“I’m foreman here.”
Sherman’s name fit him well. About thirty years old, with a buzz cut, he was the size of a Sherman tank. Muscles strained the material of his T-shirt.
“When was the last time someone checked the fence?” Jack asked.
“We check about once a week. Do it myself,” Price said. “It’s fenced all the way around with solid fence or chain-link, and the only easy place to get inside is along St. Joseph Avenue. Someone coming in that way would have to walk past the scales and the office. But it’s happened before. The fence doesn’t keep them out if they’ve a mind to come in.”
“Keep who out?” Jack asked.
“Thieves.” Price spit on the ground, then looked at Jack. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have spit down there, should I?”
“It’s okay,” Jack said, wishing shows like NCIS and Cold Case had never been aired. Everyone was a forensic specialist now.
“There’s no reason to come in here,” Price went on. “We put up lights and dummy cameras to keep people honest.”
“Well, they came in this time,” Jack said, “and they left what they considered garbage.”
Price’s eyes drifted to the blackened ground where the head had been found.
“I never seen nothing like this . . . this . . .” His words trailed off.
Jack understood. Most people never saw anything like this. He gave Sherman Price one of his business cards. “Pass word on to your crews that there may be more pieces out there.”
Price didn’t understand at first, but then the light went on in his eyes. “I’ll sure tell them. We’ll call right away if we come across something.”
Jack turned to leave and then thought of another question. “Mr. Price. Those are dummy cameras near the recycle bins, but are there any security cameras that do work?”
Price scratched his head. “Nothing like this has ever happened around here.”
Price agreed to get the work schedules and contact information for employees who would have been in the yard over the weekend, squeezed into his truck, and headed for the office.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dressed in the same dark slacks, deck shoes, and mauve polo shirt he had worn to his engagement party, Eric Manson sat in the chief of police’s office. The impressive display of diplomas and awards on the walls all bore the name of Marlin H. Pope.
“I guess congratulations are in order, Eric,” Pope said with a smile.
“Yes, I’m a lucky man.”
“Katie will be good for you. Have you two set a date?”
Manson and Pope knew each other, having crossed paths at many political events and fund-raisers. Pope attended to protect budgetary concerns. Manson went because he was running for his boss’s job—prosecutor of Vanderburgh County.
Eric had come to Evansville from Pennsylvania and started at the bottom, doing scut work, working weekends and long hours, while taking the cases no one else would touch. But in six short years he had moved up through the ranks, and was now the second in command of the most powerful office in the county. He’d survived a ball-busting divorce settlement eight years ago from his cold fish of a wife, and was now getting what he so richly deserved for his hard work and sacrifice. The only thing that had held him back from attaining the top spot was the scandal caused by his divorce.
Now, with a woman like Katie, things would be different. She possessed charm and poise, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous looks that turned many a head and loosened many a donor’s grip on their wallets in his bid to replace the current prosecutor, Trent Wethington.
Trent was his mentor, his father figure, and a powerhouse himself. Trent, who was running for governor, had announced that he was stepping down at the end of this year, and had thrown his ample support behind Eric to replace him. Of course there were challengers, but none of them had Eric’s qualifications, passion, or drive, and none had the one thing they would require to win—Trent’s backing.
And that thought brought him back to the real reason he was paying a visit to the chief of police on a Sunday afternoon.
“Wedding date to be announced,” Eric said. “But that’s not why I’m here.” His smile faded and he was all business. “I understand you’re working a homicide.”
Pope looked surprised. “I got a call from Captain Franklin just minutes before you called, Eric. Is the media calling you?”
Eric shook his head. “I need to know what you’ve got.”
Pope still wasn’t sure where this was going. “Well, we’ve found some body parts