It was just after dark when they pulled into Maureen's driveway; it looked like the whole gang was here. Lloyd's black sheriff's Bronco was parked in the driveway and so was Binder's Astrovan. Maureen rushed out of the house and toward the two men as they walked to the entrance.
They stood under one of those older hand made tin bare bulb lamps that are installed on the outsides of so many of the USA's farmhouses.
"There's been a murder ... Tommy Binder's son's been found dead mutilated and burned out in the old churchyard. Before they took the corpse to Reading to be examined... I saw it for a few seconds." She looks at Mark.
(Terror's been following you around lately bro....)
"How bout your friend, Mark?" called the Old Man Grenden's familiar and gravelly voice. An old small and worried looking man stepped from the shadows-- he was rubbing his thin. Grenden had always given Mark the creeps. Maybe it was the way he opened his mouth: like a lion baring his teeth. Thing was, when he opened his mouth all he really showed off was an old mouth that had maybe two or three teeth left. He looked the same as he did 15 years ago, like he was living on time he borrowed from someone. "Your friend got a place he can pin himself to this morning?"
"Oh man! What the fuck!" Dennis exclaimed, pacing about nervously until it started looking frantic. Mark thought for a second that Dennis was going to run. "Natural, very fucking natural, this bullshit around here never ends!"
"He was with me until I left the motel at 10: 15 a.m."
"Then that settles that," Grenden said, "No big deal. Lloyd and I got a child murderer running around our county so I ask a stranger who's living in the woods what he was doing at the time of the murders, Mark. Is that unreasonable, Mark? Even if it's just an old, outdated country sheriff doing the questioning?"
Lloyd and Binder came out of the house and joined everyone on the stone porch in front of the house. Binder nodded a greeting Mark's way. ("Hey, Mark how are you?") The harvest moon rose behind the fantastic looking line of oak trees that surrounded the Kurtz property. Lloyd was obviously in over his head, Mark thought to himself, but Grenden was a shrewd violent man; this was his ballpark. Grenden was in his element: taking of care things around Kurtzville.
"Any suspects?" Mark asked, "any leads?"
"A few leads," Grenden said, "you see any strange looking folks in town, Mark?"
"I sure did," he replied, "a fat guy dressed as a priest, smelled like gasoline."
"Well, we got that fat boy sitting down at the station right now if you're interested in helping us out; do you want to question him a little. Lloyd will deputize you right here, then we'll go do some dirty work and we'll have you back here in an hour and a half. "
No, I'm done with law enforcement. I'm sorry guys but my job is pouring beers. I don't think there's anything I can bring to the table that you folks can't do as your team stands. here before me.
"Very well, no problem. I expected that sort of response but I figured I'd give it a try anyway," Grenden said. "Alright gang, let's go we got some work to do down at the station. "
Grenden, Lloyd and a weeping Binder got into Lloyd's Bronco and took off.
"I burned the chicken with all this going on. I know, how metaphoric but it's still edible. Or we can go get a pizza. "
The three of them ate.
"Like manna from Heaven," Dennis said, "this is the best meal I've had in a month."
It was quiet, dead kids can damper conversation apparently.
This chapter concludes with:
What are you doing after you're done here?" Mark asked Maureen who was stacking dishes by the sink while Dennis was in the other room listening to the radio. "Me and Dennis were heading over to the Improper, you interested in sitting out in the woods with and getting drunk?"
"With Lloyd in town, I should hang out here. How bout tomorrow?"
"Sounds good. "
"Say, eh, Maureen my buddy Dennis out there is looking for his brother, that's the main reason he's here. You ever see this guy?" he asked, pulling out Ray MacPherson's photo.
"Nope."
"You sure?"
"Yep."
"He would've been around here with a video camera," Mark offered, hoping to jog her memory.
"Never saw him."
The drive to the Toad Creek was a silent meditation.