Back From The Dead

Chapter Twenty-Two

Scott Bradfield had a feeling Tim Gaines would rat on Gordon, so he’d done the only logical thing he could think of. He told his father that the fuckwad was cooking up another bullshit scheme, another lame attempt at discrediting and defaming him.

Tom Bradfield listened as Scott told him a simplified story of what he’d made up shortly after talking to Dave and Gord early this morning. He’d been woken out of a sound sleep by his cell phone after a rousing night of bong hits and sex at Rebecca’s house. He’d snatched the phone up and was instantly awake when Gordon told him what happened between him and Tim.

There was no doubt Count Gaines’s parents would hound the DA about pursuing criminal charges against Gordon. That was what Gordon was trying to warn him about and Scott agreed with him. “If they come after me, they might come poking around at your place,” Gordon had told him. “And I ain’t going to say anything — you know me better than that — but you have to know that even if I do everything I can to steer them away from going to your place, they’re going to do it anyway. And I don’t want them to find the zombies.”

That had been the pisser, the thought that the cops would find the zombies. Thinking about it infuriated Scott, but he’d quickly calmed down and told Gordon he would take care of it. Then he thanked him for the warning. “Don’t mention it,” Gordon had said. “I told Count that if the cops came around our places, that his girlfriend Chelsea would be hurt.”

“You what?” It was that confession that pissed Scott off more than Gordon getting picked up last night for a truancy violation.

“I just wanted to scare him, okay?” Gordon had protested. “I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Despite the fact that such a threat was something Scott would have levied against Tim himself, he didn’t like the idea of Gordon pulling something like this. He wondered how it was handled; did Tim take the threat seriously? Would he tell the cops Gordon had threatened Chelsea? If Tim’s folks got involved, the cops were bound to find out. “You better get ready to start denying you ever told him that shit,” Scott advised Gordon. He hadn’t been in the mood, nor in the proper space, to unleash his anger fully at Gordon — he’d retreated to the end of the hall near the lone bathroom at that end of the house for privacy. “Listen, we’ll talk about this later. In the meantime, call David and tell him what’s going on. I’ll take care of things here.”

“What are you going to do?”

Scott didn’t have an answer for Gordon at the time, but he assured him the problem would be taken care of.

Tom Bradfield listened patiently as Scott told his father about Tim Gaines attempting to blackmail Gordon Smith, how it all went back to that horror novel Gaines claimed he’d loaned to Gordon being found at the cemetery after it was ransacked. He told his father that Tim had been acting strangely the past few weeks at school; not talking to anybody, reading more weird books than was usual for him, and hanging out with George Ulrich and Al Romero, with the latter known for being a social outcast and a real weirdo. He also told him about Chelsea Brewer, how Tim had been hanging out with her lately, and he revealed some of her backstory to him: her penchant for gothic clothing and music, how she’d withdrawn from school briefly in the tenth grade and admitted to a hospital for self-mutilation. His father had visibly reacted to that, raising his eyebrows in a gesture that told Scott his father did not approve of such actions. Scott wrapped it up by telling his father about running into Tim and his friends at Susan’s party the other night and how Tim had made a cryptic statement to him. “He told us to be ready, that something was coming,” Scott said, the lie flowing effortlessly. “Then he kinda chuckled and left with his friends.”

Tom Bradfield took a sip of his coffee. He was a lean, handsome man, in his mid-fifties with short brown hair that held only a hint of gray. He’d arrived home from a business trip late last night and was already up bright and early, the Wall Street Journal spread out before him, already dressed for his morning golf game in a white tank top and gray shorts. “That doesn’t sound like much of a threat to me, Scott.”

“It will be if his parents get another hair up their ass and make noise again.”

“On what grounds?” Tom raised his coffee cup to his lips, his eyes daring.

“He’s told me more than once that he’s going to get even with me for what happened when we were in sixth grade,” Scott said, making up the lie as it came to him. “He’s had it in for me ever since. You know it, too. I just don’t want the cops to come around here. I know that took a lot out of you and Mom last time. I don’t want it to happen again.”

Tom appeared to consider this. He kept his gaze on Scott as he thought about it, sipping his coffee. Scott held his old man’s gaze; he could tell his father was trying to see if he was telling him the truth. Scott had deliberately lied about a few things to set a precedent; he’d established a few tell-tale signs that indicated he was lying about something and every time it happened, Dad caught him. Not this time, though. Dad was buying this story entirely.

“So what do you think we should do about it?” Tom Bradfield asked.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Scott said. “I was at Rebecca’s all night. I was also with Rebecca the night the Reamstown Cemetery was broken into.”

Tom Bradfield nodded and sipped his coffee casually. “That’s true. I can’t see how Tim could frame you for something like that. And you’re sure someone can vouch for you? Were there witnesses who can say they saw you?”

“We were at the movies the night the cemetery was broken into. I still have the receipts. After the movie was over, we went to Ruby Tuesday’s, then we went to her place. Her mom was home and we hung out with her all night. As for last night.” Scott shrugged. “We hung out with her mom until midnight, then she went to bed. Rebecca and I sat up and hung out in her room and I fell asleep.”

“I see.” Tom Bradfield took another sip of his coffee, his gaze not leaving his son. If he disapproved of Scott sleeping over at Rebecca’s last night, he didn’t show it.

“Anyway, I just have a feeling Tim’s parents are going to get the police involved again and I wanted to let you know.”

“Well, now I know.” Tom nodded at Scott. “Don’t worry about it. If they come around, I’ll talk to them.”

Scott smiled good-naturedly. “Thanks, Dad.” He left the kitchen, letting his faux relief shine through as he exited the kitchen.

He did not see his dad’s features change as he left the room. It was subtle, and if you did not know the elder Bradfield it would not be noticeable.

Tom Bradfield’s easy-going disposition had turned into a frown of suspicion.

Scott had just finished getting dressed after taking a quick shower when the doorbell rang.

He made as if he was casually going downstairs. He didn’t want to make it known to his dad that he was hanging around the house to see if the police showed up, so he’d darted upstairs to shower, being careful to be as leisurely and casual about it as possible. The more he could stick to his normal schedule, the better. Mom was in the master bathroom getting showered and dressed for the day, and Dad would no doubt be getting ready for meeting up with his golf buddies. Mom would probably go to the Country Club for whatever it was she did on Saturday. That left Scott with some time to get rid of the zombies.

He’d placed a quick call to Dave and Steve before he took his shower. “Get over here by ten,” he’d told them. “When my parents are gone, we’re getting those fucking zombies out of the guesthouse and getting rid of them.” Dave and Steve were already hip to it, having been tipped off last night by Gordon. They were only too eager to lend a hand.

Scott descended the last few steps quietly.

Dad was talking to somebody at the front door. He didn’t sound too pleased.

Scott hung back near the stairs trying to listen. From where he was standing, whoever was on the porch wouldn’t be able to see him, but Scott could hear them perfectly. They sounded like cops.

“…just like to have a word or two with your son about it.”

“I’m afraid not,” Dad said. “If you wish to speak to my son, it will be through our lawyer.”

“He isn’t a suspect, Mr. Bradfield. We just want to talk to him about a missing classmate of his. Can we please speak to him?”

“Tell you what? How about we schedule a meeting? You can question Scott in the presence of our lawyer. You can come here, or we can do it in my lawyer’s office. Whichever you prefer.”

“Can we come in and talk with you, then?”

“You’re talking with me now.” Even though Dad’s back was to Scott, he could tell Dad was putting on that smiley face that seemed to say, don’t fuck with me. “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have an appointment. I trust you can see your way down the driveway and to your vehicle?”

There was a short pause. Then: “Give us a call then, Mr. Bradfield. We’ll schedule something.”

Scott watched as Dad took a business card one of the detectives handed over. Then the detectives retreated off the porch and down the driveway.

Dad stayed at the front door the whole time. Watching them leave.

When Dad closed the door and turned around, Scott was still standing at the bottom of the staircase. Dad gave no indication that he was surprised to see Scott standing there. “That was easy. We’re going to have to get them off your back, though.”

“Are we going to set up a meeting with Leon?” Leon Hagar was the Bradfield family attorney.

“Yes. Probably for sometime in the next few days.” Dad fished into his pockets and extracted his keys, which he tossed to Scott. “Do me a favor. Wait until those clowns are gone and then take the Corvette down to Landis Wash and have them do a hand wash.”

“Sure thing, Dad!” Scott grinned. Driving the Corvette was always a treat, one he hardly ever got to partake in. “I’ll leave in a few minutes.” He dashed back up the stairs to his room.

Once again, he didn’t see his father’s features change as he left his presence. That look of concern had grown stronger.

The moment the Corvette was out of sight Tom Bradfield got up from his favorite chair in the living room, crossed over to where he left his sandals, put them on, and headed to the kitchen. Carol had left fifteen minutes ago for the Country Club. She belonged to some social group, probably some kind of club for rich Country Club women, and the group held their monthly meetings in one of the conference rooms at the Bent Creek Country club. Tom had almost bought a house in the area, which was an exclusive, gated community, but he’d decided against it. He liked it where he was just fine.

Being in his development, which was close to the edge of Zuck’s Woods, was exactly where he wanted to be.

It had been easy to get Scott to take the ‘Vette out for a wash. Scott loved that car, and Tom had almost bought him one a few months ago, but Carol talked him out of it. She said they were giving their son too much. She was right, of course. Despite Scott’s involvement in extra-curricular activities at school, and his seamless academic and sports record, he and Carol did not require Scott to work a part-time job. They gave him a weekly allowance of three hundred dollars, which Scott was allowed to spend however he wished. Tom had given Scott his old SUV, and while that was a fine car for a boy to have, when Scott expressed such unbridled enthusiasm for the ‘Vette, Tom had almost given in and bought him one. “We buy him too many things,” Carol had argued. “If he wants one, let him work for it.”

Tom exited the kitchen through the side door. He paused at the side deck, making sure he was alone, then headed toward the rear deck.

The guesthouse sat lonely and forlorn a hundred yards away from the house. It was a shame they’d never done anything to the place. When Tom bought the house five years ago he’d had every intention of using it as a bona fide guesthouse. It was built by the original owner, but was left unfinished when Tom and Carol bought the property. They just hadn’t had the time to complete it.

Tom frowned as he drew closer to the guesthouse. The detectives hadn’t accused Scott of anything, but the first thing they’d asked was to speak to him. The second thing they’d asked was to conduct a brief search of the property. Tom had said no to both. The detectives told him they only wanted to question Scott about a missing classmate of his, a guy named John Elfman. They had reason to believe John was hurt and might have wandered onto the property, that he might even now be lying somewhere hurt and unconscious in the woods that bordered the yard, or maybe behind the guesthouse. As the detectives related this, Tom watched them casually and noticed something that troubled him.

One of the detectives had been glancing around the property, making sweeps with those robo-cop eyes police officers and detectives always seemed to possess. He supposed it was standard procedure for a pair of detectives to give locations the quick once-over, only this guy seemed to be really interested in the area where the guesthouse was located, which he could see thanks to a direct view through the large windows in the living room of the house, which opened up to the rear of the property. He kept darting his gaze toward it, then averting it during the conversation. Tom feigned ignorance as he denied their requests to talk to Scott.

So naturally, Tom wanted to see what it was that had interested the detective.

He noticed the smell about ten yards from the guesthouse. It was masked with an underlying scent, one of freshly-scented pine. Tom wrinkled his nose. His limbs grew light, his heart raced as he approached the guesthouse and stopped.

The sun beat high overhead, already bearing down on what was going to be an unbearably hot day. Tom listened for any sounds within the guesthouse. He heard nothing.

Tom fished the key to the guesthouse out of his shorts and unlocked the door.

He pushed the door open.

The smell wafted out of the guesthouse, nearly bowling him over with its intensity. Tom took an involuntary step back and gagged.

Then he got a look at what was inside the guesthouse and choked back a scream.

His heart raced faster. His stomach lurched in his belly.

All the breath seemed to run out of him.

And then, tapping into a sudden burst of energy, he took a quick step inside, grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door closed.

Then he turned and ran like hell back to the house.

Tom Bradfield was waiting for Scott on the side deck when he came home an hour later, the Corvette newly washed and shining in the morning sun.

Scott grinned as he exited the vehicle. “Here we go! Clean as the day it rolled off the lot!”

Tom Bradfield was nursing a scotch — no ice, no water. He hardly drank alcohol before noon and here it was, barely a quarter till ten in the morning. “Scott, we need to have a talk.”

Scott was on his way to the side door of the house when Tom said this. He froze. “What’s up?”

“It’s about those detectives that came here earlier.”

“What about them?”

“They told me they wanted to question you about a guy named John Elfman. He’s gone missing. They asked if they could search the property. I denied their request.” Tom fixed his son with a steely gaze. “They didn’t bring up Tim Gaines at all. They didn’t mention the Reamstown Cemetery. Why did you lie to me?”

Scott rebounded from that direct question very well. He looked startled, then made a remarkable save. “I didn’t know anything about John Elfman. Honest. I thought they were going to razz me about Tim Gaines again.”

“I saw what you have in the guesthouse.”

There was no quick save for such a direct statement. Scott’s face went deathly pale. Tom could see his son’s hands twitch as he fought to remain casual. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean, the two corpses in the guesthouse.”

“Corpses?”

“Scott, come up here on the deck. Sit down.”

Scott remained where he was, hesitating between bolting toward the house and approaching the deck.

“We need to talk about this, but I can’t do it if I have to shout at you from the deck. Your mother isn’t home, and we need to talk about this now before she gets home. I also don’t want to make a scene in case somebody happens to see it. So please, come here. Sit down.”

Scott looked like he was going to hesitate again, but common sense got the best of him. He quickly strode up the deck steps and slid into a chair on the other side of the glass table that so many late afternoon deck parties had been held around.

Tom saw Scott glance quickly at the guesthouse and he felt a momentary brush of shame as he saw the fear in his son’s eyes. This was the first time Tom had ever confronted his son about any of the crimes he’d participated in. When he was threatened with expulsion from Spring Valley Elementary School for his part in the assault on the Gaines boy, Tom had wanted Scott to see a child psychiatrist. Carol vehemently opposed it, and they’d had a bitter fight over it. Tom had relented. Carol had always been the one to coddle the boy; when Scott was thrown out of two private schools for his behavior toward other students it had been Carol that met with the school administrators. Her attempts at smoothing things over hadn’t been successful, and she’d never been one to discipline Scott. Carol was on the fast track up the ladder at her current firm at the time, and there was no way she could afford the time off to deal with the administrators, so she’d made a deal with their son: as long as he kept a clean academic record and didn’t cause them any trouble, they would support him financially through school and into college.

In hindsight, Tom should have held his ground. Should have insisted Scott be seen by a child psychiatrist. Should have insisted on having more influence on the way the boy was being raised. Should have insisted that with the bad actions Scott partook in that there were consequences.

On the other hand, Tom should have been around more to insure the boy never wound up like him.

He and Carol should have had a firmer hand in raising Scott. They shouldn’t have been so focused on their careers and maintaining their status in the neighborhood.

As Tom sipped from his drink, looking at his son, he didn’t see a monster sitting across from him. He saw himself almost forty years ago. A scared, troubled kid who had no guidance, no way to unleash his frustrations. A kid who had potential but was in danger of sabotaging it due to some unspeakable streak of violence that thrummed inside him that sometimes took control unexpectedly.

Tom had been in his son’s shoes before. He’d committed a similar crime. And despite that, he’d changed that part of himself. Became a contributing member to society.

And kept his dirty secret buried.

“I want to help you, son,” Tom said gently but firmly. “I saw those corpses in the guesthouse and they couldn’t have gotten in there by themselves. You and I know that our family has the key to the place. I also think Gordon and your other friends had something — ”

“They did it, Dad. It wasn’t me.” Scott was looking at his father with a new sense of urgency, but it wasn’t working. Tom had knocked Scott out of his senses with that simple statement, I saw the corpses in the guesthouse, and he wasn’t even thinking ahead of how the lie would affect his body language, his facial expression. Tom could read Scott like a book. He kept fiddling with his hands on the table, one of the habits Scott displayed whenever he was lying. “Honest, I had no idea. They’ve been…threatening me the whole time to keep quiet about it and — ”

“I don’t believe you heard me the first time, Scott,” Tom said, injecting menace in his voice and body posture. He leaned forward over the table. “I said I want to help you. If I’m going to help you, you’re going to come clean with me. It’s the only way I can help keep you out of jail. I can’t do it if you’re going to feed me this bullshit story that Gordon, Steve, and Dave led you into this because you and I know that’s not how it happened. Is it?”

Tom glared at Scott, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I know about the trips out of town. The nights you told me you were going into Lancaster to the skating rink were bullshit stories. You and your friends went into Philly and Harrisburg and assaulted homeless people.”

Scott looked at him again and this time the evidence was clear in his eyes. Guilty as charged. “No! That’s not what happened! I swear!”

“I noticed the bruising on your knuckles one morning,” Tom continued. “I never brought it up, though. I should have asked you what happened, and if you would have told me you’d gotten into a fight I would have asked you why you didn’t have any other marks or bruises. You don’t go through any fight without getting a little banged up. Trust me, I know. I was in plenty when I was your age.”

“I wasn’t fighting with anybody!”

“No, you were only beating the crap out of somebody who couldn’t fight back. That’s how your knuckles got bruised and torn up. Isn’t that right?”

Scott averted his gaze. “No. That’s not it.”

“I did a quick check on the internet before you came home. If I hadn’t been so busy I would’ve noticed what’s going on, so I blame myself for letting this happen. You can’t bullshit me anymore, Scott. I know what you’ve been doing.” He lowered his tone, trying to be the buddy, the best friend to his son, something his father had never been to him, something he told himself he’d always do for his own boy but never did because he was always so goddamned busy. “I saw news items on John’s disappearance. I know you went to Susan’s party the night he disappeared. I also know you guys were at odds with each other.”

“That’s not true!”

“I also read about the wilding incidents in Philly and Harrisburg. I was especially interested in the few cases that reported white teenagers driving a dark SUV being seen speeding away from each crime.” Tom leveled his gaze at his son. “You drive a dark SUV, Scott. I’m surprised the cops didn’t come poking around earlier.”

“Coincidence.”

“It’s not a coincidence that a man named Neal Ashford, who was reported missing in Philly three weeks ago, was wearing a white coat, blue jeans, and dark tennis shoes. One of the corpses in the guesthouse is wearing a white coat. The article also said Neal’s black. So is the corpse in the guesthouse.”

This time Scott didn’t say anything. He sat stoically, arms crossed, not looking at Tom.

“I didn’t want to believe it, but I can’t help but see the pattern,” Tom continued. “The times you were kicked out of school in fourth and fifth grades for picking on other kids, and not just picking on them either, downright torturing them — ”

“That’s not true!” Scott began, his voice raised.

“And then there’s the Gaines incident. We couldn’t protect you from the fallout of that, Scott. We tried, but we just couldn’t. The school board and the police had you dead to rights and it took our resources to keep you in school and get the administrators off your back. We couldn’t deal with the fallout of what might have happened if we hadn’t threatened to sue. We wanted to protect you, too. I wanted to get you into counseling but your mother, she had different ideas.”

“I don’t need counseling!” Scott banged his fists on the glass table.

Tom faced his son. Inside he wanted to shout back at him but he reined it in. He couldn’t lose control now. He’d learned to harness his anger a long time ago. “I can’t help but see the pattern. It needs to stop and I’m going to help you.”

Now Scott did meet his gaze. This time, the younger Bradfield didn’t turn away.

“How?” Scott asked. Tom thought he caught a slight tinge of pleading in that question. That was all he needed to know that he’d broken through, had gotten his son to see the severity of the situation.

“The first thing we have to do is get rid of the bodies.”

Now Scott visibly relaxed. He seemed to slump in his chair, as if a great weight had been taken off of him. He was nodding. “Okay, yeah…definitely. Get rid of them.”

“You don’t have to tell me why you did any of this,” Tom said, choosing his words carefully. “That isn’t the issue now. The issue now is to dispose of those bodies and make that guesthouse look immaculate.”

Scott let out a big sigh. He leaned over the table, clasping his hands in front of him. “You think the police will come back today?”

“They might. We need to take care of this as quickly as possible. Before your mother gets home.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

Scott nodded. Carol was usually gone until four or five on Saturday afternoons. If the police didn’t return, they could take care of this little problem with no trouble.

“I’ve already called Dave and Steve,” Scott said. “They’re on their way. They should be here any time now.”

“Good.” Scott understood the severity of the situation and had no doubt taken the appropriate measures before Tom confronted him with it.

“Fuckin’ Tim Gaines,” Scott muttered.

“What about him?”

“If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Tom said nothing. He liked to think he would have put two and two together eventually and confronted Scott about the dead men in the guesthouse, but the potential trouble Gaines posed did present a problem. It was obvious he’d talked to the police while in custody, otherwise Tom wouldn’t be having this conversation with Scott now. “We can’t get distracted by other things,” Tom said.

“I’m not distracted. I’m just pissed off.”

Tom thought back to that long ago night when he’d been pissed off and killed that hippie couple. He remembered the rage that had coursed through him, made him do something he never thought he’d do, something he’d been trying to cover up and keep buried ever since. It was because of his attempt at keeping that murder a secret which led to his keeping tabs on Zuck’s Woods, which led him to buy neighboring property when it came up for sale shortly after he graduated from college. He’d had to borrow money out the ass to do it, but Harry Eckman and Victor Beck had gone in on the deal with him and things had been fine. They’d formed a corporation, the three of them, then leased some of the land out, reinvested the profits into other businesses, and within fifteen years time Tom saw himself as CEO of D’Anno and Harris Financial, a private equity firm. It was through his business clout that he managed to get on the board for Lancaster County Development, and thanks to his influence, he’d kept most other developers from trying to turn that land into subdivisions. It was only recently that he’d been able to buy Zuck’s Woods in a very quiet, very private deal with the state gaming commission. He’d done everything he could to keep his sin buried. Likewise, Harry and Victor, his old high school friends, had done their part and kept their crime a secret.

“The detectives didn’t say anything about this,” Tom continued, “…but while I was on the news websites, I noticed that something is going on in another neighborhood that borders Zuck’s Woods. The Elm Grove development.”

Scott got that surprised look again. “What’s going on?”

“Missing people. A bunch of them. They’re talking about conducting a search in Zuck’s Woods.”

“Really?” Tom couldn’t tell if Scott was nervous; he was certainly acting like he was.

“Do I need to be concerned about a search party in Zuck’s Woods?”

“What’s to be concerned about?”

“I’m a shareholder in a corporation that owns Zuck’s Woods.”

“Oh!” Scott seemed to think about this. He looked at Tom. “I don’t know…you might.”

“Okay.” That settled it. He had to call Harry and Victor.

“So what are we going to do?”

“When Steve and Dave get here, take some blankets from the linen closet and wrap the corpses in them. Bring them to the house. We’ll burn them in the basement fireplace.”

“Won’t Mom notice the missing linens?”

“No. I’ll get them replaced. Do you think you guys can handle that?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make some phone calls and get some friends out here. Then we’re going to take care of the guesthouse.”

Tom only hoped they had enough time to cover Scott’s tracks.

And keep his own covered as well.

Tom reached Harry Eckman on his way to the golf course and told him to come to the house. “We playing at your place?” Harry joked.

Tom told Harry what was going on and Harry instantly eased up on the joking. “I’m heading over right now.”

He got a similar reaction from Victor Beck, who was watching the game on his widescreen TV in the living room of the new home he’d bought in River Court. “Should I call our lawyer?” Victor asked.

“Not yet,” Tom said. “Just get over here. And stop by a Home Depot and buy paint. Make it a dozen cans of white paint. I don’t care what brand. Just enough to paint the interior of a living room and the floor.”

“You want to paint your floor?”

“I’ll explain when you get here.”

By the time Victor and Harry arrived at the house a little after ten-thirty, Scott’s friends had already arrived and the boys had removed the corpses from the guesthouse. Tom had given the boys a brief recap. Steve and Dave looked grave and scared. They kept glancing at Scott, who refused to meet their gaze. The three boys hovered in front of the guesthouse for a moment as Tom trekked back to the house. He tried to ignore the sounds the boys made as they entered the guesthouse, the muffled grunts and curses accompanied by what sounded like beatings — Christ, the homeless people in there weren’t dead? Tom could have sworn they were deader than shit! — along with mangled squeals of surprise and pain that were suddenly cut off. More pounding followed. Scott and the boys pounding their heads in to make sure? Whatever they had to do to cover their tracks. As long as they scooped up the blood and brains that would stain the floor and walls.

David was throwing up outside as Harry Eckman arrived and Tom called out to him to wash the vomit up with the gardening hose. Dave waved a hand weakly, then proceded to do just that as Harry trotted up the deck steps. By the time Victor arrived and the men were sitting at the large glass table, Scott and his friends had gotten a handle on the task at hand and were carrying the wrapped-up remains into the house.

And as the boys worked, Tom told Victor and Harry what his son had been up to and how it was imperative they do whatever it took to keep the bodies of that long dead couple from being discovered.

“How are we going to do that, Tom?” Harry asked, his voice a strangled whisper. “We don’t know what’s going on or — ”

“You guys are going to monitor what’s happening in that neighborhood and if it appears that a civilian search party is going to be formed, you’re going to volunteer.”

Harry and Victor glanced at each other, understanding dawning on their features. Tom nodded at them. “You still remember the spot?”

“I’ll never forget it,” Victor said.

“All it’s going to take is to keep detectives and dogs out of the area.”

“What if something happens though?” Harry asked. “What if…something happens beyond our control…like a dog digs up a body or they find it through some kind of infra red equipment or something?”

“Then you’ll be on the ground to hear everything that goes on and you can report that back to me,” Tom said.

Scott’s voice called up to them, interrupting their meeting. “Guesthouse is clear!”

“Thanks, son,” Tom called down. He gestured toward the guesthouse. “I’ve got changes of clothes for you guys. Let’s get to work on painting that guesthouse before Carol gets home.”