Page 93 of The Homewreckers
“There were a couple more names, but how would someone who wasn’t familiar with this property know about that septic tank?”
“Didn’t someone also say the family threw big parties for the football team out here?” Mo asked.
“Well, yeah. But can you imagine a party where ‘hey, we’ve got an old septic tank buried out there’ is part of the cocktail chatter?”
“Weirder things have come up with a bunch of testosterone-crazed teenagers,” Mo said.
She cocked her head and appraised him for a moment. “You ever play a sport, Mo?”
“I ran track when I was a sophomore. I sucked at it. But my parents insisted I had to have an extracurricular activity that wasn’t playing Dungeons and Dragons in the basement all day, so I joined the drama club.”
“You wanted to be an actor? Really?”
“No, I just wanted to hang out with hot, loose chicks, and in my warped mind, that’s who belonged to drama club.”
“Did it work out? Did you get many dates?”
“That part of my plan failed miserably,” Mo said. “But drama club got me interested in storytelling, which eventually led me to go to film school at USC.”
“Storytelling?”
“That’s what entertainment is, when you boil it all down. I liked to write, still do, but I’m more of a visual storyteller, so television is the perfect medium for me.”
“How did you end up doing this kind ofwork?”
“Worked my way up. My first job out of film school was working as an assistant news producer at a local television station in Fresno. Then a friend told me about a job opening working on a pilot for a do-it-yourself craft show that never got off the ground, and while I was working on that, I dated a girl whose brother knew someone at HPTV, and he got me an interview. Later I left and started my own production company.”
Mo slapped at one of the bloodthirsty mosquitoes that had been feasting on his flesh for the past hour. “Let’s take this inside. Unless you want to leave? I mean, everyone else is.”
Hattie stood and looked around. “I guess Cass must have taken off, too, huh? But I can’t leave yet. It doesn’t seem right to leave her there… in the ground like that.”
“I’ll stay too,” Mo said. “Why don’t we wait in your trailer?”
“Air-conditioning,” Hattie said, nodding. “Great idea.”
“I’m just gonna go check on Makarowicz, see if he needs anything, and then I’ll meet you there,” Mo said.
“Detective?” The crime scene technician ascended the ladder that had been dropped into the septic tank, peeled off his paper hazmat suit and booties, and rolled them into a ball as he walked toward Makarowicz, who’d been photographing every angle of the crime scene.
“Get anything good?” Mak asked, trying to breathe through his mouth.
“Long hair, a purple vinyl windbreaker, and a pair of tennis shoes say the victim was most likely a female,” the tech said. “Looks like there was a fracture to the front of the skull.” The tech took a step backward and shook his head. “Jesus, I gotta get a shower. I might never get the smell of that septic tank offa me.”
“Any idea how soon we might know something?” Mak asked.
“Talk to the GBI,” the tech said. He turned and pointed at a stretcher being lowered into the tank. “They’re bringing her up now.”
Makarowicz walked away. He’d seen enough. He didn’t want her to hear this news from a stranger. He called the number Emma Ragan had given him. It went to voicemail, but before he could leave a message, he saw that she was calling back.
“Detective Mak? Do you have any news? Did you talk to my dad?”
“Hi, Emma,” he said, deliberately. “I did talk to your dad. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh my God,” she said. “You found her, didn’t you? You found my mom.”
“We found a body,” he said. “Nothing is certain, but we believe the remains are a woman, and the circumstances of where we found it…”
“Ohhhh.” Emma’s voice trailed off, and she began to weep. “Mommy. My poor mommy.”
