Probable Claws

41

February 20, 2017

Monday

The moon passed half moon heading to a dark moon. As February 20th was Presidents’ Day, a national holiday, federal workers and many others enjoyed a day off.

Harry figured to use this to her advantage, especially in the encroaching darkness. Driving to Richmond on I-64, she remembered when people were given Lincoln’s birthday on the 12th and Washington’s on the 22nd. Schoolchildren loved two days off, as did many adults. Well, commerce first, so both men’s birthdays were rolled into one, Presidents’ Day. She considered it a gyp.

Tucker, seated next to her in the Volvo, watched out the window as the early sunset turned the snow-covered pastures and bare trees gold, then salmon, finally red, then boom: darkness. The intrepid dog knew her human was up to something, but what? The cats, left behind, complained loudly. And Tucker knew when they returned to Crozet a book would be knocked off a shelf and desecrated or something would be pushed on the floor from the kitchen counter. The cats believed in revenge.

Finally, Harry reached the site of the Cloudcroft construction. Parking the station wagon on a side street, easier in Richmond than in other cities, she put Tucker on a leash, grabbed bolt cutters and a mountaineers pick, shoved a small flashlight in her pocket, locked the wagon, began walking. Puffs of breath escaped their noses and mouths, little tokens of winter.

In the left deep pocket of her heavy Filson coat, she’d jammed the bolt cutters. Given Tucker’s superior senses, Harry thought she would be a help, just in case. The other pocket held her snub-nosed .38. If anyone threatened her, once close she could take care of him; and she believed it would be a him.

This was crazy but Harry felt she owed this to Gary. Not much traffic. No worries there. Even if they saw her, who would report her as she cut the heavy chain around the large double doors that allowed the equipment in and out? The chain, hardened, took all her strength but she got it, quickly slipped inside the crack she opened in the doors, and just as quickly shut them. She unsnapped Tucker’s leash.

The excavation had reached all bedrock. Once the piles of dirt and debris were removed the sinking of mighty girders could begin. At least she thought that would be the process, for Gary had once told her how skyscrapers were built. Steel beams would be driven to six or eight feet, the true foundation. Construction had moved on from that, depending on the building, but she didn’t know other methods. Bedrock was all she knew. She needed to get to Cloudcroft before the debris piles were removed.

Briskly walking to a large dirt mound, she clicked on her flashlight, took out a small pick from her inside pocket, dug in. Glass shards, different colors but mostly beer bottles, flicked out. Nothing of human remains. She believed if more had been found, say, just a finger bone, that might not be noticed or, if so, reported. Enough time had been lost with the discovery of Edward Elkins from 1984, that number again. If only she could find Gary’s missing file for 1984. If she had it she felt she would have the killer, killers, or parties responsible. She had no idea if the deaths noted, well the dates and notes, really, in the columns of the old files had all been committed by one individual, but she now believed these construction deaths were related, cleverly done. She didn’t know why, but she felt sure much of the answer might reside in these piles. Not too much in this one, so she moved all the way across to another. More glass, some old pieces of chain, tin cans, then a tooth popped out, a very large tooth.

Tucker, on patrol, kept silent. They were alone and safe for now. Shining the flashlight, Harry stuck the tooth in her pocket. She dug some more through the frost covering the dirt, but the pile, so huge, had not frozen through or she would have had to work harder with her little mountaineers pick. The tooth spurred her. Digging further in and making a straight line of four feet, her reach, she vigorously dug. Then she saw them—some sort of bones, gleaming in the dirt. She renewed her efforts, but whatever it was, it was buried too deep for her to dislodge. She took a picture with her cellphone.

She had what she wanted. She knew what this was about or at least what lay underneath Richmond.

Looking around, no security guard, no one at all, she felt safe. Then again, why have a security guard for a big hole? That thought occurred to her as she climbed up the ramp to the street. Whoever was behind this was supremely confident. Well, so was she. She had a big part of the answer. Hers was a misplaced confidence. She failed to notice the small cameras mounted on top of parts of the fence and one even on top of a large yellow excavator. She knew about the cameras from that discussion in Sean’s office. But so intense was her obsession, she forgot.

Yes, Harry had her evidence, but they had her.