Sergeant Gavin manned the tiller again as the incoming tide bore the boat forward, deeper into the salt marshes. Once again Pendergast sat in the bow, consulting a map and moving only to point directions, leading them up a seeming infinitude of channels.
Gavin wondered what the heck Pendergast was doing again in the marshes. But he kept his mouth shut. He realized a man like Pendergast was the kind who simply did what he wanted, without explanations, apologies, or justification. Nevertheless, he was convinced this would end up a wild-goose chase. It seemed obvious that the killings of the historian and the lawyer were banal, most likely the work of drug addicts trying to cover up their robberies with symbols, which were known to at least some locals familiar with the story of the Tybane Inscriptions. Pendergast had given him some nonsense about looking for the Gray Reaper. But as he eyed the bulky metal detector lying athwart the skiff’s seats, poking out of a partially zipped-up bag, he wondered: What was Pendergast going to do with that?
The hand pointed, Gavin turned. He really wished Pendergast had not insisted that he pilot the boat. There were plenty of others who could have done it. But Pendergast had particularly asked for him, and since the autopsy on Dunwoody wasn’t going to take place until the next day, the chief agreed.
This time, they were way the hell out in the marshes. They were completely surrounded; all you could see for 360 degrees around was grass and water under a gray, late-afternoon sky.
Pendergast held up his hand, and with a gesture indicated Gavin was to throttle down. Gavin did so, putting the engine into neutral. The boat continued drifting on the current.
“We seem to have taken a wrong turn, Sergeant Gavin.”
Gavin shrugged. “You’ve got the GPS. I’ve been totally lost for a while.”
“One moment.” Pendergast spent a few minutes working the GPS and checking the map, back and forth, back and forth. “Let us backtrack.”
With a suppressed sigh Gavin turned the boat around and maneuvered upcurrent at half speed. They emerged into a broader channel.
“This way,” said Pendergast.
Yet another endless series of channels—and then he once again held up his hand. “This is it.”
Gavin stared at the mud embankment and the sea of grass beyond, which seemed to rise into the faintest of hills. He had a sudden bad feeling.
“If you don’t mind, Sergeant, please stay with the boat and wait for me.”
Gavin glanced at his watch. “It’s going to be dark in an hour. After that it’ll be hard to navigate.”
“I shall be back well before then.” He grabbed the equipment bag and climbed out of the boat. In a moment he had disappeared into the grass.
Gavin shifted on the hard metal seat. The bad feeling began to deepen. Of course, he could just take off and strand Pendergast there. But if he did that, the shit would really hit the fan. You just didn’t mess with a guy like Pendergast.
A. X. L. Pendergast knifed his way through the salt grass, bending it aside with one arm while slinging the equipment bag over the other shoulder. Every minute seemed to grow colder and grayer than the last, with that penetrating, barbaric cold so prevalent near the sea.
Pendergast paused several times to check his GPS. After about ten minutes, he arrived at the place where he had found the object the night before—and what, apparently, were the remains of an old settlement.
Of course, his goal was not—as he had told Sergeant Gavin—to search for the Gray Reaper, whatever that creature might or might not be.
Unrolling the map, he first oriented himself, then walked ahead until he was on top of the starting waypoint. He then assembled the metal detector, affixing the shaft onto the box, attaching the search coil, and fitting the earphones to his ears. He adjusted several dials, calibrating the device. And then, taking a careful bearing with his GPS, he began walking forward slowly, sweeping the soggy ground with the coil, back and forth, keeping his eye on the LED screen. He went about fifty feet, moved to a new line two feet parallel, then returned to the starting point, and turned again.