way, it was nice to see the sun; I only wished I could be out in it, though from the bundled look of the people I could see on the screen it was still pretty damn cold.
I ignored the commentary and stared instead at the figures behind the newscaster. Some of them were wearing law enforcement uniforms but others were wearing coveralls. Those must be the tech guys from SBI. The two men in suits, they would be Klavin and Stuart. I was proud of myself for remembering their names.
I wondered how long it would be before someone came to see me. I hoped no one from the media would try to call me in the hospital or come in to see me. Maybe I could be released tomorrow and we could follow our plan of getting out of town to keep a little distance between us and the crimes.
Iâd been rambling on in my head about this for a few minutes when inevitability knocked at the door.
Two men in suits and ties; exactly what I didnât want to see.
âIâm Pell Klavin, this is Max Stuart,â the shorter man said. He was about forty-five, and he was trim and well dressed. His hair was beginning to show a little gray, and his shoes were gleaming. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. âWeâre from the State Bureau of Investigation.â Agent Stuart was a little younger and his hair was a lot lighter, so if he had gray he wasnât showing it. He was just as shipshape as Agent Klavin.
I nodded, and I was immediately sorry. I gingerly touched my bandaged head. Though that head felt like it was going to fall off (and that would be an improvement over how it felt now), the bandage still felt dry and secure. My left arm ached.
âMs. Connelly, we hear you got attacked last night,â Agent Stuart said.
âYes,â I said. I was angry with myself for sending Tolliver away, and irrationally angry with him for taking me at my word and going.
âWeâre mighty sorry about that,â Klavin said, exuding so much down-home charm I thought I might throw up. âCan you tell us why you were attacked?â
âNo,â I said. âI canât. Probably something to do with the graves, though.â
âIâm glad you brought that up,â Stuart said. âCan you describe how you found those graves? What prior knowledge you had?â
âNo prior knowledge,â I said. It seemed they werenât interested in the attack on me anymore, and frankly, I could understand why. Iâd lived. Eight other people hadnât.
âAnd how did you know they were there?â Klavin asked. His eyebrows shot up in a questioning arch. âDid you know one of the victims?â
âNo,â I said. âIâve never been here before.â
I lay back wearily, able to predict the whole conversation. It was so unnecessary. They werenât going to believe, they would try to discover some reason Iâd be lying about how I found the bodies, theyâd waste time and taxpayer money trying to establish a connection between me and one of the victims, or me and the killer. That connection didnât exist, and no amount of searching would uncover one.
I clutched the covers with my hands, as if they were patience.
âI donât know any of the boys buried in the graves,â I said. âI donât know who killed them, either. I expect thereâs a file on me somewhere that you can read, thatâll give you the background on me. Can we just assume this conversation is already over?â
âAh, no, I donât think we can assume that,â Klavin said.
I groaned. âOh, come on, guys, give me some rest,â I said. âI feel terrible, I need to sleep, and I have nothing to do with your investigation. I just find âem. From now on, itâs your job.â
âYouâre telling us,â Stuart said, sounding as skeptical as a man can sound, âthat you just find corpses at random.â
âOf course itâs not at random,â I said. âThat
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