A Maidens Grave

hands spoke again.
    “No, she says they were black automatics. Just like that one.” Frances smiled. “She asked why don’t you believe her.”
    “You know what an automatic is?”
    “She says she watches TV.”
    Potter laughed and told LeBow to write down that she’dconfirmed they were armed with three Glocks or similar weapons.
    Jocylyn volunteered that they had two dozen boxes of bullets.
    “Boxes?”
    “This big,” Frances said, as the girl motioned her hands about six inches apart. “Yellow and green.”
    “Remington,” LeBow said.
    “And shotguns. Like that. Three of them.” Jocylyn pointed to a shotgun on the rack in the van.
    “Any rifles?” Potter pointed to an M-16 resting against the wall.
    “No.”
    “They’re pretty damn prepared,” Budd muttered.
    Potter handed off to Angie, who asked, “Is anybody hurt?”
    “No.”
    “Does Handy—Brutus—talk to anybody in particular? Any of the teachers or girls, I mean?”
    “No. Mostly he just looks at us.” This brought back some memory and, in turn, more tears.
    “You’re doing great, honey,” Angie said, squeezing the girl’s shoulder. “Have you been able to tell what the three men are talking about?”
    “No. I’m sorry. I can’t lip-read good.”
    “Is Beverly all right?”
    “She can’t breathe well. But she’s had worse attacks. The worst problem is Mrs. Harstrawn.”
    “Ask her to explain.”
    Frances watched her hands and said, “It sounds like she’s having a breakdown. She was fine until Susan was shot. All she does now is lie on her back and cry.”
    Potter thought: They’re leaderless. The worst situation. They could panic and run. Unless Melanie has taken over.
    “How’s Melanie?”
    “She just sits and stares. Sometimes closes her eyes.” Frances added to Potter, “That’s not good. The deaf never close their eyes in a tense situation. Their vision is the only warning system they have.”
    Angie asked, “Do the men fight among themselves?”
    Jocylyn didn’t know.
    “Do they seem nervous? Happy? Scared? Sad?”
    “They’re not scared. Sometimes they laugh.”
    LeBow typed this into his computer.
    “Okay,” Potter said. “You’re a very brave girl. You can go to the hotel now. Your parents will be there soon.”
    The twelve-year-old wiped her nose on her sleeve but didn’t leave. She signed awkwardly.
    “Is that all you want to ask me?” Frances translated.
    “Yes. You can go.”
    But the girl signed some more. “She asked, ‘Don’t you want to know about the TV? And the other stuff?’ ”
    Tobe, LeBow, and Budd turned their heads to Potter.
    “They have a TV in there?” he whispered, dismayed. Frances translated and Jocylyn nodded.
    “Where did they get it?”
    “In the bags with the guns. They brought it in with them. It’s a little one.”
    “Do they have a radio?”
    “I didn’t see one.”
    “Do they watch the TV a lot?”
    She nodded.
    “What other stuff do they have?”
    “She says they have some tools. New ones. They’re in plastic.”
    “What kind?”
    “Silver ones. Wrenches. Pliers. Screwdrivers. A big shiny hammer.”
    “Offer her a job, Arthur,” Henry LeBow said. “She’s better than half our agents.”
    “Anything else you can think of, Jocylyn?”
    Her red fingers moved.
    “She misses her mommy.”
    “One more thing,” Potter said. He hesitated. He wanted to ask something more about Melanie. He found he couldn’t. Instead he asked, “Is it cold inside?”
    “Not too bad.”
    Potter took the girl’s round, damp hand and pressed it between his. “Tell her many thanks, Frances. She did a fine job.”
    After this message was translated Jocylyn wiped her face and smiled for the first time.
    Angie asked Frances to tell the girl that she’d take her to the motel in a minute. Jocylyn went outside to wait with a woman state trooper.
    LeBow printed out the list of what the men had inside the slaughterhouse with them. He handed it to Tobe, who pinned it up beside the diagram.
    Tobe said, “It’s like a computer adventure game. ‘You’re carrying a key, a magic sword, five stones, and a raven in a cage.’ ”
    Potter sat back in his chair slowly, laughing. He looked at the list. “What do you make of it, Henry? Tools, a TV?”
    “Knocked over a store on their way out of the prison?”
    Potter asked Budd, “Any reports of a commercial burglary between here and Winfield, Charlie?”
    “I’m outta that loop. I’ll check.” He stepped