Cockroach is the worst. I think its account of he lost his left hand. Theres different stories about how he lost it. Some say it got run over by a plow. Others say no, it was a sawmill blade what got it. Others say a gator ate it, but I dont believe that one. Whatever caused him to lose it, he aint never got over it, and hes been taking it out on boys ever since. Especially when hes swinging that strap. Punishing us for having two good hands, I reckon.
Bucks legs were black down to his knees, and so was his back, up nearly to his shoulders. His breath was fast and shallow, and whenever the tweezers touched him he would twitch and whimper, but real quiet, like he was too weak to do it loud. I said Buck, are you okay? It was a stupid thing to say, but it was all I could think of. You mind your own business, said Mrs. Wilcox. Hes going to be all right. Its what he gets for starting a fight. He never started it, I said. She looked up at me then with a sharp look. Not another word from you, she said, or itll be your hind end looking like this tomorrow. Get the trash and then come back and get that mattress. Its ruined. You need to haul it to the dump, too.
I dont think I can carry it by myself, I said.
She pointed out the window at Cockroach, who was smoking in the yard. You want me to call him back and tell him you didnt do like I asked?
I thought about what he might do if she told him that. No mam, I said, I can do it. You dont need to call him. Ill be back for it as soon as I empty the trash.
Wash out that can real good after you empty it, she said.
The trash can was full of wet, smelly rags. When I dumped it, they slithered out and plopped on the ground, and slimy reddish brown liquid dribbled out of the bottom of the can. I couldnt help it, I bent over and puked right on top of the whole mess.
There was a water hose behind the infirmary, so I rinsed out the trash can and washed out my mouth and took a drink. I noticed stuff from the trash can spattered on my shoes, so I rinsed those, too, while I let the trash can drain. Then I took it back inside and went to get the mattress.
Mrs. Wilcox wasnt in the room, so I leaned down real quick and whispered to Buck, can you hear me? His eyes opened and he whispered yes. How bad are you hurt? Real bad, he said. I cant walk. I dont know if I can ever walk again. I squeezed his hand. Im sorry Buck. Ill pray for you.
Hes dead, Skeeter, said Buck. Jareds dead. They wrapped him up in a sheet and dragged him out of here by the feet. His head was dragging like a sack of rocks. I heard them say they were taking him to the bone yard.
Mrs. Wilcox was coming, so I let go of Bucks hand and grabbed the mattress real quick. I dragged it across the floor and out the door. When the corner bumped down the steps, I thought about Jareds head bumping that same way.
I pushed away my plate of catfish, which had grown cold as I’d read. I’d eaten only a few bites, and I noticed that Stu and Angie hadn’t done any better with their dinners than I’d done with mine. “Jesus,” Angie commented as she laid down the pages. “Welcome to hell.”
Vickery took out a fresh cigar, which he unwrapped slowly. Instead of chomping it, he rotated it between his fingers, studying first one end and then the other, as if the cigar might provide some answer to the age-old question of evil. “Hell,” he said, “would be too good a place for the guys who did this.”
Chapter 16
“Well, there’s good news and bad news,” Vickery said when he got out of his Jeep at the cemetery the next day.
Angie kept her eyes on the probe she was shoving into the ground at the foot of one of the pipe crosses. “What’s the bad news?”
“The bad news is, the governor doesn’t want us to disturb the graveyard.”
Now she looked up. “What the hell? I was hoping we could finish probing today, maybe get the forensic backhoe out here tomorrow. Why doesn’t he want us to dig it up?”
“He told the commissioner there’s no indication that anyone buried in these graves was the victim of a crime. Unless we find compelling evidence that links these graves to crimes, he says, it would be a desecration to disturb the cemetery.”
“Desecration? To find the truth? Give me a break.” She studied his face. “Do you think maybe he’s covering up something?”
“I doubt it.” He shrugged. “This looks like a bees’ nest, and I can see how the governor would rather we didn’t whack it with a stick and stir up the bees. If we start pulling bodies from the ground, lawyers are gonna be lining up to sue the state for millions. Besides, forensically, it’d be tough to identify the remains, wouldn’t it, Doc?”
“Probably,” I conceded. “Unless they’re in good coffins and watertight vaults, they’ll be down to bare bone. You might be able to get mitochondrial DNA out of the bones or teeth, but how much would that tell you? Mitochondrial DNA doesn’t give you a unique identification—it just tells you whether two individuals share a common female ancestor. Besides, who would you compare these boys’ DNA to?”