"But I can't hear anyone talking."
"Perhaps it's a day of silence."
Staghorn took another long look at the girl on the parkbench and then turned to the controls, using the fine adjustment on the geographical locator. The screen flickered, blinked, and the scene changed. The two men studied it.
"Recognize it?" said Staghorn.
Peccary gave an affirmative grunt. "That's the Jefferson grammar school on Elm Street. I'm surprised it's still there. But, lord, as long as they haven't built a new one, you'd think they'd at least keep the old one repaired."
"Very shabby," Staghorn agreed.
It was. Large areas of the exterior plaster had fallen away. Windows were shattered, and here and there the broken slats of Venetian blinds stuck through them. The shrubbery around the building was dead; weeds had sprung up through the cracks in the asphalt in the big play yard. There was no sign of children.
"Where is everyone?" Peccary demanded. "You must have the time control set for a Sunday or holiday."
"It's Tuesday," Staghorn said. Then both were silent because at that moment a child appeared, a boy of about eleven.