Wounded Earth Read Online Free PDF Page A

pesticide cheap and pick up a few extra bucks. He stood outside the door of the supervisor's office to make sure he could hear Frankie snoring, because the next part was a little risky. Convinced that Frankie was asleep, he hurried to the parking lot and pulled his pickup over to the small loading dock.
    Climbing back in his fork lift, he loaded the pallet onto the bed of his pickup. Then he rushed to pull the pickup into the darkness of the parking lot, where he covered the drums with a tarp. While he was out there, he slid the manila envelope under the floormat on the driver's side.
    He almost whistled as he walked back in the warehouse, but he didn't want to wake Frankie. Nothing, thought Chet, keeps a night-shift worker alert all night quite so well as easy money.
    * * *
    Frankie the boss kept making snoring noises as he watched Chet through the supervisor's window. Gerald would be pleased to know that Chet was performing adequately. Chet was ideally suited for his position on the lowest rung of the organization. He was intelligent enough, though just barely. He didn't ask questions. And he would do just about anything for money.
    * * *
    “So BioHeal's LAN needs expensive software to keep the hackers out, our human resources people are far too free with personal information, and you think we should pressure our landlord to hire a security guard for the parking garage. This is only the first day of your security audit. How many other ways do you plan to cost me money and heartache?” Larabeth unlocked the outer door to her office.
    “Consider it insurance against the next stalker who chooses you,” J.D. said.
    Norma was gone for the day, but she had left the coffee pot loaded and ready-to-brew. She had also left a note saying she hoped Larabeth had better sense than to hang around deserted buildings. Unless accompanied by a handsome detective.
    Larabeth trashed the note and turned on the coffee. She stood at her computer and pushed the mouse around for a minute before calling J.D. over.
    “I've been trying to figure out who Babykiller might be.”
    “Better the devil you know than the devil you don't know,” J.D. said, hanging over her shoulder and peering at the computer screen.
    She leaned forward, trying to maintain a comfortable distance between them. There was no comfortable distance.
    “The lab's still working on the dye sample from my kitchen sink and we've got no other useable information yet. For lack of anything better to do, I embarked on a wild goose chase this morning.” She gestured at her computer screen, which was covered with database entries.
    “These data are old friends of mine,” she said, holding her finger on the down key and letting scores of names, ranks, and serial numbers scroll by. “Meet my Vietnam veterans database, the basis of my doctoral research. I had our CIS department reload it on BioHeal's system.”
    “So tell me about your wild goose chase,” J.D. said. He took the mouse from her and paged through the data.
    Larabeth noticed that J.D. had stopped chewing his nails, but he still had the same fine golden hairs scattered across the backs of his hands.
    “Well,” she said, “we know that Babykiller is a Vietnam veteran. At least we think we know that. He didn't deny it. I have a list of two and a half million names loaded onto this computer. The best thing I can say about this database is that it contains information on most of the people who served in Vietnam.”
    “Most?” J.D. asked.
    “Yeah. It drives Vietnam veterans crazy. The government claims its records are incomplete, but the vets think there's a conspiracy afoot. Maybe so. Maybe it's just evidence of bureaucracy in action. I do know this much. I worked extensively with the recordkeeping arms of all branches of the military. At every turn, I encountered people who couldn't or wouldn't help me. I was entitled to that data, either through the Freedom of Information Act or through the special clearances that