White River Burning полностью

“Two years ago I was called in to examine the buried remains of an early-eighteenth-century house over by Marley Mountain. I found some items related to sorcery rituals; but more significantly, there were iron shackles and other evidence of individuals having been held in captivity. There were several devices typically used in the torture of prisoners, including implements for breaking bones, extracting fingernails and teeth. An excavation of the grounds around that foundation uncovered partial skeletal remains of at least ten children. DNA testing of their extracted teeth traced their genetic lineage to West Africa. In other words, to the slave trade.”

Madeleine’s gaze was fixed on Thrasher with a growing revulsion.

Gurney broke the silence. “Are you suggesting a connection between the house you’re talking about and what we found here?”

“The similarities between your excavation, even in this early stage, and the Marley Mountain site are striking.”

“What are you suggesting we do?”

“I’m suggesting we bring in the appropriate archaeological equipment and personnel to explore the site with the thoroughness it deserves. The more hard evidence we can find to document the existence of psychopathic elements in the treatment of slaves, the more accurate the historical picture becomes.”

Now Madeleine spoke up. “How sure are you?”

“About the abuse and murder of slaves? One hundred percent.”

“No, I mean how sure are you that those things took place here, on our property?”

“To be absolutely sure, more digging will be necessary. That’s why I’m here. To explain the research opportunity and enlist your cooperation.”

“That’s not my question. Based on what you’ve seen, how sure are you right now that the kind of horrors you described actually occurred here?”

Thrasher looked pained. “If I had to assign to my opinion a level of confidence, based only on what’s been unearthed so far, I’d put it around seventy-five percent.”

“Fine,” said Madeleine with a brittle smile. “That leaves a twenty-five percent chance that whatever is down there by the pond has nothing to do with the serial murder of slave children. Is that right?”

Thrasher let out an exasperated sigh. “More or less.”

“Fine. Thank you for the history lesson, Doctor. It’s been very enlightening. David and I will discuss the situation, and we’ll let you know what we decide.”

It took Thrasher a moment to realize that he’d been dismissed.

The charged silence that followed Madeleine’s final comment persisted long after Thrasher had departed. It reminded Gurney of the silence in their car on the way home from a medical appointment years earlier, during which he’d been informed that the results of an initial MRI had been inconclusive regarding a possible cancer and that he’d need to undergo additional tests.

Such a disturbing subject. Such a major unknown. So little to be said.

They hardly spoke at all during a brief dinner. It wasn’t until Gurney began to clear the table that Madeleine commented, “I hope what I said to him, the way I said it, isn’t going to create a problem in your professional relationship.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t make much difference how he feels about me.”

She looked doubtful. He carried their dishes to the sink, then came back and sat down.

“Twenty-five percent is a lot,” she said.

“Yes.”

“So there’s a good chance he’s wrong.”

“Yes.”

She nodded, appearing comforted that he’d agreed, even if he’d done so without much conviction. She stood up from the table. “I have some watering to do while it’s still light out. The new delphiniums from Snook’s were looking droopy today.”

She slipped into a pair of clogs by the French doors and headed for the flower bed, calling back over her shoulder, “Leave the dishes in the sink. I’ll take care of them later.”

He remained where he was, immersed in dreadful images raised by Thrasher’s comments on the “malignant synergy” between psychopathic obsessions and the availability of purchasable victims to satisfy them. There was a particular horror in the mundane practicality of buying human beings to torture or kill. He tried to imagine the unique terror experienced by those in that helpless position. The terror of being under the absolute control of another person.

His phone rang, a welcome distraction.

It was Hardwick.

“Shit, Gurney, I’m impressed that you took my call.”

Gurney sighed. “Why is that, Jack?”

“According to RAM-TV, you’re a man destined for greatness.”

“What are you talking about?”

“NewsBreakers just did an interview with Cory Payne. He told the world you saved his life. But that was nothing compared to what Stacey Kilbrick said about you.”

“What did she say?”

“I wouldn’t dream of spoiling the surprise. All I can say is that I feel privileged to be speaking with a man of your caliber.”