A Child's Garden of Death Read Free

that had unearthed the bodies, the hillside was close to virginal. “Pheasant country,” he said.
    â€œAn occasional deer,” the Chief replied.
    The location of the grave, the wild aspect of the hill—something in that combination bothered Lyon. He turned toward Chief Herbert. “Too far up the hill.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhy would he bury them that far up the ridge when a few yards in from the road would have been adequate?”
    â€œHe? Yeah—probably was a man. Offhand I can’t recall any women mass murderers bashing in the collective skulls of whole families. At least not since Lizzie Borden. But as far as the distance up the hill, he was probably just cautious.”
    â€œThat’s a long way to lug three bodies for caution’s sake.”
    â€œNot if he didn’t want them found for thirty years—or ever.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Lyon mused. “Perhaps.”
    â€œThat’s not much to go on,” Rocco said. “A five-state missing persons search, maybe something from the physical evidence. Not much, Lyon.”
    The descending sun reflected orange globes on the windshields of the line of police cruisers. A man’s deep laugh echoed across the valley from the grave site and Lyon wondered what could be humorous in that small plot, that garden of death. His car waited and he wanted to leave, to be away from this place with its shattered secret which cast a foreboding aura over the valley.
    He turned toward the expectant chief. “We’re having a few people over to the house Monday night. Why don’t you and Martha stop in?”
    â€œWe’d like to,” the police officer replied. “Are you sure there’s no chance we can do something with that doll?”
    â€œI know you’ll try, Rocco, but I doubt it.”
    â€œJesus, I don’t know where in hell to start.”
    â€œAnother one like the girl in the fire.”
    â€œI’m afraid so, unless something unexpected turns up,” Rocco said.
    They both knew that Lyon referred to the body of the little girl discovered in the smoldering ruins of the Hartford circus fire. In 1944 the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey Circus tent had unexpectedly caught fire in Hartford. Within four minutes the fire had raged out of control and quickly killed over a hundred people. One of the victims was a small girl who was never identified or claimed. For several years the body was kept in a local mortuary, then finally buried. Twenty-five years later the child was still unknown and unclaimed. Rocco had once learned that newly commissioned troopers were assigned to the investigation as a sort of initiation ritual. After thousands of hours of investigation there was still no clue to the identity of the girl.
    â€œMonday about eight,” Lyon said and put an arm on the morose chief’s shoulder.
    â€œDamn it all, Lyon. Just think about it.”
    â€œI know you’ll do all that can be done.”
    â€œWhich won’t be much.”
    Lyon walked toward the small red Datsun parked beyond the police cruisers, his pace becoming quite brisk as from the corner of his eye he saw a group of officers coming down the hill carrying large rubber bags.
    He was compelled to turn. Two officers carried each bag, except for the smallest bag, held by the youngest officer—carried away from his body as if he were afraid of defilement.
    In the car he turned the ignition too violently. The starter engine buzzed and the car stalled. Sitting back in the seat he breathed deeply and then slowly started the engine again. Turning the wheels abruptly he pulled away from the line of cruisers and accelerated quickly down the country road. The late afternoon sun spreckled through overhanging trees and cast rapidly changing patterns across his face, and he jammed the gear into fourth and felt the car jerk forward with gained momentum.
    He thought again of his relationship with the large