The Salem Witch

Story Excerpt (2): The Salem Witch

Sandy Whiting drove out to the Northampton landfill on Glendale Road at just before 11:00 AM. The landfill itself had closed two years before, and the front service area was currently used only as a recycling center. She got as far as the center’s parking area before a state trooper stopped her from proceeding to the landfill proper, where the Fed’s search operation was ongoing. After parking her car, she went back and forth with the trooper for a couple of minutes before Fielding–standing with Nicks some ways off atop the landfill’s vast landscaped dome–spotted her and waved for the officer to let her by.

Approaching the two agents, she saw that both men were dressed casually–Fielding in dark slacks and a golf shirt, Nicks in blue jeans and a gray tee shirt. Dirt swirled about them in the warm summer air as two backhoes dug up earth along a wide track just behind them. Working ahead of the backhoes, the Guardian GPR team swept in back-and-forth patterns along the grassy dome’s eastern side.

“You searching the whole landfill?” Whiting asked the men as she came up to them.

Nicks looked off to the GPR team. “No, ma’am. Just the area they used ten years ago.”

Whiting waved her hands around. “He could have buried them here, anywhere.”

Nicks conceded that. “That’s possible, Mrs. Whiting. But we need to start from the most likely areas first. If they’re here, then whoever put ‘em here would more than likely want to put them in a spot where he’d know they’d get buried right off. And deep.”

Whiting shook her head as she eyed the area. “Well, you guys know your business.” She looked at Nicks. “You think he’d drive out here on his own to bury them here?”


“Yeah, him. Is there anyone else?”

“I’m not putting anything past anyone, yet, Mrs. Whiting.”

Fielding added, “He coulda come out here on his own, at night. But the gate woulda been locked. He’da had to have climbed over the property fence, here, and I ain’t seein’ that with two bodies–” he stopped himself, remembering who he was talking to. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Whiting walked up to Fielding. “You think I haven’t been out here, walking around myself? You think I don’t know what I might find?” She turned away to look off at the grassy dome. “I used to come here a couple days a week. I used dig through all the garbage, all the maggots and all that other shit…” her voice trailed off a bit. “I came out here, and I knew what I’d see if I found them.”

She turned back to the two men. Then she stepped closer to Nicks. She bit her lip as she looked at him, and Nicks could see the fragile woman he’d met that past Saturday suddenly return. She said to him resolutely, with anguish in her voice, “My sister and niece are dead, and their bodies are the only things that will put away the son of bitch who killed them. You think I don’t know that?”

Nicks stood there stoically. He’d seen such pain expressed many times before. “I know you do,” he said to her.

Whiting wiped away tears that had welled up in her eyes. “You know what I need?” she asked Nicks in a weak voice.

“No ma’am,” Nicks replied.

She sniffled, and she recovered herself as best she could, even managing a fragile smile. “I could use a hero right about now. You know?”

Nicks understood that, and gave her a nod. “Yes, ma’am.”


Read the story blurb for Cold Case: FBI here.

Dec 15, 2015 | Category: Cold Case: FBI, Fiction | Comments: none | Tags: , ,


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