Page 13 of Girl, Reborn

But that was the job. Peel back the layersof the rotten onion until you reached the weeping, putrid core. And try not tobreathe too deeply in the process.

‘When we hit the ground, I want to geteyes on the dump site ASAP,’ she told him said. ‘The scene techs have probablytrampled all over it by now, but we might get lucky. Catch something theymissed.’

‘Like what?’ Luca asked, wincing as aparticularly rough patch of air nearly launched him out of his seat.

‘Footprints. Tire treads. Hell, amonogrammed handkerchief if the universe is feeling generous.’ Ella shrugged,cracking her neck with a satisfying pop. ‘At this point, I'll take anythingthat narrows down the suspect pool. Because let’s be honest, who in thiscountry doesn’t want to kill one politician or another?’

Luca bit his lip and asked, ‘Do they?’

‘Don’t you watch the news?’

‘Never.’

‘Well, get ready for a slab of ruralAmerica. Hope you packed your waders.’

Liberty Grove. A stone’s throw away fromher old haunts. She had a feeling it was going to be one hell of a homecoming.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ella squinted against the harsh glare ofthe sun as she took in the scene before her. A dead farm field stretched out inall directions, the grass brown and brittle underfoot. It looked like it hadn'tseen a drop of rain in months, maybe years. The land was cracked and parched,with only a few withered stalks poking up like skeletal fingers grasping at thesky.

Welcome home, indeed.

‘Charming spot,’ Luca said. ‘VerySteinbeck chic. All we’re missing is the Dust Bowl and some starving migrants.’

Up ahead, the ‘POLICE LINE – DO NOT CROSS’tape fluttered in the anemic breeze. Ella led the way across the sun-bakedfield with Luca in tow. A few officers milled about like black ants on acarcass, snapping photos and bagging evidence. Numbered markers dotted theground where Ricky Toledo had been sprawled not two hours before. A macabregame of connect-the-dots.

A man detached himself from the swarm ofuniforms and ambled over when the agents arrived. He had a face like acatcher’s mitt; tanned skin, leathery wrinkles, squint lines. A bushy mustachebristled above his upper lip, more salt than pepper, and his polyester uniformshirt strained across a paunch that spoke to a few too many roadside dinerbreakfasts.

‘Agents? Feds?’ His voice was a Texasdrawl slowly stewed in Virginia twang, the vowels as flat as his feet. ‘I'mSheriff Clem Tucker. Glad ya'll could make it down here on such short notice.’

Ella shook his proffered hand, the skinrough and callused against her own. ‘Good to meet you, Sheriff. Wish it wereunder better circumstances.’

Clem grunted something that sounded like arusty hinge. ‘Ain't that always the way. Quiet town like this, we don't see awhole lotta excitement. 'Specially not of the homicide variety.’

‘I can imagine.’ Ella scanned the horizon,the empty fields and dilapidated outbuildings. ‘I’m from Abingdon, a few milesaway. If it’s anything like there, everybody probably knows everybody.’

‘Abingdon girl, you say?’ Tucker smoothedhis moustache. ‘Well, welcome back. This place probably looks a ton differentthan when you last saw it.’

‘Sure does.’ Ella hadn’t seen this town indamn near twenty years, and even to her fool-proof memory, the place lookedlike alien terrain.

'Most folks have been here longer thanGod. S'why this whole thing's got us more balled up than a beaver in adrainpipe.' Clem spat a brown stream of tobacco juice that narrowly missedElla's boot.

‘So walk us through it,’ she said,steering them back on track. ‘What do we know so far?’

Clem scratched his raspy stubble. ‘Not awhole lot, truth be told. Got the call around six this mornin' from Carl Jessupover yonder.’ He jerked his chin at a decrepit farmhouse slumping tiredlyagainst the gray sky. ‘Says he was doin' his usual rounds when he stumbledacross the body. Damn near soiled himself.’

‘I bet,’ Luca said. ‘And the vic? What'shis story?’

‘Ricky Toledo, hotshot politician outtaBristol.’ Clem shook his head, something like grudging respect in the set ofhis jaw. ‘Big name, even around here.’

The details snagging in Ella’s brain likea fish hook. ‘Bristol? Toledo didn't live in Liberty Grove?’

‘Like hell he was. ‘Toledo was a city boy.Wouldn't know which end of a tractor was up. Didn't have no business bein' inthese parts, far as I can figure.’

Curiouser and curiouser. Ella gnawed herlip, the unanswered questions piling up like cordwood. If Toledo wasn't alocal, then how the hell did he end up in the middle of Farmer Bob's backforty? And more importantly, who'd wanted him dead badly enough to dump himhere?

She glanced at Luca, saw the same darkspeculation reflected on his chewed lip. ‘Alright, first things first. We needto pin down Toledo's last known whereabouts. Retrace his steps, figure out ifhe came here willingly or if somebody brought him.’

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