Dead Soldiers (11 page)

“We sure did,“ Burns said. “I’ll bet his knees are knocking together like castanets right about now.“

“Shut up, you clowns,“ Napier said. “It’s a wonder
Dabney
didn’t kill you. What did he mean, saying that one of you made a run at him?“

“It might have looked that way,“ Burns said. “But nobody ran at him. Mal pushed me.“

“Sure, blame it on me,“ Tomlin said. “I was just trying to save your life.“

“Never mind,“ Napier said. “I’m sorry I asked. Tomlin, you go on home. I want to have a little talk with Burns.“

Burns didn’t like the sound of that. A private talk with Boss Napier was worse than a phone call from a dean.

“I’d better go on with Mal,“ Burns said. “I don’t want him to get lost.“

Mal gave them a questioning look.

“Forget about it, Burns,“ Napier said. “Tomlin’s going home, and you’re sticking around. Isn’t that right, Tomlin.“

“Absolutely,“ Mal said. “I’m practically there already. See you later, Carl.“ He didn’t add, “I hope,“ but his tone left no doubt that he meant it.

When Mal was a few yards away, Napier said, “And don’t talk to anyone about this.“

Mal promised he wouldn’t. Napier took
Burns’s
arm and said, “I want to show you something.“

Burns hoped it wasn’t a bullwhip. “I don’t want to see anything. I’m staying out of this, just like you told me.“

“Too late,“ Napier said. “I really didn’t want you mixed up in this, but it’s just not going to work out. It never does when you’re around. You’re in.“

“I don’t want to be in.“

“Quit your whining. You’re in, and that’s that.“

Burns didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue any more.

When they got to the doorway of the pharmacy, Napier said, “Stop here. We’re not going inside. I wouldn’t want you to touch anything and screw up the crime scene.“

“Crime scene?“

“That’s right.“ Napier directed the beam of his flashlight through the doorway and into the deserted building. “See that?“

“See what?“ Burns said. The floor was littered with trash: old papers, rat-chewed boxes, an empty plastic Coke bottle or two. “I see a lot of stuff.“

“That,“ Napier said. “Right there.“

Burns saw it then. Next to one of the Coke bottles. A toy soldier. It appeared to be wearing some kind of British uniform, but Burns couldn’t be sure. Maybe he should make a visit to a good optometrist.

“All right,“ he said. “I see it.“

“I’m leaving it there for the evidence team, but I’m sure it’s another one from Gwen’s collection.“

Burns was equally convinced. It wasn’t likely that there were a whole lot of toy soldiers lying around Pecan City.

“The part about a soldier being by Hart’s body wasn’t in the paper,“ Burns said.

“That’s right.“

“So not just everybody knows about it.“

“Right again. You’re on a roll, Burns.“

“You told me about it, though. Who else knows?“

“Nobody except the people on the case, Gwen, and the killer.“

“It’s nice to be trusted.“

“Don’t get too comfortable with the idea.“

Burns said he wouldn’t. He looked at the soldier again.

“How did it get there?“ he asked.

“Think about it, Burns. I know you’re not a trained crime fighter like me, but since people keep on calling you when there’s trouble, you should at least make an effort.“

“Somebody dropped it,“ Burns said.

“Not bad. Now why would anyone drop a toy soldier in a place like this?“

“He was playing war and his mama called him home?“

“Always being a smart-ass, aren’t you, Burns. As police chief, I could shoot you for stuff like that. No jury in the world would convict me.“

He was probably right. Burns said, “OK, let’s say the guy who shot at Mal was hiding right here. He was planning to kill Mal and leave the toy soldier on the body. But when he didn’t kill anybody, he panicked and left in a hurry. He didn’t even notice he’d dropped the soldier.“

“Not bad, Burns. Next thing I know, you’ll figure out why that ape closed the window.“

“I could be wrong, you know.“

“Sure you could. Maybe you are. But it makes sense to me.“

Which meant he’d been thinking the same thing, Burns thought. “Do you think there are any fingerprints on it?“

“Look at it, Burns. It’s too small for fingerprints. Probably too small for even a partial. It would be nice if the guy had been handling one of those plastic bottles, but I’d guess the chances of that were somewhere between slim and none.“

Burns guessed the same thing. “But if he wasn’t wearing gloves, he might have left prints in there somewhere.“

“It’s possible, but there weren’t any prints at the first scene. Even if we find prints, if they aren’t on file, they won’t help us any until we catch the killer.“

“By
we
, you mean you and the police force, right?“

“You’re a card, Burns. I’ll bet you crack the students up every day. You should get
your own TV show.“

“So you mean me and you.“

“And the force.“

“We need to talk.“

Napier looked around them at the night and the old pharmacy building. He looked up at the cloudy sky. Then he said, “I thought that’s what we were doing.“

“There’s talk, and then there’s talk. For one thing, I don’t know about the first scene.“

“Don’t you read the newspaper? I thought you English teachers read all the time.“

Burns had seen the account of Hart’s murder. In the fashion typical of the offend-no-one policies of the Pecan City paper, it had said as little as possible, and in fact it would have been hard to determine from reading it that Hart had been murdered. It could just as well have been that he had suffered a fatal heart attack while baking an apple pie.

“I read it,“ Burns said. “Let’s see. What were you telling me about how it’s the details that matter?“

Napier slapped his neck, then looked at his hand. “Isn’t it too early for mosquitoes?“

“Yes, it is. Which is why you weren’t really being attacked by one. You’re just changing the subject.“

“Okay, maybe you have more detective skills than I thought. I’ll admit that the paper was a little skimpy on details.“

“So are you going to fill me in?“

“Not standing here with these mosquitoes. Let’s go to my house.“

Burns had visited Napier’s place before, but he wasn’t eager to return. You never knew when the Boss might want to try out his bullwhip on you.

“You have anything to drink?“ Burns asked.

“Pepsi One. Just one calorie.“

“Just what I need,“ Burns said. “Let’s go.“

F
or years Burns had driven a 1967 Plymouth. He had loved its wide bench seat in the front, with room for four passengers to sit in comfort. It was a four-door hardtop, and he had liked the look, if not the safety, of having no
centerpost
. He hadn’t much liked the fourteen miles per gallon of gas that the car got, however, and so during the most recent rise in gas prices he had sold the car to someone who had been looking for one like it for many years, apparently because his parents had owned one like it when the man had been in high school.

“You can’t believe how much room there was in that back seat for making out,“ the man had told Burns. “It wasn’t the sportiest car around. In fact, it was pretty clunky looking. But you couldn’t beat it for a date car.“

Burns didn’t ask about the man’s no doubt wonderful memories of what had transpired in the back seat of the well-remembered Plymouth. He just jacked up the price of his own car a little more, and in the end he had gotten more for it than he had ever hoped to receive. Then he had gone out and bought himself a Toyota Camry.

It wouldn’t hold nearly as many people, but then Burns didn’t plan to have eight people in the car any time soon. Besides, he could park the Camry in about one-third the space that the Plymouth had required.

There wasn’t much room in the Toyota’s back seat for making out, but Burns felt he was too old for making out in the back seat. He preferred a less awkward setting these days, not that he got that much opportunity to make out.

At any rate, he quite enjoyed the Camry, which got excellent gas mileage and even had a CD player, a big improvement over the Plymouth’s AM radio.

The Plymouth had been dark green with a black top, while the Camry was a sort of a nondescript sandy color, but that didn’t matter to Burns, who tooled along the street to Napier’s house as he listened to Warren
Zevon’s
Excitable Boy
CD. He sang along on “Lawyers, Guns, and Money,“ identifying strongly with the character in the song who needed the items listed in the title because “the shit had hit the fan.“ That seemed to Burns to sum up his own situation admirably. He was going to miss old Warren and his insights into life.

Boss Napier lived in a perfectly ordinary house on a perfectly ordinary street. Burns parked the Camry at the curb and went up to the porch. He looked for the doorbell, but Napier was waiting for him and opened the door before Burns had a chance to ring.

“Come on in,“ Napier said, and Burns did. He followed Napier into the kitchen where he saw that there was a
playset
on the table.

“What’s that?“ he asked.

 
Napier surveyed the small figures with a collector’s pride. “It’s a David and Goliath
playset
. Just came today, from some Christian outfit called Rainfall. Not bad, either. Twenty-four Israelites and twenty-four Philistines. That’s David there, a two-incher. And that big four-inch guy is Goliath.“

“Great,“ Burns said. What else could he say?

Besides the figures Napier had named, there were a couple of tents, some rocks, a few trees, and some animals. The trees were stunted and the animals looked silly (the sheep were as big as the single lion), but Burns supposed he’d see it differently if he were afflicted with the same mania that Napier was.

“Got ’
em
all for about fifteen bucks,“ Napier said. “I’ll put them in the room where I keep the other
playsets
after I mess with them a little longer.“

“Don’t move them on my account. I think the biblical setting might be good for us. We need to talk about bearing false witness.“

Napier stiffened. “Is that a crack? Because if that’s a crack, I’m not going to offer you anything to drink.“

“It’s not a crack,“ Burns said. “It’s just that I’m tired of being jerked around.“

“Nobody’s jerking you around.“

“You are, and Dean Partridge is. Both of you plotted to get me involved in this mess from the beginning, but neither one of you will admit it. I’m not going to stay here one minute longer if you don’t come clean.“

“You want a Pepsi One?“

“I’m not drinking a thing until you tell me the truth.“

“Just sit down and calm down. Then we’ll talk.“

Burns sat down. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. Ordinarily he’d never challenge Boss Napier. Maybe it was the proximity to the David and Goliath figures. Even a David got lucky every now and then.

“I’ll take a glass of water,“ Burns said.

“I don’t have any of that fancy stuff.“

Burns had a strong sense of
deja
vu
. “You and Dr. Partridge are a lot alike, you know that?“

Napier looked at him through
slitted
eyes. “Is that another crack?“

Burns sighed. “No, it’s not a crack. It’s just an idle comment. How about that water?“

Napier had an industrial-sized stainless steel refrigerator that looked brand new. There was a water spigot in the door, along with an ice dispenser.

“Pretty swanky,“ Burns said as Napier filled a glass with water.

“The old one cratered on me, so I just went the whole hog.“ Napier set the water on the table. “You sure you don’t want a Pepsi?“

“I’m sure,“ Burns said, and took a sip of his water.

Napier got a can of Pepsi One from a can dispenser inside the refrigerator. He didn’t bother to get a glass. He popped the tab and drank straight from the can.

“So,“ Burns said. “Time for the truth-telling?“

Napier set his can on the table. He picked up one of the Israelites, or maybe it was one of the Philistines, from the
playset
and rolled it around between his thumb and forefinger. Then he put it back down on the table.

“Well?“ Burns said.

“All right, I admit it,“ Napier said, looking at the figures and not at Burns. “I told Gwen to get you involved if she wanted to. She didn’t want me to know she’d gone to you about the soldiers at first, but then she told me about it. And it made sense. You’ve been a little helpful now and then.“

Burns thought it was nice of Napier to admit it, and he wished he had it on tape.