The Homecoming

by Carsten Stroud

  Reed clicked off.

  When he got back to the big Lincoln with the burgers, Mavis was still on the phone. He climbed in and set the bag down on the console. Mavis looked at him, held up a finger—wait one. Fine with him. He had a lot on his mind. Kill Rainey? And that was where it was going to stay, for now.

  “Okay. Okay … thanks, Mark. Thanks a lot. You did great. Yeah, I know. Poor Edgar. Well, we’re on it. I’ll call you.”

  She closed the call.

  “Guy named Harvill Endicott checked into the Marriott on Thursday afternoon. Asked for a smoking room. Edgar was on duty. Mark thought the guy was an undertaker or a minister. This Endicott guy said he was a “facilitator and a collector.” He ordered up two cars, one a black Caddy and the other a beige Corolla. Two cars for one guy—”

  “Corolla for surveillance and the Caddy for his ride.”

  “Would you like to hear his description?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Tall. Skinny. Pale skin. Seemed pretty fit. Well dressed. Gray suit, two bags. Mark said he thought Edgar was taking a real interest in him too.”

  “Sounds like he could be Mr. Third Party in the motel video. Is he still there?”

  “No. He checked out last night. Left the Caddy and the Corolla in the lot out front. Took a cab to Mauldar Field. I asked Mark to go out and poke around the cars. Guess what he found under the Caddy’s rear bumper?”

  “Edgar’s motion sensor thingie.”

  “That’s it. You want to go over there? Mark’s pulling the video from behind his desk when this guy was checking out. Full front, face and all. He says he’ll have it waiting.”

  Nick thought about that.

  “No. Endicott’s in the wind. Send a cruiser to get the video from Mark and run it down to Cap City. Siren and lights all the way. We’ll get Boonie to run a full background on him, put out a still shot and a description. Get State and County on it too.”

  “What do you want to do right now?”

  “You know what we have to do.”

  Mavis nodded.

  “Go see Charlie.”

  What Is Written in Stone

  Mid-morning on the Saturday: Lemon and the prof from UV were in the morgue at Lady Grace, standing around a stainless-steel gurney. In the middle of the gurney was one of the bone baskets that the Coast Guard divers had pulled out of the willow roots under the banks along Patton’s Hard. The bone basket was lit up by a harsh overhead halogen. It looked alien and strange and yet still somehow human. This one was colored a steel gray.

  Like all the others, it had what looked like human ribs tapering up from a central spine, the rib tips touching each other lightly. Inside the bone cage, sitting on a row of narrow cylindrical objects that looked like a spinal cord, was a large gray shape, roughly spherical, with creases on its surface that looked like the canals that Mars was once thought to have.

  Lemon Featherlight was standing on one side of the gurney, and across from him was a stunning Nordic woman almost as tall as he was, a full-figured Valkyrie with long blond hair so pale it glowed. Her eyes were cornflower blue and large and far apart, her nose long and narrow and hawkish. Her name was Helga Sigrid and she was originally from Reykjavik but now she worked as a forensic anthropologist for the University of Virginia at Charlottesville.

  She was telling him, in layman’s terms now, since her previous explanation had been so technical that his brain felt like burning steel wool, what they were looking at here.

  “Fossils,” she said, in a clear bell-like voice with a distinct Icelandic accent, or so Lemon assumed, since he’d never heard an Icelandic accent before. “Fossils happen when organic material is slowly replaced by mineral material. Each molecule of the mineral material replaces and duplicates the molecule of organic material that it has consumed. In a sense, the mineral uses the shape of the organic object as a mold, which is why at the end of the process, we have what looks like the body of something that was once alive but has somehow been magically turned to stone. Because, in a way, it has. That is what we have here.”

  “So this thing was once alive?”

  She shook her head.

  “No. To be precise, what was once living material that looked exactly like this was once alive. But this object here is not organic and never has been. It is stone. At least, a kind of stone.”

  “What kind?”

  She frowned.

  “Well … this is why I wanted to talk to you. Are you the owner of this … fossil?”

  Lemon had to think that through.

  “Well, not the owner—”

  “Are you in a position to grant the university the privilege of taking these objects back to Charlottesville for further study?”

  If not him, then who?

  “Yes. I probably am.”

  She smiled upon him.

  “That is wonderful. We have never seen objects such as these. No one has. They are absolutely and profoundly unique. This is an unprecedented find, Mr. Featherlight. It is historical. Scientists will study these objects for years. Papers will be written. It is … simply thrilling!”

  “But what were they? Originally?”

  She frowned again.

  “That is the puzzle, yes? I have examined the interior of one of these ribs and there can be no doubt that the molecular structure the minerals replaced was that of a human bone. In this case, lying before us, we have a fossil record of a male Caucasian in excellent health who died at the approximate age of forty. Perhaps forty-five. This spherical object inside the rib cage shows the outward characteristics of a human skull, but it has been misshapen by geological forces I do not understand. It will be necessary to do MRIs and CAT scans to get an idea of what is inside. Further, the process of fossilization takes thousands of years, and yet this seems to be the fossilized remains of a very modern human. That is, a human exactly like the kind of human who emerged from the Olduvai Gorge three hundred thousand years ago and spread out across the planet. A modern man. Homo sapiens. A man exactly like you. It is a puzzle. Some force we do not yet understand has worked upon it. As I said, this is all so very exciting.”

  “It looks as if it’s been … consumed.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking down at it. “It does create that impression. As if it has passed through a process that transformed it into this shape. We do not generally see bodies this intact. As if the bones had been fused together by some kind of heat or energy. Animals scatter bones. Winds and tides have their way. Erosion. Sand. Yet here we have so many fossilized human remains, and all are intact. You say there are more? Many more?”

  “Yes. The divers saw them all along that riverbank. Hundreds in plain view. More buried deeper in the root mass.”

  She looked as if she might faint from ecstasy. Lemon was perfectly willing to help her with that if she asked him.

  “So many? How magnificent! They will have to be excavated. A formal dig must be initiated. Mr. Featherlight, this find will put your town in the forefront of anthropological research. I can see these remains being named after you.”

  “But they are human remains, right?”

  “Oh yes. There can be no doubt. If you mean fossilized human remains, of course. There is no organic material here. Otherwise we would have the complication of finding out what sort of culture this person may have come from, and then determining their specific burial practices, and then, once our studies were complete, we would have to return this relic to the earth in a manner that suited those spiritual beliefs and rituals. In this case, we do not have that complication. These are replicas of something that was once human, rather like those poor sad figures that have been found in the ruins of Pompeii. From what I have observed, I suspect that these objects may have been accumulating along the banks of your lovely river here for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. By what process they have been consumed—one could almost be dramatic and say devoured—will be a fascinating line of inquiry.”

  She finished her breathless recita
tion and looked as if she was thinking about hugging him.

  “Yes, Mr. Featherlight, it is an extremely exciting find. The most important and exciting find of my career. Are you not thrilled?”

  Lemon was thrilled, for a while, and then he worked out what this Valkyrie was telling him.

  Something was eating people and spitting out their remains into the Tulip River. And whatever it was, it had been doing it for a very long time. Hundreds if not thousands of years, according to the Valkyrie. The Cherokee had a name for what it was. Tal’ulu, the Eater of Souls.

  And she lived in Crater Sink.

  He was sitting in his truck thinking about the implications of all this when his cell beeped.

  DORIS GODWIN

  Doris Godwin. He got the name in a moment. Doris Godwin was the streetcar driver who had helped him get Rainey down off Tallulah’s Wall. He pressed ANSWER.

  “Doris—”

  “Mr. Featherlight—Lemon—I’m a bit shook up here. Maybe you can help me? By the way, how’s the little boy?”

  Lemon’s answer was careful.

  “It was a kind of a seizure. He’s going to be tested for some neurological issues—”

  “Yeah? Me too. I’m having a very bad day here. Can I send you some jpegs?”

  “Sure. Yes. Of course. Right now?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got them all loaded up.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Okay. They’re on the way. What I want is for you to take a good look at them and then call me back tonight. I’m not going to stay on the line because I’m working right now. I’m at that turnabout at the top of Upper Chase Run, but I got to get on the tracks again and I can’t take personal calls. I’m off at five.”

  As she was talking, the jpegs came in. Lemon remembered that while he was tending to Rainey up at Crater Sink, she had gotten to her feet and taken a series of shots of the woods all around them. At the time he had his hands full with Rainey. Now he was looking at her shots.

  “Jesus,” he said.

  “Yeah. That’s what I said too. You call me!”

  “I will.”

  Behold a Pale Horse

  Nick called Reed as Mavis was pushing the Navigator up Arrow Creek. They were about fifteen minutes away from Charlie Danziger’s ranch. Reed answered the call on the second ring.

  “Nick. Thanks for the call back.”

  Nick put the cell on speakerphone.

  “You still want to meet?”

  “Yeah. Say where.”

  “You know Charlie Danziger’s place. Up in the grasslands on the south slope?”

  “I do. What’s at Charlie’s place?”

  Nick glanced at Mavis, who nodded.

  “You still have your badge and your sidearm?”

  Reed was silent for a while.

  “This is police business?”

  “Serious as it gets. We think Charlie might have had something to do with the Gracie thing.”

  Silence.

  “No fucking way. Not possible.”

  “Reed, I have you on speakerphone. Mavis is driving.”

  “Damn. Sorry, Mavis!”

  “That’s fine, Reed. You want in on this?”

  “Yes. I do. Does Charlie know you’re coming?”

  “No. But we had a County car cruise by and his truck’s parked outside the ranch house. You have any Kevlar?”

  “Yeah. It’s all in my trunk. You want to meet on the perimeter and go in together?”

  Mavis looked at Nick.

  “No,” said Nick. “Keep your cell on and hang back. You know that old logging run that used to go down to Belfair Mills?”

  “I think so. I’ll find it on my GPS.”

  “It’s screened from Charlie’s place by the south slope. You can get within a hundred yards on foot. Can your ride take you there?”

  “If I have to carry it.”

  “Okay. When can you be in position?”

  A pause.

  “Give me fifteen.”

  “We’ll go in. If it looks like it’s going south, I’ll double-click you.”

  “Okay. Jesus. Charlie. I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither can we. Maybe we’re wrong.”

  “I hope so.”

  “What about the meet? You wanted to tell me something?”

  “We live through this, we can talk about that.”

  Danziger was out on his front porch, sitting on a rail-back chair that was tilted up against the boards of his rancher. He had his boots up on the railing and a cup of coffee in his hand. He was smoking a Camel.

  He squinted into the sunlight as he watched the big black Lincoln make its way up the long gravel drive to his front door. He had the Winchester leaning on the wall beside him and a small two-way radio clipped to his belt.

  He had a pretty good idea who that big black Navigator belonged to and when it got close enough for him to make out who was inside it, he sighed, stubbed out his Camel, picked up the Winchester, and stood up. The Navigator came to a stop about fifty feet away, and Mavis shut the engine down.

  The doors popped open. Nick and Mavis stepped out, keeping the doors between them and Charlie. Mavis had her doors lined with Kevlar. On his own advice, Charlie recalled.

  So this wasn’t a social call.

  “Nick. Mavis. Nice to see you.”

  “Hey, Charlie,” said Mavis. “How you doing?”

  Nick stepped out into the clear.

  He was wearing blue pin-striped slacks and a white shirt. His gold badge was clipped to his belt and his Colt Python was in his holster.

  He smiled at Danziger.

  “Charlie, can you put that Winchester down?”

  “I’m always glad to see you, Nick. You too, Mavis. But right now is a bad time.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m expecting company and I don’t believe they’ll be friendly.”

  Nick and Mavis worked that out.

  “Where’s Coker?”

  “He’s around.”

  Nick knew what that meant.

  They were standing in his sights right now.

  “Are we the company?”

  Danziger shook his head.

  “No. Me and Coker, we’ve been having a disagreement with these out-of-town people. We’re just sorta waiting for things to develop. Wasn’t expecting you folks to step into this. I think it would be best if you two either put this off for another day or you came up and sat down and we talked about things. You standing out in the open like that is making me nervous. Come on, for Pete’s sake. You two look like rolling thunder.”

  Nick looked at Mavis, who shrugged.

  “You know why we’re here, Charlie.”

  “Believe I do.”

  “Can’t walk this one back, Charlie. Unless you can convince Mavis and me it just isn’t so.”

  Danziger pushed his hat back, rubbed his forehead. “Probably can’t do that.”

  Mavis seemed to settle into herself. Nick shook his head and fought down his anger.

  “Was Coker in on it?”

  Danziger shook his head.

  “Nope. It was all me.”

  “The sniper stuff?”

  “All me.”

  Mavis had to smile.

  “Charlie, you couldn’t hit the backside of a bullock if you were sitting on it sidesaddle.”

  Danziger looked up at the hills.

  “We can argue about this later. Time is running. If you’re gonna stay, then stay. If you want to get out from under this, then you two oughta pull out now. Might be that when you come back I’ll be dead, which sorta solves the whole thing.”

  “We’re not leaving,” said Mavis.

  “Then you better come on up the stairs.”

  They stood staring at each other for a time. The wind hissed in the long grasses. Somewhere out in a field one of Danziger’s horses stamped and snorted. Nick took a long breath, let it out.

  “Okay,” said Nick. “We’re coming up there. Mavis, put your
piece away.”

  Mavis slipped her Beretta back into her holster and stepped clear of the door.

  Danziger set the Winchester down.

  Nick and Mavis came up to the top of the stairs. Danziger smiled down on them.

  “Well, might as well sit down and have a drink. I’m sure as hell not going to try shooting my way out of this, especially with my friends. What’ll it be?”

  “Beer, if you got it,” said Mavis, after a long beat. She sat down on a rocker beside the door. It groaned as it took her weight. Nick leaned against the railing, watching Danziger’s hands, feeling Coker’s gun sights on the back of his head.

  It was an uncomfortable sensation.

  “Got no beer,” said Danziger, with a lopsided grin. “All I got is white wine.”

  “That’s what I figured,” she said. “Other than maybe you have a forty-year-old bottle of lime cordial back there. Sure. I’ll have a glass.”

  “Nick?”

  “Sure, Charlie. Thanks.”

  Danziger fiddled around inside a cooler for a time, came up with a large bottle of Santa Margherita and two extra tumblers. He set them down on the table beside his chair and poured out two brimming glasses. He handed one to Mavis and the other to Nick, and then he refilled his own. Going back to his chair, he put his boot up on the railing and tilted himself back up against the wall.

  He lifted his glass.

  “Here’s to perdition.”

  “Perdition,” they said.

  A moment passed.

  Everyone was aware of Coker, of his presence in the air all around them.

  “What’s Coker gonna do?” asked Mavis.

  “He’s gonna stay where he is until our company gets here. Then we’ll see what happens.”

  “Who are you expecting?” asked Nick.

  “You ever hear of a Harvill Endicott?”

  “We have.”

  “Thought you might have. When I heard you two were on that double homicide at the Motel 6, I figured, That’s all she wrote. Better make your peace.”

  Mavis and Nick said nothing.

  “Poor Edgar. Wouldn’t-a sent him in there, we’d known that Endicott was so damn tricky. Anyway, Endicott burned us in the Wendy’s lot. Me and Coker figure he’ll be along, with a few people.”