Barren Grounds by B. Michael Radburn

Author:B. Michael Radburn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pantera Press
Published: 2023-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

32

The phone booth outside the Barren Grounds shone like a lonesome lighthouse alerting sailors to dangerous shores. Joe didn’t heed its warning. He parked at the twisted gates and stepped into the night. A portion of the sandstone wall beside the gate had been demolished, to allow access for the larger trucks and excavators used in the clean-up. Two flimsy barricades blocked it now, but the crews had left the defaced sign that read Barren Grounds.

I think it only fitting that we pick things up where we left off.

Joe felt the headache press at his eyes despite the codeine in his system. The drugs were becoming less effective every day. He shivered, zipped up his jacket against the cold, and reached for his gun and torch.

In the past two years, the grounds had changed. He walked beyond the deadfall of trees heaped either side of the pathway. Nowhere left for bad things to hide – even memories. But Joe could still feel a corruption of the natural order of things. He wondered whether draining the pond and removing the earth could ever change that.

The sound of the pumps and generator motors grew louder as Joe followed their hum to the pond. The body of water was circled by ribbons of police tape, broken in places and fluttering on the faint breeze. The breach in the levee bank had only been backfilled enough to stem the river’s overflow, a muddy land bridge between each bank rimmed by a cluster of reeds. Only a short portion of the pier remained.

He stepped towards the river’s edge and shone the torch’s beam out over its black surface. The level had only dropped a few feet, despite the days of draining; the pumps no doubt struggling to disperse the water quicker than it leached back in from the river. He picked up a stone and cast it out into the centre. It made a dull plop – more like striking mud than water – and any ripples never made it to the bank.

Joe wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. It was unlike the Jeweller to use the same setting. Each placement was a critical part of the reveal, each tableau a step towards a bigger picture. He turned, searched the original trail for the seat where he discovered the victims two years ago, but the bench was gone, only a small concrete base remaining. Was it really that easy to erase history? A blackbird’s faint song rose above the whine of the pumps; it was comforting to know that he wasn’t alone.

The beam of his torch caught a glint of something metallic on the opposite bank, near where the levee had collapsed. Joe made his way around the edge, having to squeeze past one of the excavators, the ground increasingly soft as he traversed the land bridge. His knees sank into the muddy ground as he parted the reed stems and found the collapsed remains of an old concrete overflow drain, the sheared metal reo bar reflecting the torchlight.

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