Selections from the Book
The sheriff endured another encounter with the press before he escaped from Homewood Lane. He drove to the river and parked by the old mill site. Stepping over the rusty railroad tracks near the river’s edge, he stared into the turmoil of waves and eddies at the foot of the dam. The water recirculated constantly, in a whirlpool that did not allow the escape of snags of driftwood or anything caught in it, not even a body. He stared into its brown roiling mystery and wondered if it held the body of a boy.
There was a van parked at the water’s edge. Huddled around were divers in black rubber wet suits arranging their equipment, getting ready to search. He worked his way down the steep bank past a few spectators who greeted him and a television crew setting up their camera. They had followed his car.
“Hello boys. I’m Sheriff Knowlton. Thanks for coming out to help us.”
“Hello sheriff. We aren’t going to be able to help you much, though. Over there by the dam the water is too fast. The rest of it is just too brown. You can’t see your hand in front of your face down there. Same as above the dam in the millpond. Just too murky.”
“You goin’ to give it a try?” He knew they would.
“We’ll sure go in and take a look, but don’t expect too much.” The divers looked at each other.
“Anything else we can do?” Knowlton asked.
“Nothing we know of, except dragging it. You know, the old-fashioned way.”