looked at him, giving him the law enforcement stare that told him all he needed to know about the condition of Cale Nowell.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, the tone grieving.
“You got a reason we were told to secure the drive but not let anyone down to the trailer?” Gunter asked.
“I got lots of ideas,” I said. “None of them good.”
“Cale didn’t do whatever he’s been accused of doing,” Prince said. “He’s a good guy. One of the truly good guys I know. He was railroaded and did time he didn’t deserve. Everyone around here knows it. If anything, he’s a victim, not murderer.”
“I read the accident report,” I said.
“Then you know he took the rap for his girlfriend.”
My mouth tightened and I tried to find the right words. “That’s . . . not an unexpected conclusion.”
Sirens approached, soft on the morning air, the sound rising over the low hill to the west, growing louder, preceding the appearance of law enforcement. We three leaned against my car, the deputies at either side of me, and watched the excitement begin to build. The sun was fall-cool, the breeze soft, carrying the smells of manure, freshly turned earth, dog poo, man-sweat, and exhaust. Black flies swarmed, buzzing around our heads, the deputies and I waving them away. I hated those flies. They bit and hurt.
The cars appeared over the rolling hilly horizon. FireWind’s vehicle was in front, with Occam’s car just behind, and they were all but flying down the country road. They braked, turned in, came to a stop, and thankfully turned off lights and sirens. The sheriff pulled in just behind them. More cars and trucks from multiple law enforcement agencies came from both directions. The noise was incredible.
FireWind gave Occam orders I couldn’t hear, one arm making a circle that seemed to encompass the entire property. The PsyCSI van appeared on the horizon and followed them in, the techs sitting in their vehicle, drinking from metal travel mugs, looking as tired as I felt. More official vehicles pulled in and parked on Holcomb Beresford’s land. The landowner spat tobacco juice, took pics of the excitement on his cell phone, cussed a lot, shook hands, and stuck his nose into everything he could. In the distance, Occam was stringing crime scene tape, wrapping it around trees, an old tractor with flat tires, and blocking off the dirt drive. I just waited. I figured I would need to read the land and I was saving my meager strength.
FireWind spoke privately to the local sheriff and Sergeant Gunter for several minutes before he waved me over. Occam jogged to us, breathing steadily, his eyes glowing a gold so pale and dim no one else would notice. He glanced at me, his gaze far warmer than the autumn sun.
FireWind said, “I’d like you”—he indicated the sheriff and Gunter—“to keep everyone back except PsyLED and our CSI team until we ascertain the hazard level. The three of us will proceed to the trailer and read the land with our instruments.” FireWind glanced at me and his look said clearly that I was to read the earth with my hands.
I gave him a truncated nod of understanding and got my blanket and my potted vampire tree out of the car. The sheriff did a double take, but no one asked why I had a tree. I really needed to come up with a good story for it, one that didn’t include a people-eating tree or me being part plant. I wasn’t good at lies, so maybe I’d ask JoJo and T. Laine to craft one worthy of an undercover alias.
“We’ll take my vehicle to the tape,” FireWind continued, pointing to Occam’s flimsy barrier, “which is a hundred yards out from the trailer, and work our way in. As soon as we’ve assured safety protocols”—he looked at the sheriff—“you and your sergeant are welcome to join us. We’ll send in CSI at that point and, lastly, allow others in. This working has cost too many people their lives, so we are not taking chances with it.”
Gunter pursed her lips. I could almost see her thinking that there was no way Cale had killed anyone, but she kept her mouth shut on the words. One thing law enforcement taught us early was that people could and would do most anything under the proper—or improper—circumstances. And we had no idea if Cale was victim, perpetrator, partner in crime, or some combination of all three.