The Stone Serpent, page 10
“This is the manufacturing floor,” he said. “As a doctor, you’re no doubt familiar with many prescription medications, but have you ever seen exactly how medications are turned into pills for consumer use?”
When she told him she never had, he took visible pride in leading her down the length of the observation room and explaining the purposes of the various machines on the floor. The medicine’s active ingredient was ground into a powder mixed with a binding agent, then dried in enormous dryers operating between one hundred and one hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit. Heavy presses crushed and molded the dried powder into tablet form with a pressure between two and five tons. Each press could produce five thousand tablets per minute, which were then shoveled into the coating units, where the pills were sprayed with a coating solution of water and coloring pigments. Once the pills were properly coated, they were funneled down a chute to the packaging department. His description of the process was as practiced as his sales pitch. His smile remained plastered on his face the whole time.
“Malachai was stationed at the coating units,” he said. “He was a good worker. Always willing to cover a shift. Never complained about being on his feet all day. The other workers liked him, but he kept to himself. I don’t think I ever saw him go out for drinks after work with the guys. Of course, that might have been because of his background.”
“Could Malachai have come in contact with any dangerous chemicals on the manufacturing floor?” Laura asked.
Hugh shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. We take our workers’ safety very seriously. Our OSHA incident rate is well below average.”
She watched the workers at Malachai’s station attend the coating units in their heavy-duty protective suits. “If there were a tear in his suit—”
“Impossible,” Hugh interrupted. “There are redundancies upon redundancies to ensure worker safety, including immediate decontamination if anyone comes in contact with something they shouldn’t.”
“Are there any waste materials from the manufacturing process that could be toxic—”
Hugh’s permanent smile faded. “What’s this about, Dr. Powell? I thought Malachai died in a car accident. Why all the questions about worker safety?”
“I can’t answer that right now,” she said. “Do you think I could talk to one of his co-workers?”
His smile didn’t return. She’d touched a nerve. “I’m afraid not. It’s imperative we stay behind the glass partition so we don’t contaminate the raw materials. That’s just one of our many, many safety protocols, Dr. Powell. Besides, I couldn’t spare anyone right now. Malachai’s tragic accident has left us short-handed. If you wish to speak with anyone else, or if you have any other questions about our safety procedures, you’ll need to come back with the proper paperwork.”
“You mean a warrant,” she said.
“Sorry, but that’s what our legal department requires.” Hugh shrugged like he wished he could help but his hands were tied and wasn’t this all just terribly silly.
She thanked him for his time and followed him back upstairs, already mentally revising her theory. As much as she loathed the man, Shepherd Eliezer didn’t poison his son. It was far more likely something here did. If Malachai worked on the manufacturing floor, he could have easily become contaminated with an unknown biotechnological ingredient. A tear in his hood, or the oxygen line, or even a tiny hole in his glove would be all it took for the granulated powder to float in on an air current to be swallowed, inhaled, or absorbed through the skin, allowing any genetically manipulated microorganism or biologically engineered substance into his system. That could be the external chemical catalyst she was looking for. Malachai’s own Lake Natron.
Hugh brought Laura back to the granite-walled lobby and shook her hand again. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help, Dr. Powell. You have my phone number.”
“And you have mine, if you remember anything,” she said.
Hugh flipped back a lock of white hair that had fallen across his forehead. “Of course.”
He card-swiped himself back inside through the door in the granite wall. If she were a betting person, she’d put good money on never hearing from Hugh Robertson again. Everything she’d experienced since walking into the building, including the tour of the manufacturing floor, had been an exercise in stonewalling.
Laura walked out into the oppressive heat of the parking lot. When she reached her car, the man in the black Dio t-shirt waved at her and hurried toward her across the lot. Dark sweat stains colored the armpits of his t-shirt as he continued waving frantically.
“Wait, please!” he called. When he reached her car, he squinted his eyes against the sun. “I heard you earlier, in the lobby. You were asking questions about Mal Applewhite, weren’t you?”
“Who are you?” Laura asked.
“My name is Craig Hutsell.” Tired of squinting, he shaded his eyes with one doughy hand. “I worked with Mal on the floor. We had the same shift most of the time, so we got to know each other. I liked him. I was probably one of the few people he talked to in this place.” He looked over his shoulder in both directions. “There’s something I need to tell you, but not here. Is there somewhere we can go?”
“Why can’t you tell me here?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the building again. “People might hear. It’s bad enough I could be seen talking to you. The company lawyers are gonna be up my ass about it. Look, I’m really sticking my neck out with this. Are you interested or not?”
“Okay,” she said. “Do you know Valley Grove, across the lake?”
“Sure. Everyone around here knows about Valley Grove. That’s where Mal was from.”
“We can talk there,” Laura said. “I know a place that should be safe.”
“Okay, fine, Valley Grove it is,” Craig said. “My shift is over. I just need to get my stuff. You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you. Five, ten minutes max.”
She handed Craig her business card. “My number’s on here, in case anything comes up.”
He took the card and stuffed it in his pocket. Then, without another word, he turned and hurried back to the building.
Laura got into her car, wondering if she could trust anything Craig Hutsell told her. His paranoia didn’t exactly make him sound rational, but there was no harm in hearing him out.
She drove back to Valley Grove and parked in front of Francis’s house. He wouldn’t be happy to see her again—he’d told her to leave Valley Grove hours ago—but she wanted to check on him and Rebecca after their altercation with Shepherd Eliezer. She got out of the car and walked toward the front door.
Someone behind her yelled, “Dr. Powell!”
Laura turned around. Chief Morales stormed across the street toward her. Even with half her face hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, she did not look happy.
“What the hell are you doing here, Dr. Powell? I told you to leave this case alone!”
“Shit,” Laura muttered.
13.
* * *
Chief Morales was furious, her lips pulled back in anger, flashing her teeth like a threat. It reminded Laura of Stuckie the dog and the ominous warning in his rictus snarl. Here was her demise, in the form of her angry boss.
“Imagine my surprise when I arrived to interview Malachai Applewhite’s family and was informed someone from the Sakima Police Department had already interviewed them,” Morales said. They’d moved under the shade of a tree away from Francis’s house. “And then I was handed this.”
She brandished the business card Laura had given Shepherd Eliezer like a weapon. Laura’s face burned. She was busted and she knew it. There was no point in making excuses.
“I’m sorry,” Laura said. “I know you told me to stay out of it, but I thought my aunt might be in danger. It turns out she died years ago and I didn’t know. But I still have family here, and I had so many questions about what happened—”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t fire you right this minute, Dr. Powell.”
Frankly, Laura was surprised she wasn’t fired the second Morales laid eyes on her. Still, she’d be a fool to think one wrong answer wouldn’t tip her over the edge. She proceeded with caution.
“I might have a lead,” she said. “Malachai had a job at Thurmond Biotech, a pharmaceutical company near here. He frequently worked with raw chemicals, including unknown genetically modified agents. If he was exposed to any of it without protection, it could explain the petrifaction of his body. One of Malachai’s co-workers by the name of Craig Hutsell has agreed to meet me here with some information about Malachai that he thinks is important. I can’t guarantee it’s going to pan out. Truth be told, this guy seems a little off to me, but I’m willing to hear what he has to say.”
Morales sighed and took off her mirrored sunglasses. “There’s no denying that you stepped over the line, Dr. Powell. I told you to stay away and you ignored me. Make no mistake, there will be repercussions. However, I’d like to hear what Malachai’s co-worker has to say. What time are you meeting him?”
Relief washed over Laura. It seemed she still had her job. For now.
“He should be coming anytime now.”
She checked her watch. Craig Hutsell said he’d only be five or ten minutes behind her, but it had already been twice that. If he was delayed, why hadn’t he called? Maybe he was nothing but a paranoid kook after all. If he didn’t show up, she was going to look even worse in Morales’s eyes.
“Once we’re finished talking to Mr. Hutsell, you’re going right back to Sakima. No ifs, ands, or buts. Clear?”
Laura nodded.
Morales put her sunglasses back on. “Until then, I don’t want you leaving my side or talking to anyone without my permission.”
“You can’t be serious,” Laura said.
“I assure you, I’m very serious, Dr. Powell. You have no idea how much you might have compromised the investigation. Eliezer Applewhite was furious when he found out your presence here was unauthorized. When his wife heard the news, she looked like someone had slapped her in the face.”
Laura’s heart sank. Sharon had trusted her. She’d gone against her husband’s wishes to let Laura speak to Meredith alone. No wonder she felt so betrayed.
“As long as you’re in Valley Grove, you and I are joined at the hip,” Morales went on. “If I so much as lose sight of you for a minute, I’m sending you home in the back of a police car. Understood?”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”
“Am I understood?” Morales repeated.
Laura sighed. “Yes.”
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” someone shouted.
Laura looked up to see Shepherd Eliezer storming toward them. Another man was with him, old, bone-thin, and stooped at the shoulders. His long, scraggly gray beard was yellowed around his mouth from nicotine. He was out of breath by the time he stood before Laura and Morales, huffing and wheezing like a faulty engine.
“Chief Morales, I must ask you again to release Malachai’s body to me,” Eliezer insisted.
“I’m sorry, I thought I made it clear that I can’t,” Morales told him. “The investigation is ongoing and your son’s body is evidence.”
“The Church of the Divine Chariot has strict customs about burial,” the skinny old man interjected. His voice was coarse and wet, as if a muddy puddle had taken up residence in his throat. “Bodies must be buried in consecrated ground within twenty-four hours of their death. That deadline has already passed. Those who have been called home to glory are not meant to remain among the living for this long.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Morales asked.
“This is Elder Bernard,” Eliezer said. “He cares for the cemetery and is in charge of the interments.”
Elder Bernard? Where had Laura heard that name before?
“It is my holy duty to tend to those who have been called home,” Elder Bernard continued. “There are rituals that must be attended to before the burial. Prayers. The washing and anointing of the body. It takes time.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait,” Morales said. “My hands are tied. I can’t release the body until the investigation is concluded. The law is the law.”
Elder Bernard flapped his bony arms in frustration. “That is the law of man. Here, we follow the law of God.”
“Understood,” Morales said. “But only one of them signs my paycheck, so it’s just going to have to wait.”
Eliezer turned his sharp gaze on Laura. His features tightened in anger and he turned back to Morales. “Can I speak with you a moment in private, Chief Morales?”
“Of course.”
He led her a few steps away. Laura could still hear him clearly. “What is she still doing here? You should arrest her for impersonating a member of the police department!”
“I’m not arresting anyone,” Morales told him. “Technically, Dr. Powell is a member of the police department, she’s just not a detective.”
It almost sounded like Morales was sticking up for her. Almost.
Elder Bernard, upset that no one was paying attention to him, grumbled loudly, “This delay is a travesty!”
Now, finally, Laura remembered where she’d heard his name before. She looked the old man up and down—he had to be in his eighties—and felt sick to her stomach all over again.
“You’re marrying Meredith Applewhite next month,” Laura said.
Elder Bernard nodded, his long beard sweeping his concave chest. “That’s right. The Shepherd’s daughter and I have been matched. It will be a glorious union.”
“Don’t you think she’s too young?” Laura pressed. She knew she ought to stay out of it, but she kept thinking about how much Meredith was dreading the marriage.
“Too young? No, I don’t think so,” Elder Bernard said. “Her father assures me she is the right age to bear children. He told me he’s seen the signs.”
Laura almost hesitated to ask. “What signs?”
“Hair,” he said.
She turned away and fought off a wave of nausea.
Eliezer returned, storming past her to collect Elder Bernard. “Come, Elder Bernard, it’s a waste of time talking to these interlopers!”
“Fine, fine,” Elder Bernard said, running a hand through his greasy beard. “I have business to attend to anyway. We’ll talk later, Shepherd.”
Laura watched Eliezer stamp angrily back toward his house, then turned to watch Elder Bernard shuffle off in another direction. Neither of them had Meredith’s best interests in mind. She was being passed off like a bribe to a man old enough to be her grandfather. It was repulsive. And yet, short of kidnapping Meredith, what could she do? Legally, the girl was a minor, but even the law couldn’t stop the wedding from taking place. It was protected under the guise of religious freedom.
A car blew past them on Valley Grove’s main road. “Rainbow in the Dark” blasted out of the rolled-down windows. The car found a parking spot in front of Eliezer’s house and screeched to a halt. Out stepped Craig Hutsell, still in his black Dio t-shirt.
Eliezer stopped, took one look at him, and called out sarcastically to Chief Morales, “This one must be with the Sakima Police Department, too! Such professionalism!”
Morales ignored him.
Laura leaned over to her. “That’s Craig Hutsell.”
“Good. Let’s hope he has some answers.”
They crossed the street toward him. Craig waited for them on the far sidewalk.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Mr. Robertson must have seen us talking because suddenly he had a lot of questions for me—”
He cried out suddenly, grabbing his left leg and falling onto the grass. Laura hurried toward him and spotted a long, brown snake slithering away through the grass.
Eliezer hefted a large, rounded stone off the ground and dropped it on the snake’s head, killing it.
14.
* * *
Craig Hutsell sat on the grass with both hands clasped around his ankle. He rocked back and forth, groaning in pain. Laura crouched next to him.
“I’m a doctor. Let me see.”
Sucking in a sharp breath, Craig let go of his ankle. The snake had bitten him above the top edge of his sneaker. Its fangs pierced his jeans and sank into the flesh just above the lateral malleolus bone, the part of the fibula that formed the knob on the outside of the ankle. There were two distinct puncture wounds in the skin. The flesh around it was already turning red and beginning to swell.
“And the Lord God said unto the serpent, ‘Thou art cursed above all cattle, and above every beast of the field,’” Eliezer intoned. “‘Upon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life.’”
The dead snake lay at his feet, its crushed head hidden beneath the stone. Laura guessed from the snake’s reddish-brown color and the darker hourglass-shaped bands across its body that it was a copperhead. They were common to the Hudson Valley and certainly had no compunctions about biting people when they felt threatened. The snake must have been hiding in the grass and lashed out when Craig came too close.
She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be okay.”
“What the fuck was that?” Craig said.
“A copperhead,” she said. “Don’t worry, their venom is the least deadly of all the venomous snakes in the country. We just need to treat it quickly.”
“God, it hurts like hell.” He winced and put his hands on his ankle again. “Has anyone ever died of a copperhead bite?”
“Fatalities are extremely rare.”
He blinked at her. “That’s not a no!”
“You’re going to be fine,” Laura said. “Let’s get you somewhere we can take care of it.”
