Submerged Read Online Free Page B

under the dirt. Carl kicked at it, then rubbed the
dirt off with his shoe.
    “Another no trespassing sign,” Janet said.
“Looks old.”
    “Let’s check out the truck.”
    As they closed the distance, Carl noticed
something else. Tracks. He stooped to examine them. “More boot
tracks—just like the ones by the barricade.”
    “So? Maybe Mr. Barrett wore boots. It’s rough
country out here. It would make sense.”
    “Look closer. There are several sizes. Same
sole pattern.”
    “He brought friends. Nothing odd in that.”
Janet started forward.
    “Hold on.”
    “Why?”
    “It looks like there may have been four or
five pairs of boots tromping around here. That’s too many friends
to fit in a pickup, and I don’t see any other car.”
    “Maybe they rode in the back,” Janet
suggested.
    “Yeah, maybe, but would all the impressions
be the same? Be careful where you step. For now, we treat this like
a crime scene.”
    “We have no evidence of a crime.”
    “It doesn’t hurt to be cautious. If a crime
has been committed, and we’ve kicked around important evidence,
then we’ll hear about it from now until we retire. Just watch your
step the best you can.”
    “If you say so.”
    “I say so. I’ll take the driver’s side; you
take the passenger’s side.”
    Carl walked along the edge of the path,
alternating his gaze from truck to the ground and back to the
truck. Something inside him was churning, and he didn’t know why.
He had read enough horror novels to fear finding a three-day-old
corpse lying on the truck’s seat. That would put him off his feed
for a while.
    The truck was dented, scratched, and
battered. That was
    to be expected, Carl decided, since it was an
old model.
    He guessed it was built in the early
seventies. The driver’s side window was down. There was no putrid
odor of decaying flesh.
    Carl looked inside.
    Nothing.
    Janet reached the passenger-side window a
half step behind Carl. That window was down, as well. “No
body.”
    “Not in the truck anyway.” Carl opened the
driver-side door. He expected an eerie squeak from hinges too long
on the job, but the door opened with no noise. A thin layer of dust
covered the dashboard, steering wheel and column, and the
bench-style seat. He heard the other door open.
    Janet leaned into the car. “I am going to
check the
    registration.”
    “I don’t see any sign of a struggle.”
    “I appreciate your caution, but I doubt we
have a crime scene.” She pushed the worn chrome button that opened
the wide glove compartment. “Well, look at this. He’s orderly, I’ll
say that for him. There’s just a leather folder and nothing
else.”
    Carl watched her remove the small folder and
open it.
    “He’s got some of those plastic pocket things
in here. One for his proof of insurance, another for his
registration, one for a maintenance log—”
    “I can see that. What does the registration
say?”
    “Easy, Sherlock. I’m just trying to be
careful and thorough. I know how obsessed with details you are.”
She removed the registration. “Yup, Matthew Barrett, Henderson,
Nevada. I still say that’s a long way to drive for a couple of
fish.”
    “Where is he?” Carl scanned the lake again.
“No Barrett, no boat, no nothing.”
    “Maybe he’s on the far end of the lake, or he
motored over to the other side.”
    “I doubt his boat has a motor. No gas can in
the back. I suppose it could be one of those little electric jobs,
but then I’d at least expect to see an extra battery. I’m guessing
a rowboat. Not that it matters. We’re here to find him, not his
boat.”
    Carl stepped away from the truck and
continued down the path. He searched the ground for something that
didn’t belong. Movement in the water caught his eye. At first he
thought it was a long pole. Then he saw it for what it was: an oar.
He walked to the edge and studied it. It was like every other wood
oar he had seen, except a brown slime covered it. He reached for it
but