Then they saw it. On the other side of a chain-link fence, the red Triumph Spitfire sat alone and abandoned next to Romey's garage. The edge of the woods stopped less than twenty feet from the fence, and between it and the rear wall of the garage a dozen or so oaks and elms with Spanish moss shaded the backyard.
Not surprisingly, Romey was a slob. He had piled boards and bricks, buckets and rakes, all sorts of debris behind the garage and out of sight of the street.
There was a small gate in the chain-link fence. The garage had a window and a door in the rear wall. Sacks of unused and ruined fertilizer were stacked against it. An old lawn mower with the handles off was parked by the door. On the whole, the yard was overgrown and had been for some time. Weeds along the fence were knee-high.
They squatted in the trees and stared at the garage. They would get no closer. The neighbor's patio and charcoal grill were a stone's throw away.
Reggie tried to catch her breath, but it •was not possible. She clutched Mark's hand, and found it impossible to believe that the body of a United States senator was buried less than a hundred feet from where she was now hiding.
"Are we gonna go in there?" Mark asked. It was almost a challenge, though she detected a trace of fear. Good, she thought, he is scared.
She caught her breath long enough to whisper. "No. We've come far enough." He hesitated for a long time, then said, "It'll be easy." "It's a big garage," she said.
"I know exactly where it is." "Well, I haven't pressed you on this, but don't you think it's time to share it with me?" "It's under the boat." "He told you this?" "Yes. He was very specific. It's buried under the boat." "What if there's no boat?" "Then we haul ass." He was finally sweating and breathing hard. She'd seen enough. She stayed low and began backing away. "I'm leaving now," she said.
K. O. LEWIS NEVER LEFT THE PLANE. MCTHUNE AND COMpany were waiting when it landed, and they rushed aboard as it refueled. Thirty minutes later, they left for New Orleans, where Larry Trumann now waited anxiously.
Lewis didn't like it. What the hell was he supposed to do in New Orleans? It was a big city. They had no idea what she was driving. In fact, they didn't know if Reggie and Mark had driven, flown, or taken a bus or a train. It was a tourist and convention city with thousands of hotel rooms and crowded streets. Until they made a mistake, it would be impossible to find them.
But Director Voyles wanted him. on the scene, and so off he went to New Orleans. Find the kid and make him talk-those were his instructions. Promise him anything.
Chapter 37
TWO OF THE THREE, LEO AND IONUCCI, WERE VETERAN legbreakers for the Sulari family, and were actually related by blood to Barry the Blade, though they often denied it. The third, a huge kid with massive biceps, a wide neck, and thick waist, was known simply as the Bull, for obvious reasons. He'd been sent on this unusual errand to perform most of the grunt work. Barry assured them it would not be difficult. The concrete was thin. The body was small. Chip a little here, and chip a little there, and before they knew it they'd see a black garbage bag.
Barry had diagrammed the floor of the garage, and marked with exact confidence the position of the grave. He had drawn a map with a line starting at the parking lot of West Park and running between the tennis courts, across the soccer field, through a patch of trees, then across another field with a picnic pavilion, then along the bike route for a ways until a footpath led to the ditch. It would be easy, he had assured them all afternoon.
The bike trail was deserted, and with good reason.
It was ten minutes after eleven, Saturday night. The air was muggy, and by the time they reached the footpath they were breathing heavily and sweating! The Bull, much younger and fitter, followed the other two and smiled to himself as they bitched quietly in the blackness about the humidity. They were in their late thirties, he guessed, chain-smokers of course, abusive drinkers, sloppy eaters. They were griping about sweating, and they hadn't walked a mile yet.
Leo was in charge of this expedition, and he carried the flashlight. They were dressed in solid black, lonucci followed like a bloodhound with heartworms, head down, breathing hard, lethargic, mad at the world for being here. "Careful," Leo said as they eased down the ditch bank in heavy weeds. They were not exactly woodsy types. This place had been frightening enough at 6 P. M. when they first walked it off. Now it was terrifying. The Bull expectedat any moment to step on a thick, squirming snake. Of course, if he was bitten, he could turn around with justification, and, he hoped, find the car. His two buddies would then be forced to, go it alone. He tripped on a log, but kept his balance. He almost wished for a snake.
"Careful," Leo said for the tenth time, as if saying it made things safer. They eased along the dark and weedy creek bed for two hundred yards, then climbed the other bank. The flashlight was turned off, and they crouched low through the brush until they were behind Clifford's chain-link fence. They rested on their knees.
"This is stupid, you know," lonucci said between loud breaths. "Since when do we dig up bodies?" Leo was surveying the darkness of Clifford's backyard. Not a single light. They had driven by only minutes earlier, and noticed a small gas light burning in a globe near the front door, but the rear was complete darkness. "Shut up," he said without moving his head.
"Yeah, yeah," lonucci mumbled. "It's stupid." His screaming lungs were almost audible. Sweat dripped from his chin. The Bull knelt behind them, shaking his head at their unfitness. They were used primarily as bodyguards and drivers, occupations that required little exertion. Legend held that Leo did his first killing when he was seventeen, but was forced to quit a few years later when he served time. The Bull had heard that lonucci had been shot twice over the years, but this was unconfirmed. The people who generated these stories were not known for telling the truth.
"Let's go," Leo said like a field marshal. They scooted across the grass to the gate in Clifford's fence, then through it. They darted between the trees until they landed against the rear wall of the garage. lonucci was in pain. He fell to all fours and heaved mightily. Leo crawled to a corner and looked for movement next door. Nothing. Nothing but the sounds of lonucci's impending cardiac arrest. The Bull peeked around the other corner and watched the rear of Clifford's house.
The neighborhood was asleep. Even the dogs had called it a night.
Leo stood and tried to open the rear door. It was locked. "Stay here," he said, and slid low around the garage until he came to the front door. It was locked also. Back to the rear, he said, "We gotta break some glass. It's locked too." lonucci produced a hammer from a pouch on his waist, and Leo began tapping lightly on the dirty pane just above the doorknob. "Watch that corner," he said to the Bull, who crawled behind him and looked in the direction of the Ballantine home next door.
Leo pecked and pecked until the pane was broken. He carefully removed broken pieces and tossed them aside. When the jagged edges were clear, he slid his left arm through and unlocked the door. He turned on the flashlight, and the three eased inside.
Barry said he remembered the place being a mess, and Clifford obviously had been too busy to tidy things up before he passed on. The first thing they noticed was that the floor was gravel, not concrete. Leo kicked at the white rocks beneath his feet. If Barry had told them about the gravel flooring, he didn't remember it.