on him. Karen and Sanjay joined us, standing behind the front of the Toyota where the tires and engine block might protect us if something bad were to happen.
Karen said, exasperation in her voice, âDamn it, there he goes again. A man with a gun. Ninety percent of the worldâs problemsâand one hundred percent of our particular problemsâwould be eliminated if we could figure out a way to get rid of men with guns.â
I think I surprised everyone thereâincluding myselfâby saying, âDonât be so quick to get rid of this particular man. Heâd die fighting to protect you, Karen, so show some appreciation, why donât you?â
Karen made a dismissive noise and looked to Sanjay for something, maybe reassurance. But Sanjay was watching with the rest of us as Charlie carefully walked around the buildings, stepping in and out for a moment or three. He then went into the two-story farmhouse. The building was painted bright yellow, which made the scorch marks around the broken windows that bit more dramatic. I looked out beyond the trees, wondering if the gunmen had come from there or if they had been so blatant as to come right up the driveway.
Charlie came out of the house, the M-16 slung over his shoulder, and I realized then that my legs had relaxedâearlier they had been threatening to start shaking. Charlie met with Jean-Paul and they talked for a moment. Then Jean-Paul came over to us, shaking his head.
âNo bodies, but there looks to be evidence in the barn and in the downstairs living room,â he said quietly. âTime for all of us to get to work.â
There. For the first time since I had joined the team I had heard those quiet words. I went with Peter and Miriam to the rear of our Toyota, where each of us pulled out our work rucksack.
CHAPTER FOUR
I wasnât sure who to followâthose going into the house or those going into the barnâbut when Miriam headed to the open doorway of the barn I joined her, my heavy rucksack dangling from one hand. We stood there for a moment, letting our eyes adjust to the gloom inside. I was surprised at the concrete floor of the barn: such an expenditure wasnât to be expected in such a poor part of the country. Before us were empty stalls, bags of feed and fertilizer, and one area piled up with hay bales. One wooden wall was splintered and broken, like something had battered it fast and with great violence, and on the concrete below the wall hay had been spread around.
Miriam stood by the wall, started toeing away some of the hay. âPeter, Samuel,â she said, her voice as serious as Iâd ever heard it. âWeâve got bloodstains here.â
Peter started undoing his rucksack. âAnd weâve got impact rounds in the far wall. Looks like someone got lined up and shot.â
âYes,â Miriam said.
I felt like I could not say a thing. They had been to such places before, had had experiences, had a history with each other. All I had was my own rucksack and my own pitiful tools. I spared a glance as Peter started working, examining the bullet holes in the chewed-up wall, making soft little exclamations of delight as he found empty brass casings on the concrete.
Each casing was picked up and placed inside a tiny plastic bag. Miriam worked just as diligently but much more quietly as she gently brushed away the strands of hay covering the floor. Each of them was now wearing latex gloves.
I took out my own tools: a small laptop, a digital camera and a portable satellite uplink station. I powered up everything and when the camera was ready I input the dayâs date and time and our coordinatesâwith the GPS signal they were accurate to a meter or two. Then I got to work also, photographing Miriam and Peter, and then photographing the evidence as well. It was quiet in the large barn as we worked, and I tried not to let my imagination take hold of me. I concentrated on the
Learning to Kill: Stories