The ancient owls' nest must have burned, Hastily, all alone, a glistening armadillo left the scene, rose flecked, head down, tail down…
                  Elizabeth Bishop, from The Armadillo, for Robert Lowell

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Aradny paid minimal attention to her driving on the way to the scene; as usual, she was concentrating on the case; and, in particular, about the site where the murder had taken place.

She had been in kindergarten when the warehouse project had begun. She remembered her father speaking to the teacher about it; he was a shy man, and it had stuck in her memory as an unusual occurrence. She could even remember his perplexed expression when he’d told Ms. Templeton that it was “…an odd place to build a warehouse facility; an odd place, indeed.” (They were not actually warehouses, but that was how Aradny still thought of the buildings). At the time, the road hadn’t been punched through the side of the mountain, and they’d used a fleet of Sikorski helicopters to transport workers, equipment, and supplies to begin construction; the roadway, and other infrastructural amenities, had come later, when construction was nearly complete. The buildings had looked functional and professional, with a glass and blue-grey, granite exterior; they were built tastefully, and seamlessly, into the side of the mountain.  After the road was finished, the site had become operational quickly and efficiently. And then mostly forgotten.

Aradny had searched the web for available information regarding the project and the company; (more…)