“No need to be afraid, Kid. I’ll protect ya.”
“I’m not.”
“Uh huh.”
There were a couple exhalation words worse than Hmm. Jack had just said them. At least with them, there was no room for misinterpretation. It conveyed disbelief and mockery wrapped up in a concise package.
We walked through the barn. The fumes were intense, but they didn’t assault my sinuses the way I had expected it to. My sinuses must have been scorched and no longer a reliable sensory function. But what was worse was the smell had converted to a tangible quality, coating my tongue. A deep exhale made me cough and the scent came up as a flavor from my lungs.
The feeding trough for the pigs was located at the back of the barn. The CSI was standing at the doorway to the pen. He turned around as we approached. “I’m not going in there.”
“You are.”
“You can’t make me agent.” The CSI pointed to a large sow with piglets nursing from her at the far end of the enclosed area. “That sow will kill me if I step in there. Can’t you see the way she’s looking at me?”
“It’s all in perception. She senses fear she’ll charge you. Be dominant.” Jack opened the gate. “Now, get in there.”
“This ain’t a dog.”
“They belong to the mammal family, can’t be much different.”
“I’m not sure if I’m the right person for the job.” The CSI stepped inside the pen, and Jack latched the gate. The sow lifted her head and assessed the CSI. “See, I’m going to die.”
Jack pumped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I have faith in you.”
The CSI took another step toward the trough. His feet sank in the muck and made a suctioning noise as he lifted them out. “Oh, this is—” The CSI made a grunting noise.
At the end of the pen, the sow wasn’t moving.
“You can do it.”
I laughed unable to hold it in any longer.
“Hey, you think this is funny? Get in here with me.”
“No way.”
“Maybe that’s not a bad idea.” Jack turned to me. He watched my expression fall sober. He smiled. “Don’t worry Kid, I wouldn’t want the smell and mess in the SUV.”
I watched as the investigator made it closer to the trough. His feet sank further into the muck with every step.
“Maybe you should have worn boots.” Jack picked up a couple thigh-highs that were in an empty stall to the right.
“Now you bring those out.” The CSI teetered from side-to-side, as he pulled his feet out, careful not to lose balance. “My wife’s gonna kill me.”
“You’re almost there, only about six more feet.”
The sow let out a grunt, and the piglets shifted. The CSI froze.
“Pull back the attitude a bit. She’s starting to view you as a challenge.”
He never looked at Jack, but I could feel the man’s energy. Jack was on his shit list. Thing was Jack wouldn’t care. I actually had the feeling it fueled him.
“Okay, I’m here.”
The sow had her attention on the CSI who was at her feeding trough.
“Just move nice and slow. No fast movements.”
“I’m gonna die.” The CSI faced heavenward and said some words that were only disclosed by his moving mouth.
“What do you expect he’s gonna find anyhow?” I asked.
Jack pulled out a cigarette and lit up.
“I understand you’re wanting to find some trace of DNA, human blood, but it’s been exposed to the weather for years. How do we even know it’s the same trough? Maybe it looks like the older one.”
“A man of little faith.”
“I find it odd a non-religious person like you has said faith twice in the last few minutes.”
“I’m almost done.” The CSI sounded panicked. “What’s it doin’?”
“You’re fine, she hasn’t even moved.” Jack exhaled a puff of smoke. “DNA can be obtained years after the fact. A little disappointed you didn’t know that.”
“They don’t teach us everything at the academy.” I noticed he never touched on my personal observation of him.
“So your response to not knowing something is to blame the academy.”
“I’m not blaming them—”
“Sounds like that’s what you just did.”
“Sometimes I think we need to work on our communication skills. You don’t even call me by my name. It’s Brandon by the way.”
A blank stare in response, seconds passed before he spoke. “We’re not a couple, Kid. I’m your boss and you’re part of my team.”
“We still need to co-mmun-icate.” I dragged out the word.
“Aren’t we doing that right now?” Another pull on the cigarette.
“Can you guys stop talking and keep an eye on that pig?”
Jack waved a hand. “She’s fine.”
“Yeah ’cause she sees somethin’ new on the menu.”
Another grunt came from the sow. This time she moved. The piglets danced around her.
Jack calmly smoked his cigarette. “You’re doing great.”
The CSI stopped moving and looked at me. “Why are you doing this to me?”
The sow stirred more. The piglets squealed creating a small ruckus.
The CSI looked over his shoulder.
I said to Jack, “Maybe we should get him out of there.”
“He’ll be fine.” He dropped the cigarette to the barn floor and extinguished it with a twist of his shoe.
“Oh dear God.” The CSI moved quickly swiping at the inside of the trough and put what looked like large cotton swabs away into sealed cylinders.
“Make sure you get at least six. Get them from the bottom, and the cracks.”
The investigator never looked up, just kept moving. “If I die tell my wife I loved her.”
“You’re not going to die. You’re doing great.”
Maybe Jack’s past had turned him a tinge insane. There was something about his eyes, and the way they glistened, that told me he enjoyed the present situation. It was a similar look to the one he gave me when he said it wasn’t a big deal my photo was sent to Bingham. Look at how that turned out.
“Maybe you should get out now.” If Jack mistook my logic for weakness so be it. I didn’t want to watch a man be attacked by a pig.
Jack faced me. “You’re calling the shots now?”
“He’s been in there too long as is. Look at the sow, the piglets. It won’t be long until they get curious—”
“Oh shit!” The CSI dumped his swabs into the case he carried on a strap over his torso. One of the piglets bounced around his feet, squealing as if announcing danger to the mother.
The sow let out a scream that pulled from the realms of science fiction. Both high-pitched and eerie, the hairs on my arms rose.
“Okay time to come back,” Jack said.
“Oh, now’s the time? I’m going to die!” The CSI waded his way back through the knee-high muck that threatened to suck him in as quick sand and hold him captive for the angry mamma pig. He glanced over his shoulder. The sow moved at a good pace across the pen, the mud not having the same limiting effect on her.
“You can make it. Come on!” I stood in front of the gate, ready to unlatch it. Jack stepped to the side. He had a grin on his face.
The CSI lost the battle and fell over, elbow to muck. His arm sank in making it hard for him to regain full height.
“Move it!”
The man’s face was now sheer panic. Enlarged eyes spoke, I’m going to die, and projected from them at the volume of a scream.
The sow was closing the distance at a fast rate. The CSI wasn’t going to make it.
“You only have ten more feet.” I didn’t want to tell him the sow only had about that to reach him. “Come on!”
The piglets squealed as the sow charged toward the CSI.
The CSI lifted his legs high, mocking an athlete who warms up with jogging on the spot, their knees to mid-chest.
The CSI came through so abruptly, he lost his balance and fell to the barn floor.
The sow reached the gate by the time I had re-latched it. Her wild eyes penetrated mine. She just might have killed him.
The CSI rose, bracing his hands on his thighs and heaved for a solid breath. I expected him to yell at Jack, but instead he straightened out and let out a wail, “Yeah! What a rush!”
My forehead compressed, and a smile grew on my lips. Jack was laughing.
“See, I told you, you could do it.”
“I feel so alive! Woo.” His last word was spoken at a lower volume. His euphoria was crumbling. He looked down at his clothing which was caked in mud. “My wife’s gonna kill me.”
“What the hell were you doing in there?” Mrs. Coleman moved through the barn towards us as if she simply hovered over the ground. A finger pointed to the pigpen. Her attention was on the CSI. “You get to that trough by bending over from the outside of the pen. You trying to die?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, you be thankful you ain’t. Maggie has attacked before.” The arm and the pointed finger dropped to her side, but Mrs. Coleman wasn’t finished. “And now you’ve gone upset my pig.” She moved to the gate, snapped her fingers and pointed to the back corner. The sow obeyed.
“See like a dog,” Jack whispered to me.
I passed him a quick look, hoping that Mrs. Coleman didn’t pick up on what he had said.
Two hands went to her hips. “I talked to the Sheriff. He said to let you men do what needed doing.” She passed a condemning assessment to the CSI’s muddy clothing before settling her eyes on Jack. “Seems you already have. Now is that all?”
“When did you last replace the trough?” Jack asked.
“Troughs last a long time. That one over there has been around at least eighteen years.”
“So this would be the same one that Bingham put the feed in,” I countered.
“Yes, that it would be.”
“What happened to end Bingham’s employment here?”
Her arms crossed. She matched eyes with me as she answered. “Lance had a temper. I mean most of the time he was fine, somewhat easy to manage. Periodically he’d git in moods.”
“And that’s all?”
“You mentioned plastic bags?”
Both Jack and I nodded.
“I caught him dumping from those into the troughs. You tell a soul, I’ll deny it.”
“Do you know what it was?”
“Nope. But I know it wasn’t approved by the FDA. That’s what mattered to me. Not long after that, I had a few pigs take sick. Real sick. I had to have ’em put down.”
“As far as you know were any of the pigs who ate what Bingham fed them sold for human consumption?” Jack asked.
My stomach tightened with nausea as it did earlier. We really had no idea what we put in our mouths these days.
“I told the Sheriff I couldn’t trust you. He said I could. You just want to shut us down.”
I tried to calm her down. “If anyone is responsible it would be Bingham.”
“But it’s my farm, my reputation. Word gets out and we’re destroyed. Twenty generations of Colemans destroyed under my management.”
“It doesn’t have to get to that.”
Mrs. Coleman remained silent for at least thirty seconds before she spoke. “Some were set to go to slaughter the next day.”
Jack bobbed his head. “We’ll be leaving now.”
“You’re going to shut us down, aren’t you? What did Bingham feed ’em? Please let me know.” Mrs. Coleman trailed behind us.
Jack turned around. “Honestly, we don’t have an answer for that right now.”
She pointed a finger to the CSI who was headed out of the barn to the driveway. “But that’s what he was doin’? Tryin’ to figure it out? Lance hasn’t worked here for about six years.”
“When we know something, you will.”
Jack led the way, and I walked behind him. Mrs. Coleman stopped at the entrance to the barn, arms still crossed.
The CSI was loading his evidence kit into his van. He slammed the back of his van shut when we approached. He addressed Jack, “What is wrong with you anyway?”
Jack didn’t say anything.
“Did someone hurt you as child?” The CSI didn’t look at Jack when he spoke. When it was apparent Jack wasn’t going to participate in the conversation he got into his van.
Jack and I loaded into the SUV. He turned the radio on at low volume and pulled out another cigarette. Those lit sticks seemed to be the only thing that held Jack together.
“Did someone hurt you?” I repeated the CSI’s question, and flicked the radio off.
Jack turned it back on and turned up the volume. He maneuvered the SUV around so he didn’t have to back out the entire length of the driveway.
I turned the radio off again. He put his window down, blew a puff of smoke out of it and turned the radio on, louder than the last time.
“Why do you do this every time someone has a question about you?” I raised my voice over the music and studied his profile. It revealed nothing. I turned the radio off, which got me a death glare. “Just a question. When we find out Bingham fed her pigs human intestine, are you going to tell her?” I watched Mrs. Coleman from the rearview mirror. She remained at the edge of the barn.
“She’ll find out.”
“But not from you?”
“We all have jobs to do. Shutting down farms isn’t mine.”
“You told her when we know something, she will.”
“And that, Kid, is not a lie.”
CHAPTER 18
Paige knew when Jack took her to the side saying he needed to speak with her it was going be something she might regret agreeing to. When she first joined the academy she knew it was going to be hard work. She’d have to prove herself as strong as a man and even more intelligent. After all, it was still a male dominated world.
The intelligence aspect had always been relatively easy. Strength was something she continued to battle with but not so much the physical as the emotional. She tried to keep that concealed under layers of bravado.
She knew Jack saw the glimmer of vulnerability in her, but he respected her enough to ignore it. And to her, it wasn’t as if she were fragile. She was human. She had compassion despite years on this job. In a way maybe that was more a strength than a weakness anyhow. It allowed her to keep perspective.
Being a woman brought with a preconceived notion that dated back before women’s liberation. Even a modern man who considered himself untouchable by a woman could easily be swayed by sweet words, tight clothes and slit eyelids. Of course, the easiest flirtation that would never grow old, the deep-throated laugh. That was when a woman would pretend to be so amused by the words coming out of a man’s mouth she’d toss her hair, or roll back her head to display the length of her neck. Paige had that one down.
Sometimes she wondered at what point it had been when she had sacrificed her female dignity to gain a lead. But honestly at the end of the day if a little flirting brought them closer to the unsub and brought an end to madness it was well worth it.
She delegated the crime tip line to Zachery and excused herself from his view. Jack said to be careful and that none of the local law enforcement could be trusted.
He would have waited on the federal CSIs if he wasn’t in such a hurry to get the swabs of the trough done. He said that couldn’t wait until morning. So here she was babysitting a house full of men including Zachery, two CSIs, and Deputy White who had returned. She’d focus on the weakest.
She watched Deputy White sucking back on his take-out coffee cup like it was the only thing keeping him up. He pulled it down and let out a large yawn.
>
He caught her watching him. “Long week.”
“Yeah it is, and it’s just starting.” She smiled politely, but this man wasn’t her target. He would have been oblivious to any of her attempts to woo something informative. But regardless, she had to try. “Did you know Earl very well?”
“Nah. Well a bit. I mean he grew up in the county. He was around. I was around.” He took another draw on the coffee, the suction from his mouth made a slurping noise when he pulled back.
“So you didn’t really get to know him?”
“Nope.” As he spoke the single word, he exhaled a stream of coffee-polluted breath in her direction.
“Well, that’s too bad. I’ve heard he was a great guy.” She twisted the words from the CSIs that Earl would never do this.
“Like I said. Couldn’t tell ya.”
“His buddies are going to miss him.”
“Bet they will.”
“What are their names again? My memory’s not the best sometimes.” She lied.
The Deputy didn’t even give her a sideways glance. It told Paige he was putting in the time. Any experienced law enforcement officer would realize the vital importance of a good memory.
“The older one’s Kevin, and the blondie is Charlie.”
“Thanks.” Paige smiled and excused herself. She headed down to the laundry room where the blondie was. Even though she had a great memory, most times the CSIs blended together and remained nameless. But this one, her target, she would come across interested in him. “Charlie.”
The young investigator who was probably a few years younger than Brandon was hunched behind the dryer taking photographs of the find. He spoke with his back to her. “Yeah.”
She might have to work a little bit for this one, but she had confidence in her abilities. “Do you have a sec?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Guess so.” He stood up bracing hands on his thighs as he rose.
“You were really close to Earl.”
“Yeah, I was.” His eyes went from her to the pictures of the cut marks on the victim. “I still can’t believe he did this. It’s like a nightmare.”
Paige tilted her head to the right. “I can imagine.” She added a slight pout to her lips. “What was he like?”
Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series #1) Page 13