A Blind Eye Read Online Free PDF Page B

for his vision to clear, when he first heard the sound. An engine. The blat of a diesel maybe.
    Carefully he picked his way across the maze of broken floor and made his way outside. Shading his eyes from the glare, he scanned the horizon. Nothing. He stood still and listened, but the sound did not repeat itself.
    After several moments he heaved a sigh, stepped back inside the shed, and continued tearing up the shattered pieces of wood, throwing them outside onto the pile. While the far side of the floor had covered nothing but dirt, this side was lined with black plastic.
    As he worked his way toward the front of the shed, he began to realize that the black plastic was not a single sheet of material but instead a large folded package held together by long lengths of silver duct tape.
    Curious now, he used the flat of his hand to press down on the upper layer. Beneath the black, something brittle shifted with a dry clack. Instinctively Corso pulled his hand back and peered into his rust-covered palm. Then he heard the noise again.
    This time he was positive. The sound of a diesel engine at work sent him hurrying back outside. Out on the road, a bright yellow road grader sent a black plume into the sky as it moved along, pushing the snow before it.
    Corso began to wave his arms, trying to catch the driver’s attention. A full minute of frenzied waving sent Corso to his knees in the snow, where he hung his head and watched the snow turn red, drop by drop. And then the blat of the horn, and when he looked up, one of the side windows of the road grader was open and a hand was waving.
    He stayed on his knees as the huge machine backed up, turned its front wheels, and started down the driveway toward him. Above the roar of the machine, he heard Dougherty’s voice cry, “Yahoo!” He looked to his right. She was standing in the open doorway. She opened her mouth to speak, but by then Corso was already back inside the shed, finding the end of the duct tape and peeling it off. The pieces of plastic began to separate on their own. Corso reached down and yanked the top of the plastic apart.
    The sight sent him reeling backward, tripping over one of the floor joists and falling heavily to the dirt. The roar of the diesel was closer now. Dougherty was shouting something into the wind. He climbed to his feet. His head throbbed as he shuffled back across the floor. He peeked. Quickly. Out of the corner of his eye. As if he might turn to stone. There it was. The ivory grin. The tufts of brown hair still stuck to the skull. The empty eye sockets staring back at him. He brought a hand to his mouth and turned away as his stomach turned over.
    He moved carefully, making his way outside. The machine was right in his face now, idling as the driver popped open the door and began to climb down. He was a round-faced little guy wearing orange thermal coveralls and a red plaid hat with earflaps. One look at Corso stopped his descent. His satchel face folded itself into a frown, and then, without a word, he climbed back into his seat. He stuck his head out the side window. “You don’t look so good, buddy,” he yelled. Corso nodded his agreement. “I’ll send an aid car right out,” the driver promised. “You just take it easy till they get here.”
    As Corso made his way over to the driver’s window, he heard the lock click on the inside of the door. He looked up at the driver’s gray stubbled face. “Better send the cops too,” he shouted. “There’s something in the shed they ought to see.”

5
    P lace has been deserted for the better part of fifteen years,” the sheriff said. “Ever since Eldred Holmes packed up his wife and kids and moved on.” She thought it over. “Back in the mideighties sometime. I can’t for the life of me remember where it was they were supposed to be moving to.” She looked back over her shoulder at the shed, which was now surrounded by yellow police tape and half a dozen deputies. “Doesn’t look like