(This is one of my many attempts to start\write a mystery that’s been knocking around in my head for thirty years.)
The air was cool and still when Wilson stepped out of the house into the morning darkness. He paused for moment and breathed deeply, taking the heavy rain smell deep into his lungs. “Shit” he said, shaking his head, and continued to walk to his truck. “Just plain shit.” He got in the truck, started it, backed into the empty street, and drove through the dark and quiet town. He turned the radio on, hoping to get a weather report. The drone of country music filled the truck. The music stopped and an announcer started in on the news. His attention drifted until he heard the magic words “And the now panhandle weather..” He turned the volume up. “We should see clear sky’s today with a high around 65 and a low of around 50. Forecasters have put the chance of rain at 30 per cent.” Shit, he thought and turned off the radio.
At the farm he pulled into the packed dirt turnabout, killed the engine, and got out of the truck. He looked up into the clear night sky. “No clouds. Nothing.” He thought, seeing the broad umbrella of stars overhead. But the smell of rain seemed even heavier here. The full moon was low in the sky and illuminated the colorless land like a pale sun. He walked to the tractor and climbed inside the cab. He started it and the sound of Jazz filled the cab. Flicking the lights on, he put the tractor in gear and steered towards the first row of cotton. He lined the tractor’s stripping chutes with the cotton rows, engaged the stripping mechanism, and moved forward into the field. The gentle shake of the tractor and the smooth melody of the music lulled him into a hazy relaxed state. Off in the distance he saw vague flashes of illuminated clouds. He counted out loud. “Twenty one…twenty two…twenty three…” The low rumbling of distant thunder echoed through the cab as he counted twenty nine. “About two miles.” He thought, and hoped it was moving away. He turned his attention back to the cotton.
Fifteen minutes later he saw the clouds flash again and started to count. He had only counted to twenty four before hearing the thunder’s rumble. “Shit” He said. “Getting closer”. Turning his gaze back from the clouds he squinted at something ahead in the cotton. The cotton was high enough so that he couldn’t see what it was, only the depression it made among the closely planted rows, and a vague white shape. He slowed, and then stopped the tractor till the huge headlights bathed the depression in harsh white light.
“An animal.” He thought, part of him knowing the white shape on the ground was not an animal. He killed the engine, opened the door of the cab, and stepped down to the cotton. The plants had grown high, just above his hips. A slight breeze waved and rippled the cotton stalks as he walked slowly towards the strange white shape outlined in dark green.
His mind blanked and his mouth went dry as he stared at the impossible thing lying in the green waving stalks. It was a naked, sheet-white body lying face down. “Not face down.” He thought. “Not really”. He thought this as there was no face. No face, no head, no hands, and no feet. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath of the heavy morning air, and held it. After a few moments he slowly breathed out and opened his eyes. The body was still there. Still real.
Wilson shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. A cool breeze seemed to float through the cotton, causing it to whisper in the night air. A flash of nearby lightning froze the whispering cotton and the white body in harsh light and was followed almost immediately by the crack of thunder. He heard the soft sound of heavy raindrops on the cotton and on the tractor and felt the splashes of wet cold against his skin. He climbed inside the cab of the tractor and dialed a familiar number. He heard the low ring and then the sleepy voice on the other end. “Wellington Police department. Is this an emergency?” the words were spoken in a rote and mechanical manner.
“Frank. This is Wilson. Wilson Porter. I’m at the farm.” He closed his eyes and tried to find the right words for the impossible situation.
The voice on the phone immediately became real and animated with concern. “Wilson!? You ok? What’s wrong?”
“I’m ok. I was stripping. Trying to get it done before the rain. There’s something here in the field. A body. A man I think. It’s naked and… Oh sweet Jesus Frank someone’s cut off his head, his hands, and his feet. Please get someone out here….I… “ his voice trailed off.
The distant voice on the phone stammered instructions and assurances. People would be there soon. Wilson nodded, as if Frank could see him, broke the connection, and put the phone back in his jacket pocket. He closed his eyes and several more deep breaths.
The rain began to fall heavily, an insistent tapping on the tractor’s cab. Opening his eyes he looked out over the field. His brow furrowed and he turned on the rain wipers to clear the front window. The depression made by the body was the only disturbance in the vast cotton field. There were no tracks of any kind. He wondered. “Whatever had brought the body here had dropped it out of the night sky.”
It was morning, a wet, rainy daylight vaguely filtered through the dark clouds when the first car arrived, the sheriff, Dan Perkins. Wilson had donned a yellow rain slicker he kept in the tractor cab and watched as the car came to a stop on the dirt path. Perkins, wearing his own yellow rain slicker, an ancient Stetson, and mud boots made his way towards Wilson.
Perkins was a tall lanky man with a relaxed easy stride. “Hey Wilson” he said as he approached. Wilson nodded, heard tinny voices, and saw the portable radio in the sheriff’s left hand. The man brought the radio up to his face as he walked. “Yeah. I’m here.” An intelligible burst of chatter. “Don’t know yet. Haven’t see it. Gimme a bit.” Dan barked lowly and lowered the radio. He stuck out his right hand, Wilson met it with his own, and they shook hands. Wilson started to pull away but the sheriff held firm. Wilson looked up into the man’s dark clear eyes underneath the brim of the Stetson. The concern there was real and it made Wilson feel a little better. “You ok?” Dan said softly.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Wilson said, nodding. “It’s just a hellulva thing.” Perkins nodded, gave Wilson’s hand a quick squeeze, before letting go. He looked over towards the dark indention in the cotton and jerked his head. “Well. Let’s take a look” The big man turned and started walking towards the body. Wilson turned but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to look again.” Wilson shook his head. “It’s ok. I’ve seen it. Can’t be any worse that the first time. Perkins nodded and they walked on.
They came to the edge of the cotton and both looked down at the body. Perkin’s gaze tracked around the perimeter of the body, then from one end to the other. Finally he shook his head. “Jesus….sweet baby Jesus.” He muttered. “Never seen anything like this.” His voice was low and breathy. “I been doing this thirty years and nothing like this.” Wilson nodded.
“That makes two of us.” He said, nearly whispering, as if afraid to frighten the corn. Perkins looked at him.
“Even in Dallas?” he asked. Wilson shook his head.
“I saw plenty of bodies. People killed in all kinds of different ways. But nothing like this.” Wilson said. Perkins shook his head and looked back to the body. He cleared his throat and turned to face Wilson.
“I gotta ask you, you know how it is. Did you touch anything? Move anything?” he said, shaking his head, knowing the answer.
Wilson shook his head. “No. I saw it while I was stripping.” He said looking back to the tractor, shielding his eyes from the bright floodlights. “I couldn’t see it that clearly from the cab.” He said and shook his head again. “Or maybe I could and just didn’t want to believe it.” He said, turning back to Perkins.
Perkins nodded and turned back to the body. He raised his gaze to look out over the cotton. He looked all around the cotton. “No tracks. Not from a vehicle anyway.” He turned to Wilson. “No tracks coming up the row you were stripping I guess.”
Wilson shook his head. “Nothing. Just like the rest of the cotton. If someone dumped it here they didn’t use a vehicle.” He looked to Perkins. “At least…” he looked down.
“What?” Perkins asked.
“At least not a ground vehicle.” Wilson said, looking into the cloudy morning sky.
Perkins looked up. Water poured off the back of the Stetson. “Shit.” He spat. “Helicopter.” He cursed, shook his head, and looked back to Wilson. “A fucking helicopter.” He turned away, started walking away from the body, and brought the radio up. “Frank. You there?” He barked loudly with some anger. There was a burst of intelligible chatter from the radio as Wilson turned to follow. The dirt in the field, now mud, sucked at his boots, and made walking difficult. He trudged on following Perkins.
“Call Harris in Amarillo. We need to get the state team on this.” Perkins barked. More chatter from the radio. Wilson smiled. He couldn’t make out the words but could hear the all-too-familiar argumentative tone in Frank’s voice. Perkins stopped, looked up, again causing a minor cascade of water from his hat, and dropped the radio to his side. “God damn Frank. Not now. Not fucking now.” He brought the radio back up. Wilson stopped, knowing Dan would appreciate as much privacy as he could get. He could hear the effort in the big man’s voice to control his frustration. The big man’s words and tone were careful and controlled.
“Frank. Please listen carefully…” Another protracted burst of animated and somewhat loud chatter from the radio. Dan took a deep breath and continued. “Frank. Please. I’m trying here. We’ve got a body here and…” More radio chatter. “Yeah, it’s just like he said. A naked body, probably a man, no head, hands, or feet. You get it? This is too much for us. We can’t take the chance of somebody fucking it up.” More loud animated chatter from the radio. Dan dropped the radio to his side and jerked his head as he spoke. “Shit!” He took a deep breath and brought the radio back up. “No Frank, I didn’t mean you. I didn’t mean anyone in particular. I just want to make sure this is done right. You can understand that, can’t you?” The radio chatter again but the tone was lower and even. “Thank you Frank. I’ll be in shortly.” He dropped the radio to his side, looked down, and then turned to Wilson and smiled.
“Dan, that was one impressive display of composure.” Said Wilson, smiling as he trudged up to the big man’s side and slapped him on the shoulder. “Remind me again why you made Frank a deputy and gave him the run of the county jail?” He said, unable to contain his laughter.
Perkins smiled as he answered. “Hell Wilson, he’s your best friend. You know him better than I do.”
“Which is exactly my point. I love Frank like a brother, but deputy? And running the county jail? Really Dan?” he said, nearly choking on his own laughter.
Dan looked away, shook his head, and chuckled as he turned back. “Well… I guess I figured it’d be better for him if he was a deputy and running the jail. Give him something constructive to do with his time. Otherwise he’d probably spend all his time in the jail. This way at least he can draw a paycheck.” He said, laughing. “I mean you know him. There’s not a mean bone in him. He’s not the brightest bulb, but he’s… he’d dependable. You know what I mean?”
Wilson nodded. “I do. I could always depend on Frank. To get me in trouble. To give me terrible advice and to try to steal my girlfriend. I could always depend on him for those things.”
Dan nodded. “Well, that’s something.” His laughter died out and the smile faded as he looked back into the cotton. Wilson looked back as well and cleared his throat. The body wasn’t visible but the memory of what he had seen was fresh and heavy on his mind.
“Funny how you can turn it off when you need to.” Dan said, his face solemn. He turned to Wilson.
“I’d forgotten how easy it is to forget something like that.” Wilson said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He raised his gaze to Dan. “Been awhile since I needed to.”
Dan looked down at his mud covered boots then back up. “Yeah. Listen, why don’t you go home and get some rest.” He looked back towards the cotton. It’ll be a couple hours before the Amarillo boys get here. They won’t need you. I’ll get Frank to call some boys over to watch till Amarillo gets here.” He looked back to Wilson. “You can come into town later to make a statement. Lunch maybe?” He said nodding.
“Sure.” Wilson said looking towards the cotton, then back at Dan. “I guess we’ll need to talk more, won’t we?” He asked.
Perkins turned and looked at the cotton for a long time. Finally he turned back. He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Yeah. We will.”
Wilson opened the back door and there was his wife, Shirley. She was glaring at him, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on her hips. Her expression was not happy.
“Wilson Porter. You are not tracking mud all over my kitchen.” Her voice was strong, loud, and very direct. She had taken one hand off it’s respective hip and was pointing to his feet, accentuating every salient word with another deliberate point. He felt a small, but significant terror, the same one he had felt as a little boy when his mother had chided him. He had long experience in not thinking too much about the similarity in those two relationships.
“Yes maam.” He went back outside, removed his boots, and returned. As he stepped inside Shirley met him at the door and embraced him. She hugged him hard and he reciprocated. As always when they embraced, he felt something deep inside telling him everything would be ok. She pulled away, kissed him, and looked into his eyes.
“Are you ok hon?” she said, her voice now soft.
“Oh yeah. It was…” he shook his head, searching for the right words. “It was just so unexpected. You know?” She nodded, pulled away from him, and crossed the kitchen.
“I made a coffee. You want some?” She said, turning her head back to him.
“Please.” He said as he crossed to the kitchen table to sit. She poured two cups and brought them to the table to join him.
“Donna called about an hour ago.” She said. She didn’t need to say that Donna, the jail’s unofficial den mother and Frank’s on-again, off-again girlfriend had pried every iota of information from Frank with the efficiency of a CIA interrogator and then (probably) informed every other member of the town, or at least the ones with whom she was still speaking.
“Shit!” he said. “Do you know if she…” Shirley cut him off with raised hand.
“Frank told her to keep it to herself. She interpreted that to mean she could only tell me, seeing as you were going to tell me anyway.” She said, a slight mischievous smile growing on her lips.
“Oh I was, was I?” he said, trying hard to sound indignant and doing a pretty poor job of it. The grin on Shirley’s face grew into a full smile and she raised her hand to her mouth to contain her growing laughter. “Oh hell. I guess that’s about right. You would have wormed it out of me anyway.” He said, through his own laughter.
His face grew more serious. “What’d she tell you?” he said. Shirley nodded and reeled off the information flatly, as if relaying points on a power point presentation. Wilson nodded when she finished.
“Hell, you know as much as I do.” He said.
“You ok to talk about it?” she asked.
“Sure, Dan didn’t say not to. Not yet anyway.” He said.
“What was the skin color like? I mean it was white, is that right?” she said, her voice now curious and questioning.
“Yeah, it was white. The body looked really white…pale.” He said, looking into his coffee as if the memory lay there.
“Was there any blood?” she said.
“I didn’t see any.” He said, looking up.
“The hands and feet…” she said, letting the words hang.
“No blood there either.” He said.
She turned her eyes away and began to tap the tips of her fingers against her lips.
“Humph.” She said, her eyes distant and unfocussed. “No tracks?” she asked, not turning back to him.
“Nope. Nothing” he said.
“Helicopter.” She said, a statement, not a question.
“Yeah, that’s what I figure.” He said. She turned back to him.
“Who around here owns a helicopter?” she said.
“No body that I know of.” He said. She turned away again.
“Yeah. Me neither.” She said. She looked back to Wilson. “You have to make a statement?”
“Yeah. Dan asked me to come back into town after while. The Amarillo guys won’t be here for another hour or so.” He said. She nodded and looked away again. She sighed and looked back to him.
“Well, nothing to do till then.” She smiled, reached over, and squeezed his hand. She pulled back and took a long sip of coffee. “Still raining?” she said, looking to the back door.
“Yeah. Coming down in sheets.” He spat, disgusted.
“Heard a weather report on the radio. It’s supposed to rain off and on for the next couple days.” She said and reached out to touch his hand. “I guess that means no more stripping.”
“Yeah.” He said, his voice dejected and defeated. “No more stripping.”
The Rocking Horse Café sat at the north edge of town on a lot that had been a cotton field. It was part of the “New Money” that come into Wellington over the last five or so years. Like the other “New Money” additions, it was just a bit too big and fancy for the small, formerly rustic town, like a diamond tennis bracelet carefully placed among ancient, worn, and broken costume jewelry.
Wilson walked in and saw Dan waving from a back booth. As he walked, he nodded at, and otherwise greeted familiar faces around the room.
“Hey Wil. Thanks for coming by.” He said, popping a french fry in his mouth.
“Sure.” Wilson said, sitting down, and picking up a menu.
“You eaten here yet?” Dan said before popping another fry into his mouth.
“Couple times.” He said, looking at the menu. “What do you like?”
“BLT’s good.” Dan said, nodding at his nearly empty plate. Wilson skimmed the menu for the BLT.
“It’s also cheap.” Wilson said, smiling at Dan.
“Well hell!” Dan said, smiling. “Cheap and good! Sounds like a winning combination to me!” Wilson smiled and nodded. The waitress came and took his order. She then turned to Dan.
“You need a refill Dan?” she said, smiling her young and just slightly flirtatious smile.
“No thanks Loretta. I’m good.” He said, returning her beaming smile. She nodded and walked away. Dan watched her walk away, tossed his napkin onto the plate, and turned back to Wilson. The smile left his face. He retrieved a small digital audio recorder from a jacket pocket, switched it on and set it down on the table.
“Ok. Wil. Let’s get this part done…” he asked the same questions he had asked earlier and Wilson gave the same answers. Before Wilson knew it they were done and Dan had picked the recorder up, turned it off, and returned it to his pocket. He leaned forward, his elbows down on the table and spoke in a low voice. “And that pretty much concludes my official involvement or responsibility in this matter.” His tone was final, but there was something in his eyes that practically begged more questions.
“Just what exactly does that mean?” Wilson said, matching his low tone and trying hard to keep the confusion and rising frustration out of his voice.
“Just that. I’m no longer the lead on this particular case.” He said.
“Well then who the hell is?” Wilson said, struggling to keep his voice low.
“Interesting story there..” he said, leaning back as if to start a long tale.
“Dan.. don’t you..” Wilson’s objection was cut short by Dan’s raised hand.
“I’ll keep it short. About an hour after I got back to the office I got a phone call…” he said.
“Before the Amarillo crew arrived?” Wilson’s question cut Dan off.
“Before the Amarillo crew arrived. That’s correct.” Dan answered.
“From whom? The phone call I mean.” Wilson said.
“The phone call was from special agent Walter Henderson of the F. B. I.” Dan pronounced the three letters slowly and with special emphasis. “Special agent Henderson thanked me very kindly for the work I’d done on the case..”
“Which added up to jack squat.” Wilson spat.
“Which added up to jack squat and said he would be assuming all responsibility for the case effective immediately.” Said Dan, his smile fading just enough for Wilson to see the hint of outrage in the man’s eyes.
“And that’s that?” Wilson said.
“That’s that. End of story as far as far as the Wellington Sherriff’s department is concerned and as far as I’m concerned.” Dan said, fixing Wilson with a peculiar stare. His emphasis on the work “I’m” begged Wilson’s question.
“As far as you’re concerned…just what the hell does that mean?” There was an angry edge to Wilson’s question.
“Just what I said. We’re out of it. Done with it. Special agent Henderson is in charge.” Dan said. He cocked his head slightly to one side and squinted slightly.
“Well that doesn’t to make any sense at all. Why would they…” He was cut off by Dan’s raised hand.
“To radically change the subject… do you remember that Thompson your dad sold me?” Dan said.
Wilson’s mind reeled slightly at the sudden change of direction. “Sure. I remember. He let me shoot it a few times before you bought it.” Wilson said.
“I’m having a little problem with it. Wondered if you’d come out and take a look.” Dan said.
“I’m not a gunsmith Dan. I wouldn’t know…” Wilson said. Again he was cut off by Dan’s raised hand.
“I know, I know, but I’m sure you’ll be able to help.” He said flatly, his eyes staring through Wilson.
“Well sure. I’ll take a look. Do you want to bring it by my place?” he said.
“Be better if you come by my place. How around eight tonight? That work for you?” Dan said, smiling and nodding.
Wilson nodded as he replied. “Sure. I’ll be there.” He said, the confusion evident in his voice.
“ I appreciate it.” Dan said. His face brightened as he looked up slightly and to his right, just over Wilson’s shoulder. “Why hello Miss Renee. Always nice to see you.” The man’s voice was warm as he beamed a wide smile at the approaching woman.
Wilson turned his head slightly to his left and watched as the tall woman walked easily to Dan, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“Dan, Wilson” She said turning her full attention to Wilson as she spoke. “Mind if I join you?” she said, directing the question to Wilson.
He started to answer but was cut off by Dan. “I’m just leaving.” Dan rose and held his chair out for the woman who sat and glanced up at him with a warm smile.
“Thanks Dan.” She said, turning her attention to Wilson. She leaned forward on her elbows and rested her chin on her hands.
“I’ll see you later Wilson. Don’t forget.” Dan said tapping Wilson’s shoulder as he passed.
“Hello Mr. Porter.” She said, cocking nodding her head slightly forward and smiling.
Wilson found himself returning the nod and smile. “Mrs. Madison” he said, trying not to smile too big.
She clocked her head to the right and nodded again, correcting him. “It’s Miss Sommers now. Shirley not keeping you up with the latest gossip?” She said, teasing him.
Wilson stammered his response and took a good look at the woman. They had attended the then small Wellington schools together from first grade through high school graduation. She had always been tall and athletic, with a smooth easy way about her, not walking or moving so much as gliding. He had always thought of her as some enticingly dangerous feline, specifically a Jaguar. He wondered if she growled in bed and then immediately wondered from where that thought had originated.
“Haven’t seen much of you since you got back into town. Yall been back..what, six months now?” she said.
Wilson nodded. “Little over eight. I’ve been busy with the farm.” He said running out of words.
Renee nodded. “I see Shirley from time to time shopping. She’s so sweet.” Her way of saying “sweet” made it sound positively horrific, like a dread disease she could never think of catching. She glanced outside, nodded at the clouds and spitting rain. “Guess you won’t be doing any stripping till it dries up a bit.” She suddenly looked back to him, a concerned look on her face. “I forgot all about this morning. What happened I mean. Sorry.” Her turn to run out of words.
Wilson looked down and shook his head. “Thanks. Hell of a thing.” He looked up at her. “I guess Donna filled you in on all the details. “ook on her facain. ”
m time to time shopping. She’iding. He had always thought o
Renee chuckled and shook her head. “She’s the town crier, I guess.” She was interrupted by Loretta returning with Wilson’s order.
“Hey Renee.” Loretta shot her a quick smile while setting the food down.
“Hey Loretta” Renee said, smiling.
“What can I get you honey?” Loretta said. Renee ordered, Loretta nodded and walked away.
“What do you think of all this?” Renee said, waving her hand around, indicating the café. “You ever think Wellington would have a place like this?”
Wilson shook his head. “Nope. When I left for school it was.. well you know what it was like.” He said.
“I remember.” She said, sighing and looking around the room. “When we graduated high school in 2004 Wellington was 2500 people and dying a slow death. I couldn’t get out fast enough.” She said.
“Same with me. “ he said looking down at his food. “Do you mind? I haven’t eaten since breakfast and..” he said.
“Oh go ahead honey.” She said, waving at his food. Wilson began to eat. “You went to Abilene Christian right?” She said.
“Right.” He spoke between bites. “I got a BS in Criminal Justice.”
“Then you moved to Dallas?” she said.
He nodded. “Yeah. Well, I met Shirley at school. We got married right after graduating and then we moved to Dallas.” He said.
“Why Dallas?” she said. His answer was interrupted by the arrival of Loretta and Renee’s order.
“That’s where Shirley from and I’ve always liked Dallas.” He said.
“You worked with the Dallas police?” she said.
Wilson shook his head. “Richardson. It’s a suburb to the north. I’d heard it was a better place to work than Dallas. The degree put me on the fast track to detective. I liked it.” He paused and smiled at her. “Most of the time.”
“What made you come back? She said, her eyes curious.
He chuckled before speaking. “Huh. You get right to it, don’t you?” She answered with a smile and a shrug. He shook his head. “ Well when dad got sick…” His words trailed off.
“I’m sorry Wilson. I didn’t think.” Her voice was soft as she reached over to touch his arm.
“It’s ok. Anyway..we came back to see to him and of course saw how Wellington had changed.” He looked around the care. “It really is like a different town.” He said.
“It really is. I felt the same way when I came back.” She said, looking around.
“How about you? You went to Tech didn’t you?” he said.
She nodded. “Yeah. A bunch of the old gang went there.” She said.
“What did you study?” he said.
“Mostly beer and boys.” She said with a mischievous grin. “Actually, I graduated with a degree in interior design.” She shook her head. “Didn’t do much with it. But my house looks real nice.” She said with a laugh.
“You met your husband..sorry, EX-husband there?” He said.
“Tommy Madison. Yeah, I did.” She said, her voice flat. “He was studying oil and gas or something like that. His dad was real big in that. We got married after graduation and lived in Lubbock for about a year and then his dad wanted him in Austin so there we went.” Her voice had the hollowness of a very old bitterness.
“Ausitin’s a pretty good place.” Wilson said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Oh yeah. I loved living there.” She said smiling back at him. “Tommy’s dad wanted him to be a lobbyist and that basically meant Tommy got to do what he did best..party.” the smile had faded from her face.
“I’m sorry.” He said.
She sighed and smiled at him. “Me too. He was really a very sweet man when he wasn’t drunk or coked out of his head.” Her smiled turned sad. “But those times just seemed to go away.” She sighed and took a deep breath, as if blowing away the bad memories. “On the bright side, he was very rich so the divorce settlement was very generous. “
“And you came back to Wellington? About two years ago?” he said
“More like three. I liked Austin but it seemed to sour a little after the divorce. It felt right coming home. Especially when it’s a new and improved home.” She said smiling.
He shook his head. “I still don’t quite understand what changed. I mean how big is Wellington now, ten thousand?” he said.
“More like fifteen, I think.” She said, looking around. “I don’t quite understand either. About five years ago ..” She paused and leaned in towards him, her voice low. “Now don’t quote me on this, this is what I heard.”
Wilson leaned in slightly too and matched her low tone. “Donna?” he said with a hint of a smile.
She smiled and replied. “right. Donna. Anyway, about five years ago a man called Wilbur Jenson moved to town. He bought up a lot of the land east of town. You remember where the old Lancaster wrecking yard was?” He nodded. “He built a huge battery manufacturing plant and hired just about everyone in town who wasn’t already working.”
“Battery plant?” Wilson said.
She shook her head. “Not like the kind of batteries you put in stuff.. electric car batteries.”
Wilson nodded. “How many people work there?” he said.
“I think like a thousand people work there now. It’s grown some.” She said. “Then about four months later, another new guy moves into town. Don’t ask me his name, I don’t know it.
