Dead Soldiers (4 page)

Burns had to admit that he didn’t know what Usher’s condition was, not exactly.

Napier didn’t care. “So anyway the old pal buries his twin sister alive, she breaks out of the coffin, gets out of the basement, and comes after him. Then the whole house falls down. Right?“

“Right.“

“Well, what about the servants?
 
The guy who rode up is the only one who gets away, so what about the servants?
 
Did they just stay in there and let the house fall down around them?
 
Or did they slide out the back door before the big crash?
 
It looks to me like if Poe was any kind of a writer, he’d tell you stuff like that.“

“Well,“ Burns said, “what happens to the servants isn’t really the point of the story. You see—“

“No,“ Napier said. “I don’t see. It’s the details that matter, Burns, and Poe was weak on the details. What’s that other story, the one about the letter?“

“’The Purloined Letter,’“ Burns said.

“Yeah, that one. Guy goes in to a dimly lighted room. He’s wearing sunglasses so dark the other guy there can’t see his eyes, but he still manages to read the address on a letter from all the way across the room. You think anyone could really do that?“

“Probably not, but—“

“Don’t give me any
buts
. It’s the details, Burns, the details. Like that story about the ape.“

“’The Murders in the Rue Morgue.’“

“Right again, Burns. You were probably a real whiz in grad school. Anyway, in that one the ape kills the women and then goes out the window. And we’re supposed to believe that he closes the window so that it locks behind him. Do you believe an ape would do that, Burns?“

Burns said that he wasn’t sure.

“Me neither,“ Napier said. “But if I were betting, I’d bet against the ape. Apes in general aren’t that polite. That window’s another detail, Burns, but an important one.“

“I always enjoy discussing literature with you,“ Burns told him, “but somehow I don’t really think you came here to give me your views on the short fiction of Edgar Allan Poe.“

“Right again. You’re sharp as an
icepick
today, Burns.“

Burns didn’t feel particularly sharp. What he felt was worried. When Boss Napier dropped by your office, it wasn’t a good sign. Visits from Boss Napier, in fact, ranked right up there with telephone calls from deans.

“Why did you come, then?“ Burns asked.

“I told you,“ Napier said. “Details.“

“Such as?“

“Such as Matthew Hart. You ever hear of him?“

“Of course I’ve heard of him. He used to teach here at HGC, but he found a way to make a lot more money. Now he sells insurance.“

“Sold, Burns. He
sold
insurance.“

“He’s retired?“

“No, Burns. I got you that time. He hasn’t retired. He’s dead.“

“I’m sorry to hear it,“ Burns said. “I’ll bet he was well-insured.“

“Very funny, Burns. I’m sure his family will get a big laugh out of that one.“

Burns was nonplussed. Boss Napier—Mister Sensitivity?
 
That was about as likely as Woody Allen winning an Arnold Schwarzenegger look-alike contest. Something was really off kilter.

“I didn’t mean to be callous,“ Burns said. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here.“

“What’s going on is that Matthew Hart is dead,“ Napier said.

Burns was getting uneasy. “He was getting up in years. It happens.“

“Not the way it happened to Hart.“

Uh-oh, Burns thought. Here it comes.

“How did it happen?“ he asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“Somebody shot him, that’s how.“

“Was it an accident?“ Burns asked, hoping that Napier would say
yes
. “Who shot him?“

“I don’t know who shot him,“ Napier said. “Not yet, anyway. And it wasn’t an accident. It was murder.“

Burns felt his stomach go hollow. It wasn’t just the murder; it was the fact that Napier was telling him about it. Napier would never do that if he didn’t think that Burns were somehow connected to the crime.

“What does it have to do with me?“ he asked.

“What have I been telling you, Burns?
 
Details. It’s all in the details.“

“I don’t know what details you’re talking about.“

“Maybe you do, and maybe you don’t.“

“What’s that supposed to mean?“ Burns asked.

Napier leaned back in the desk chair and crossed his hands over his belt buckle. It was silver and shiny and about the size of a full-grown armadillo. In fact, it was shaped like an armadillo, with little beady silver eyes.

“It just means that every single time somebody in this town dies under suspicious circumstances, your name comes into it, one way or the other. I’m getting real tired of that, Burns.“

“Not as tired as I am,“ Burns said.

“Well, I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?“

“Maybe. But right now, let’s assume that I don’t know about those details you keep talking about. Why don’t you enlighten me?“

“
Enlighten
. Now there’s a word you don’t hear very often. You English teachers really do have fine vocabularies.“

Burns sighed. “Just give me the details, all right?
 
You can leave off the sarcasm.“

“Sorry about that. I tend to get touchy when somebody gets murdered.“

“I don’t blame you. But if you’re going to tell me anything else, go ahead and do it before a student comes by for a conference.“

“You have a lot of conferences, do you?“

The truth was that Burns had hardly any conferences. He encouraged students to come by his office any time they needed help, but no one ever seemed to come. Not until about a day before final exams. Then one or two would come by wanting to know what they had to make on the final in order to make an “A“ in the class. Considering that the averages of the people who generally asked that question were usually
 
“D’s“ or lower, Burns would just as soon that they’d never come by at all.

“I don’t really have many conferences,“ he said. “But I do have a student secretary. She’ll be here soon.“

“Okay, then,“ Napier said. “I’ll tell you the details. There’s just one of them really.“

“Just one?“

“Yeah, but it’s a good one.“

“What is it, then?“

Napier stood up and stretched. He seemed to Burns to have lost a bit of weight, but Burns thought that this probably wasn’t the time to mention it.

Napier looked at Burns and smiled. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

“You’re gonna love this detail,“ he said. “I guarantee it.“

“I’m sure I will, but I can’t love it unless you tell me what it is.“

Napier stopped smiling. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his suit and stared out the window. Then he turned back to Burns as if hoping to catch him looking guilty.

“It’s a toy soldier,“ he said.

B
urns didn’t just look guilty. He practically jumped out of
Bunni’s
chair.

“Got you that time, Burns,“ Napier said with satisfaction. “Now why is it that the mention of a little toy soldier has you so shook up?“

“I,
ummm
, I, well . . .“
Burns’s
voice trailed off. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Lying had never come easily to him.

Napier brushed back his coat and stuck his thumbs in his belt, revealing a very large revolver in a leather holster. Burns would just as soon not have seen the revolver.

“It’s pretty depressing, isn’t it?“ Napier said. “One of the college’s former teachers is killed. Lying on the floor beside his body is a toy soldier that’s also connected to the school. You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you?“

Burns didn’t want to give anything more away, so he said, “I’m not sure.“

Napier snorted. “Sure you’re sure. You know where that soldier came from as well as I do.“

Either Boss Napier had already talked to Gwendolyn Partridge, or he was a better observer than Burns was. Or both. Of course, he’d been in Partridge’s den a lot more often than Burns had, so he would have had more opportunities to notice the toys in the cabinet.

“Let’s say that I
might
know where the soldier came from. What does it have to do with me?“

Napier walked around the desk and loomed over Burns. “Why do you always have to make things so hard?
 
You know what it has to do with you. When Gwen found out the soldiers were missing, she went right to you.“

So Napier had talked to Partridge. Naturally he would have when he found the soldier. He would have recognized it at once. And he would have talked to Partridge, who would have told him that she and Burns had discussed the missing soldiers. Suddenly Napier’s behavior made sense to Burns.

He said, “You’re jealous, aren’t you?“

Napier laughed. “Me?
 
Jealous? You must be kidding. I don’t know the meaning of the word. But when a crime is committed, people are supposed to go to the police, not an English teacher.“

“Sounds like a bumper sticker back in the ’sixties,“ Burns said. “Something like ’If you don’t like the police, next time you’re robbed, call a hippie’?“

“I’m too young to remember the ’sixties,“ Napier said. “But it’s a funny bumper sticker. And calling a hippie would be about as effective as calling an English teacher. All you English teachers would like to be hippies, wouldn’t you?“

Burns was getting tired of Napier’s act. Also, he didn’t like being loomed over. So he scooted the chair backward and stood up.

“I was too young to be a hippie,“ he said. “Besides, I’ve helped you out a time or two, don’t forget.“

That was understating the case, in
Burns’s
opinion. He’d done more than help Napier out. He’d solved cases for him. And the last one had been a big one, even though Napier didn’t appear to be properly grateful.

“Well, I don’t want any help from you this time. I’ve already talked to Gwen, and I know she asked you to talk to the people who came to her party, but I want you to stay out of it. This isn’t just some little theft we’re talking about. It’s murder.“

Burns walked behind his desk. He felt more secure now that there was heavy furniture between him and Napier.

“I’ll be more than happy to stay out of it,“ he said. “I never wanted to get involved in the first place. Dean Partridge was going to give me a list of the people who were at her party, but I haven’t gotten it yet.“

Napier pulled a folded paper from inside his coat and held it up for Burns to see.

“And you won’t be getting it,“ he said. “I have it now, and I’ll do the questioning.“

“Good. I’ll just spend my time talking to my students about Edgar Allan Poe.“

“Good. Don’t forget to tell ’
em
about the details.“

Napier stuck the paper back inside his jacket and turned to go.

“Have you lost weight?“ Burns asked.

Napier turned back into the room. “You noticed?“

“I noticed. Are you on a diet?“

“Yeah. I decided that I needed to drop a few pounds. Not to impress anybody or anything like that, you understand.“

“Of course. What kind of diet regimen are you on?“

“Regimen? That’s another good English teacher word, Burns. How many times do you hear anybody say
regimen
? Anyway, I’m not on any regimen. I just eat those low-fat frozen dinners. Budget Gourmet. Ever see those?“

Burns had seen them, but he’d never eaten one. He wasn’t sure that he would ever want to. In his experience, all frozen dinners tended to taste more like the cartons they were packed in than any recognizable food.

“I pick ’
em
up when they’re on sale,“ Napier said. “Under two bucks a pop. Can’t beat a deal like that.“

“And you like them?“

“They’re okay. I don’t eat snacks, either. Except for fruit. I eat an apple now and then, or maybe some dried apricots.“

“Is it hard to stick to a diet like that?“ Burns asked.

“Nah. And I cheat a little, sometimes. I found out that a Ding Dong doesn’t have but a hundred and eighty-five calories, so I have one of those every now and then.“ Napier paused. “You’re not trying to soft-soap me, are you, Burns?“

“Me?“ Burns said. “Perish the thought.“

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Well, it won’t work. If I catch you meddling around in this murder case, I’m going to take you out to a quiet little spot that I know about and work you over with my bullwhip.“

Burns had heard the stories about Napier and his bullwhip, but he’d never been quite sure he believed them. He still wasn’t sure. He hoped the stories were just rumors, started by people who’d seen too many Lash
LaRue
movies on Saturday TV during their childhoods. Or maybe they were rumors started by Napier himself for the purpose of intimidation. Burns had to admit that they were pretty intimidating, all right.