Farm animals out here, plus dogs and cats. Some exotic animals, too. Monkeys are housed inside. Dr. Winston uses this set of genes from this one and that set of genes from that one. One time he got this pig with horns, honest to God.”
“Poor thing,” said Dora, depressed.
“Oh, hell no,” the other man put in. “Pinky liked his horns. He became the terror of the pig yard. It was a mistake, though. The others had nothing to fight back with. Dr. Winston had to cut them off.”
“What about the doctor?” she asked. “What was he doing down here?”
Joe replied, “Who knows? I saw him in the labs early this morning, when I was cleaning the cages inside. Bill says he saw him having a coffee break about ten, in the company cafeteria. Then around eleven thirty, we came down here on our regular fence check, and there he was. We didn’t touch him except to make sure he was dead,then Bill waited while I went back up to the gate to call the police.”
“You didn’t tell the boss, or whoever here at the plant.”
Joe and Bill exchanged glances. “Nope,” said Joe. “We decided to let you do that.”
Dora frowned. “So they don’t even know?”
“Not unless one of them did it,” snarled Bill.
Dora saw a car arrive at the gate, lights flashing. That’d be the forensics people. She took a last good look around. They were in an open floodplain, no buildings nearby, just the long narrow line of woods, the space between the larger trees growing up in saplings with low grassland everywhere else. Through the trees she could see the cut in the fence, a man-sized hole, from top to bottom. The fence evidently marked the edge of the company’s property. Beyond it was an upsloping grassy meadow with a ball stop halfway up, and at the top, the backsides of a row of houses. All very peaceful.
It didn’t stay that way. Things got complex. Dora and Phil strung up a crime tape just before the first people arrived from the Randall Building, which they did, by dozens. Some head honcho arrived full of orders and instructions, and Dora had to tell him to back off, they’d do fine, thank you. The photographer arrived and departed, then the body went. All available cops began a close search of the area.
The lieutenant beckoned. Nodding at the backs of the houses across the way, he said, “Medical examiner says it’s a stabbing wound in the back, he’ll know more after the autopsy, but he thinks it’s a wide, doubled-edged blade of some kind. Somebody might’ve seen something. Dermot, you and Henry start with the houses over there, both sides of the street, get the names of any kids might’ve been out in that field. Here’s the vitals on the guy: white, five nine, blue eyes, mostly bald, brown hair where he’s got hair, sixty-nine years old, past retirement, you’d think, but they say he was irreplaceable so they kept him on. No scars or tattoos. You saw what he waswearing: khakis, blue knit shirt, long white coat.”
Dora spoke up. “Did the medical examiner say what the weapon might have been?”
“Stabbed, not slashed. The blade went in between the ribs. You’re not looking for a machete or a stiletto, but that’s about all we know yet.”
They spent the afternoon going from house to house talking to this one and that one, coming back to the ones who weren’t home, getting names of kids who might have seen something, names of other people who might have seen something. Not many. The row of houses was occupied by mostly older people, working people, people who wouldn’t be likely to have been playing ball where they could see anything on a weekday. End of the day, effort max, results nil. Phil was in a hurry.
“Anniversary,” he said. “I forget, I get home late, I don’t bring a present, all next year is down the drain.”
“Go on home, Phil. I’ll type up the report.”
“I ever tell you you’re a sweetheart, Dora Henry?”
“Don’t let Charlene hear you say it. And tell her thank you again
“Poor thing,” said Dora, depressed.
“Oh, hell no,” the other man put in. “Pinky liked his horns. He became the terror of the pig yard. It was a mistake, though. The others had nothing to fight back with. Dr. Winston had to cut them off.”
“What about the doctor?” she asked. “What was he doing down here?”
Joe replied, “Who knows? I saw him in the labs early this morning, when I was cleaning the cages inside. Bill says he saw him having a coffee break about ten, in the company cafeteria. Then around eleven thirty, we came down here on our regular fence check, and there he was. We didn’t touch him except to make sure he was dead,then Bill waited while I went back up to the gate to call the police.”
“You didn’t tell the boss, or whoever here at the plant.”
Joe and Bill exchanged glances. “Nope,” said Joe. “We decided to let you do that.”
Dora frowned. “So they don’t even know?”
“Not unless one of them did it,” snarled Bill.
Dora saw a car arrive at the gate, lights flashing. That’d be the forensics people. She took a last good look around. They were in an open floodplain, no buildings nearby, just the long narrow line of woods, the space between the larger trees growing up in saplings with low grassland everywhere else. Through the trees she could see the cut in the fence, a man-sized hole, from top to bottom. The fence evidently marked the edge of the company’s property. Beyond it was an upsloping grassy meadow with a ball stop halfway up, and at the top, the backsides of a row of houses. All very peaceful.
It didn’t stay that way. Things got complex. Dora and Phil strung up a crime tape just before the first people arrived from the Randall Building, which they did, by dozens. Some head honcho arrived full of orders and instructions, and Dora had to tell him to back off, they’d do fine, thank you. The photographer arrived and departed, then the body went. All available cops began a close search of the area.
The lieutenant beckoned. Nodding at the backs of the houses across the way, he said, “Medical examiner says it’s a stabbing wound in the back, he’ll know more after the autopsy, but he thinks it’s a wide, doubled-edged blade of some kind. Somebody might’ve seen something. Dermot, you and Henry start with the houses over there, both sides of the street, get the names of any kids might’ve been out in that field. Here’s the vitals on the guy: white, five nine, blue eyes, mostly bald, brown hair where he’s got hair, sixty-nine years old, past retirement, you’d think, but they say he was irreplaceable so they kept him on. No scars or tattoos. You saw what he waswearing: khakis, blue knit shirt, long white coat.”
Dora spoke up. “Did the medical examiner say what the weapon might have been?”
“Stabbed, not slashed. The blade went in between the ribs. You’re not looking for a machete or a stiletto, but that’s about all we know yet.”
They spent the afternoon going from house to house talking to this one and that one, coming back to the ones who weren’t home, getting names of kids who might have seen something, names of other people who might have seen something. Not many. The row of houses was occupied by mostly older people, working people, people who wouldn’t be likely to have been playing ball where they could see anything on a weekday. End of the day, effort max, results nil. Phil was in a hurry.
“Anniversary,” he said. “I forget, I get home late, I don’t bring a present, all next year is down the drain.”
“Go on home, Phil. I’ll type up the report.”
“I ever tell you you’re a sweetheart, Dora Henry?”
“Don’t let Charlene hear you say it. And tell her thank you again
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