S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

“We have to be talking about someone who’s worked in construction, don’t you think? The average joe doesn’t jump on a bulldozer and dig a hole that size. Seems like you’d have to know what you were doing.”

“True, but that’s not going to help you narrow the field. After World War Two a lot of guys around here worked construction, Foley being one. Building trade was booming, so it was that, farmwork, the oil fields, or the packing plant.”

“Well. I guess we don’t have to worry about it. I’m sure Detective Nichols will figure it out.”

At noon I took Daisy’s car and made a run to the delicatessen I’d patronized the day before. Since Tannie had commandeered yesterday’s braunschweiger on rye, I ordered one for myself. Daisy said she’d be happy with whatever I picked up, so I had the counterman put together a sliced-turkey sandwich on sourdough bread. I ordered a second one and then added potato chips, sodas, and a bag of cookies. As long as we were stuck there we might as well enjoy ourselves.

We ate in her car, watching the excavation as though we were at a drive-in movie. A tow truck appeared, the most exciting occurrence in the past three hours. Tom Padgett must have gotten bored because I saw him back away and start heading in our direction. He had his fat-stemmed glasses in hand, polishing one lens with a white handkerchief. His jeans, cowboy boots, and western-cut shirt gave him the air of a rodeo rider, complete with slightly bowed legs.

I said, “Hang on.” I opened the car door and got out. “Hi, Tom. Are you off to lunch?”

“Come again?” He put on his glasses and cupped a hand to one ear.

“I wondered if you were on your way to lunch.”

“Yes, ma’am. I thought I’d grab a bite somewhere.”

“I can save you the trip. We have an extra turkey sandwich, if you’re interested.”

“That’d be nice if you’re sure it’s okay.”

“If you don’t eat it, we’ll have to toss it out.”

He used the front fender of Daisy’s car as a makeshift picnic table. I popped open the remaining soda and passed it to him. He shook his head to the offer of potato chips but later accepted a cookie that he downed with enthusiasm.

I said, “How’s it going? You’ve managed to get a lot closer to the hole than we have.”

He cleared his mouth and ran a paper napkin across his lips, nodding as he did. “They’re making good progress. Looks like they’re about to try pulling the car out of the hole.”

“Really, that close?”

He wadded up his sandwich wrappings. “That’s why they got the tow truck. Might not work, but it’d sure be a lot easier than what they’ve done.”

“How long did you hang around last night?”

“As long as I could. I had paperwork to catch up on, so I left before they called it a wrap. I was surprised how much they’d accomplished. Lot of dirt.”

“Was it your equipment they were using when the road was built?”

“Sure was. Those days, there were only two of us. Me and a fellow named Bob Zeigler. Road construction, the county hired private companies like us, so we took advantage of the need. We were competitors, but neither of us had enough equipment to cover the whole job. Most of what I carried was tractors, and he was already spread thin because there were so many housing tracts under construction.”

“How’d you get into the business in the first place?”

“I could see the niche and decided to step in. I borrowed from the local-yokel bank and hit up family members for as much as I could. First thing I did was pick up a couple of used farm machines. I didn’t have an office or a yard. I worked out of a truck I kept parked beside a public pay phone, and did the mechanical repairs myself. Heavy equipment’s low margin, high volume, so every cent I got went right back to the John Deere factory to buy more equipment. Gradually things picked up. Around here, what with the old-boy network, you could slip a few bucks to a private contractor and you were set. At least for a while.”

“You have a guess about what the guy used to dig the hole? Calvin Wilcox says a bulldozer.”

“Had to be: 1953 the bulldozer or a track loader would’ve been the only mobile equipment available. The track loader was new technology in those days. I believe Caterpillar brought one out in 1950, but it was too expensive for me, and if Zeigler owned one, I’d have known about it. So a bulldozer for sure.”

“One of yours?”

“Had to be mine or his. We were the only game in town.”