Bone Harvest - Mary Logue [12]
Watkins wrote some more things down in her notebook. She took her time about her work. He assumed she was thorough. He understood because he was very thorough. He often did his tests two or three times just to make sure they gave the same results each time. He never guessed about anything. As much as possible he believed in taking the guesswork out of his job. He was a scientist, not an artist.
“That is very helpful. So what I gather from what you’re telling me is that we are probably looking for a farmer?”
“I would venture to say that, but let us assume that it is someone who has used these pesticides before, or who has watched them be used.”
“Do you know how many farmers there are in Pepin County?”
“Out of a total population of close to eight thousand, I think the last census showed that less than a quarter of the adult men were farmers. Since there are around two thousand adult men, I think that puts the number of farmers at around five hundred.”
“Narrows down the search slightly—assuming that our guy lives in Pepin County.” She tapped her pencil on her front teeth, a disturbing habit. “What I need to understand here, Mr. Folger, is how dangerous these products are. I’ve read the labels. I understand that they are both restricted-use pesticides. But what precisely does that mean?”
“It means that both products have the ability to injure people.”
She sighed and then said slowly, “Yes, I understand that. But how do they do it and how much does it take? Is it easily accomplished or does it require a megadose? Let’s say, rolling in the product, bathing in it, swallowing a gallon of it.”
“Let’s not get carried away, Mrs. Watkins.”
“You can just call me Deputy Watkins.”
“Are you not a Mrs.? My mistake.”
She let his comment pass. He was sure that he had heard that she had been married and had kept her married name. Apparently she didn’t want to be known by that name. Another strike against her.
“Let us start here. Is one more dangerous to humans than the other?”
“Between Caridon and Parazone?”
“Yes.”
“That’s hard to say.”
“Give it a go.”
“Which would you think?” he asked her. Let’s see what she’d do with this. Would she even give it a try?
Deputy Watkins thought for a moment, then ventured, “I guess I’d say Caridon, since it’s an insecticide. We’re closer to bugs than to plants. That would be my guess.”
“And you would be wrong.” It felt good to be able to say that to this cocky woman who thought she knew everything. “Parazone is deadly if swallowed or inhaled, and can be extremely injurious if it is absorbed through the skin. Caridon is most dangerous when inhaled. This effect only lasts a short time after the product has been sprayed on the fields.”
“How does it work?”
“Caridon causes cholinesterase inhibition. Parazone causes mucosal damage. Again, more simply: Caridon will knock you out; Parazone will cause you great pain. Either way you will die if you have ingested enough of the product.”
“Have you ever heard of this happening?”
“Only once in all my years of work here have I known anyone to run into trouble with one of these products. A young boy was working with his father and stayed in the field too long after it had been sprayed. He had some serious nosebleeds, but he recovered.”
Her head came up. “Who was that?”
“Why?”
“I might like to speak with him.”
“This was years ago.”
“His name?”
Reluctantly, Charles gave her the farmer’s name: Hal Swenson. He couldn’t think of any good reason not to. Then he snapped, “Why are you asking me all these questions? What do you imagine is going to happen?”
Deputy Watkins put down her notebook and pen and leaned toward him. She then began to talk slowly and clearly. “It is my job to be prepared for what could happen. I need to understand the destructive potential of these two agents. I protect the welfare of the people of Pepin County. Any help you can give us will be appreciated both by the sheriff and by the county.”
“Just don’t go getting huffy and hysterical