Badwater (The Forensic Geology Series) by Toni Dwiggins Read Free Book Online Page A

back to the unloading zone and checked the hydraulics on the boom lift truck then gave the operator the okay, and the operator backfilled the cask caisson with sand, and Jardine watched the procedure like he cared.
    What he cared about was why Miller had suddenly left. Did something happen?
    And now Ballinger and the cops were watching Jardine and Jardine’s skin prickled and it wasn’t just the sweat inside his suit. But if they knew something they would have already come for him.
    Still, maybe it was time to go. He put his tools in the caddy and casually strolled past the enemy toward the security gate.
    “Hey Roy.”
    Jardine nearly died.
    “Come on over here.”
~
    “R oy’s a little hoity-toity,” Ballinger confided. He jerked his thumb.
    The man slowly came our way.
    “This here’s Roy Jardine,” Ballinger said. “Roy, these people are helping out with the incident. Need you to assist the lady. Go ahead and unmask.”
    Jardine unhooded and threaded the straps of his facepiece over a long braided ponytail. He pushed up the facepiece.
    I tried not to stare but... Holy moly.
    Soliano spoke, low, to Ballinger. “Mr. Jardine’s...this is significant?”
    “His face ? Nah nah. See, awhile back there was a little, uh, incident with a cesium-137 source. You know, kind they use for gauges, or cancer treatments? Was a prank that went out of control.” Ballinger clapped Jardine on the shoulder. “Okay by you, Roy, I tell them what happened?”
    “You just did, Mr. Ballinger.”
    It didn’t sound okay by Jardine. He had a nasal voice that broke as it rose. And it didn’t look okay by him. He held his head high. He had a high forehead, skin pulled tight by the skinned-back hair in the tight ponytail. Wide-set brown eyes, downturned at the corners. Flattened nose, spreading at the nostrils. Long horsey jaw in which the small mouth got lost. Large irregular oval on his left cheek, with a mottled interior and a rim that wormed around the crater.
    I was not bothered by the scar. My little brother Henry had scars. The last one, which I remember best, was a dent like a jack-o-lantern grin below his knee where the joint lining had been excised. So Jardine’s scar didn’t bother me. It was his expression that hurt. He looked so very sad.
    Soliano asked, “Who played this prank?”
    “Never found out,” Ballinger said. “Called in the Sheriff but no luck. Still, CTC officials put their trust in me to handle things and that’s what I did. Ran a lessons-learned session for all my people. Attendance mandatory. And I made dead sure the company covered Roy’s medicals. Pain and suffering, to boot.”
    Soliano turned to Jardine. “This resolution satisfied you?”
    “Yeah.”
    I watched his scarred face. I’ve seen lesser insults be motive for mayhem.
    Soliano pulled out his wallet and showed Jardine his ID. “Mr. Jardine, may I inquire as to your whereabouts last night?”
    Jardine said, slowly, “Home in bed.”
    “Alone?”
    Jardine went scarlet. He nodded.
    “And your job here is?”
    “Maintenance.”
    “Have you ever worked on the cask team?”
    “No.”
    “Do you wish to?”
    Jardine shrugged. “Takes a lot of training.”
    Ballinger nodded. “Darn right.”
    “I see.” Soliano regarded Jardine. “Thank you for your time.”
    So that’s it? I thought Jardine warranted a few more questions but I couldn’t come up with any. I agreed with Soliano that the key player was whoever metered the cask. Jardine might have motive, but not the training or the opportunity. He was likely just one of those unfortunates who swallowed the insult and collected his compensation.
    “All right then, Roy,” Ballinger said. “Lady wants to poke around out there. I need somebody to go with her. Make sure she doesn’t whack her head or trip or... Liability stuff.”
    Jardine turned to me and his gaze fixed on the spectrometer hanging from my shoulder. He said, in that nasal complaint, “What are you?”
    I said,