or something. They committed a crime, and if they get hurt doing it, it ain't the county's fault."

"Where were you working a month ago? Around Christmas?"

"Right over on the other side there," Bussard said, pointing. "If you look at the edge, you can see some Christmas wrap. That's where it'd be."

"See any holes over there?"

"Not that I remember. See truck tracks all the time."

Zahn came back from the widening hole. "Sure does look like a grave," he said.

The people in the hole were slowing down, so the last Californian, Bussard, and Lucas took the shovels, and continued down. At three feet, the Californian said, "Somebody hand me that screwdriver."

He took the screwdriver, squatted, and pushed it into the dirt at the bottom of the hole, probed for a minute, then stood up. "I'd say we're eight inches off the garbage level."

"That'd be about right," Bussard said, bobbing his head.

Eight inches down, Lucas cut through a white garbage sack, and could smell the garbage inside. "Smells like old pizza," he said. "Like from a Dumpster out behind a pizza joint on a hot summer night."

"Lucky you didn't get one of them diaper bags," Bussard said. "They smell like old shit on a hot summer night."

The Californian said, "I got something here." He was probing at a dark green garbage bag. They cleared away a little more dirt, then Bussard took a Leatherman tool off his belt, flicked open a blade, and slashed through the green bag.