Chaingang

“Or that he was under pressure of some kind to make him sell—something like that maybe?"

“Yeah. I forget all the things he said. I tol’ him go ahead and do it and I'd pay him best I could. And then he called up later on and said he didn't think he could recommend it on my behalf anymore. That I'd just spend all my money for nothing. He said he'd still take them to court if I insisted, but he was purty sure I'd lose."

“Why was that?"

“He thought they were too big. Some big company that had dealings with the U.S. government, he said. And they'd tie it up in court for years. I told him finally if he thought we'd best drop it, then drop it. If Luther was here and it was him and me, it might be different; he'd want to fight it. But I can't deal with all that and him gone too."

“I understand.” They traded wishes of sympathy, Mary thanked her and wished her well, and rang off.

She filled Royce in on the other side of the conversation, and he voiced the question that had occurred to her as well:

“It would be very interesting to know what Mrs. Lloyd's lawyer found out, and who told him. I wonder how difficult it would be to get any information out of him."

“You know lawyers.” She shrugged.

“Right. But what if we had Mrs. Lloyd call her lawyer and ask him where he got his information. Just have her hint around. You know—she wants to know so she can decide whether or not to pursue the thing against the company for maybe forcing him to sell the farm under duress or whatever?"

“Do you know Mrs. Lloyd?"

“Umm. Yeah. I see what you mean. She's good people, but I can't really see her bringing that off either. What if you were to go to him—as a friend of the family considering the same kind of lawsuit? Think that could work?"

“I'd be willing to try."

“Tell you what, Mary, let's see if we can find out any more information by poking around out there at the construction site. We'll see what we can find out this evening. Maybe we can learn something that will point us in the right direction. Tomorrow—if nothing's changed—we can go rattle the bars on Mrs. Lloyd's lawyer's cage. Okay?"

“Yes. What do you think we'll find out there?"

“I don't have a clue. But all that traffic and massive concrete work and whatnot—there have got to be some plans around, maybe in a trailer or something. Surely we can get a better idea of what they're doing out there in the middle of the boonies."

“Won't it be guarded?"

“Typically a job site like that might have a guard—a retired cop glued to his TV, or a kid sitting around in the trailer getting high. They don't even make builders get construction permits on unzoned county ground—and if they do have a construction guard, he won't be any big thing.” He'd have good cause to reconsider the wisdom he'd just dispensed.

The first thought that occurred to Royce had been that they were building some sort of military airfield in the middle of nowhere—there was such a vast expanse of concrete. Poured concrete had covered much of the construction project, from the center of what had been the Lawley farm to the northernmost edge of Bill Wise Industrial Park. The great span of concrete reminded one of several airstrips viewed side by side.

But this was no airfield. The concrete formed a sublevel, a gigantic flooring and walls. A shallow-walled fortress? Some kind of NORAD deal maybe? A defense command to be housed in this immense subterranean bunker? For what purpose? The North American Defense Command was buried under the heart of Cheyenne Mountain, and impervious to nuclear strike. This one was only a few feet down—too vulnerable.

He tried to imagine a Disneyland for adults. What would it resemble? A fanciful landscape of spiraling turrets and minarets and geodesic domes as drawn by Alex Raymond? Perhaps this was the beginning of an environmental theme park, a showcase for earth-sensitive projects of research and development just as World Ecosphere, Inc., claimed. Maybe they'd had the misfortune to concoct a land deal at the worst possible time and place, coincidentally picking a small town targeted by a serial killer.

Royce turned to Mary, bundled up in sweaters and a heavy coat, and whispered, “Let's get closer.” She whispered okay and they moved as quietly as they could, going over the top of the embankment where they were parked, and down the fairly steep hillside that was adjacent to Russell Herkebauer's drainage ditch, and Lawley's northern ground.

There was a wood line at the base of the hill, and they stopped there, hiding in the trees.

“That's the place where we want to go, I think.” He pointed to a rectangular-shaped building about the size of a trailer-truck bed. “I think that's the office trailer.” There was a similar-size affair without side doors, which he knew was a place where tools were locked up at night.