‘Get on down here!’ Luther called wildly, his voice barely audible in the distance.
Ben stared at him without moving, his mind hurling through a thousand calculations.
‘Ben!’ Luther screamed. ‘Hurry up! Get on down here with us!’
Ben stood in place. He could hear the engines of the school buses as they started up, then the sirens after them, and from behind, the chorus of gently singing voices that swept toward him from what seemed like an entirely different world.
‘Get on down here, now!’ Luther shouted. ‘Hurry up! You’re in the way!’
But still he could not move. He saw the long gray lines of the patrolmen grow taut, saw their polished black boots wink in the bright summer air. Then the atmosphere filled with the glint of scores of camera lenses as a small army of reporters turned them toward the hill. They seemed to fire at him silently, in white flashes, and he felt that he was trapped on some bizarre and unforgiving front, a man between the lines. He knew that Luther was still calling to him, but he could hear only the steady drum of the marchers as they continued to flow by the hundreds over the gently curving hill. Their singing swayed in the air, slow and rhythmic, and as their line of march moved steadily toward the tensely waiting squads of firemen and police, he felt himself suddenly and inescapably lost in the middle of it, floating helplessly, as if the earth had turned to air beneath his feet. In the distance, he could see Coggins clapping and singing as he headed down the hill, but he seemed less a person in his own right now than simply part of the dark line which continued to roll toward him. He turned away, glancing down the hill once more. He could see Luther staring at him motionlessly, no longer calling to him or waving him forward, but simply peering at him speechlessly, as if unable to take him in. For an instant he felt his body move down the hill toward Luther, then stop, turn around, and move in the opposite direction, toward the marchers. He’d only gone a few paces before he stopped again, and remained stopped, as if waiting for yet another signal. When it came, he spun around quickly and rushed down one of the side streets, his legs pumping more and more rapidly until they finally brought him to his waiting car.
The sound of sirens was still ringing in the air when Ben pulled up to the small wooden guardhouse at the factory gate.
The guard walked slowly over to the driver’s side and leaned in.
‘Sounds like all hell’s breaking loose downtown,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ Ben said dully. ‘Listen, I wanted to ask you a few questions about Bluto.’
‘Okay,’ the guard said. ‘Want to set in the car or is it getting too hot for you?’
‘It’s too hot,’ Ben said as he opened the door and stepped out.
‘I got a little patch of shade over here,’ the guard said. He pointed to a small rectangle of shadow which stretched out from the guardhouse.
Ben followed the guard over to the wall of the guardhouse, and the two of them leaned idly against it. A large truck turned into the drive, and the guard walked out to it, spoke to the driver, then waved it through.
‘When was the last time you saw Bluto?’ Ben asked him when he returned to the guardhouse.
‘That would have been on Sunday afternoon, I think,’ the guard said. He watched the truck as it made its way to the enormous warehouse a few hundred yards away.
‘He was killed that night,’ Ben said. ‘Probably between eight and one or two in the morning, the coroner says.’
The guard’s eyes snapped over to him. ‘Is that so?’
‘Do you remember about when it was you saw him?’
The guard thought for a moment. ‘Well, I saw him a few times on Sunday. I’ve got a twelve-hour shift on the weekend.’
‘When does it begin?’
‘Noon.’
‘So you were here until around midnight.’
‘Until exactly midnight,’ the guard said. ‘I don’t try to beat the company. I’m not like that.’ He looked back toward the truck, his eyes focused on the large cloud of dust that tumbled up from behind it. ‘We’ve been having some things disappear off the lot,’ he explained. ‘I got to keep my eyes open.’
Ben nodded quickly. ‘And during that twelve-hour shift, you said you saw Bluto several times?’
‘Yes, sir, I did.’
‘Could you tell me when that was, exactly?’
The guard thought a moment. ‘Well, I walk the grounds when I first get here,’ he said. ’I have me a cup of coffee, then I walk all over the place, you know, to check things out.’
‘And you saw Bluto then?’
‘Yeah,’ the guard answered. ‘He was sitting up on that little ditch, the one above the pipe.’ He shook his head. ‘He was sort of curled up, you know. Had his knees crunched up against hisself.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘Said, “Howdy, boss.” That’s all.’
‘He didn’t say anything else?’ Ben asked insistently. ‘It doesn’t matter what it was. Just anything at all.’