“Yeah… about that.” Fowler reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He took out a wad of cash and handed it to his partner. “Here, this is your cut.”
Czernowitz frowned, unsure. Then he took the cash. “That looks like a lot for the widows and orphans’ fund.” He lowered his voice, unaccustomed to discussing corruption in front of strangers. “It’s usually less than two G’s in a month!” he hissed. “This looks like more than ten grand!”
“Uh huh, twelve-point-five, more precise,” Fowler said. He wandered in a wide circle past them to the trunk, keeping Bob out of range. He unlocked it, opened the lid, then stepped back five paces. “Go on then.” He waggled the pistol in the trunk’s direction, then took another deep breath. Bob couldn’t tell if it was to relieve tension or irritation at all the questions.
Bob walked around the trunk. The wind gusted, dust and dirt blowing across their boots.
Fowler was clever enough to keep out of reach. But eventually, he knew, there would be an opening.
He looked into the trunk.
There was a long-handled spade. Under it, Professor Richard Jenkins was bent at the waist, his arms tucked behind him, a spasmodic, twisted pose that Bob figured would have hurt like hell, had two gunshot wounds to the back of his skull not removed any chance of feeling anything.
His eyes were open, the light gone from them.
Well… there goes my lead suspect. Damn.
Sorry, professor. I had you wrong.
“Let’s get going,” Fowler said, gesturing with his head towards the unmarked grave. He took the shovel out of the trunk. “Go on, pick him up.”
25
Bob reached into the trunk. “It’s kind of hard with my wrists together. Youse guys have guns. I’m not going anywhere. Would you just undo the cuffs for a minute?”
“Uh-uh. Nice try. But I hear you’re a slippery one. I heard about your little set-to with Vernon Kopec, and another with Jonah Kepler,” Fowler said. “Vern said you sucker-punched him, which I can believe…”
“Vern’s highly creative. He charged at me, as I’m sure those aforementioned cameras would’ve told you.”
“Cameras? Man, those take court orders, time. A request being filed. And you did break the man’s nose.”
“Uh huh. And if I knock down a third redneck with a letter ‘K’ name, I get a matching set. Apropos to the mood around here, I’d say.”
Fowler waved his Glock at the body. “Hardy har. See, ignorant statements like that is why you’re in the shit now, Mr. Clever. Go on, now, slip them long arms under his torso. Witty, help him lift the body out, okay?”
Czernowitz walked over tentatively. He peeked into the trunk. “Oh my…” he said. He appeared dazed, off balance, taking an awkward step backwards, his pallor turning white. “Dang…”
“Weren’t expecting that, were you?” Bob muttered. “Your partner’s gone off the deep end, Officer Czernowitz.” He probably hates that nickname. “You let him do this and you know you’re crossing a line between good and bad. You think this is a one-off? Let him do it once and this becomes what you do.”
Czernowitz froze, staring at the professor. Then he shot a glance at Fowler. “Dang… a lawyer was one thing. But I didn’t sign up for this, Jeb…”
“Witty, god-dang! Now, how long we been friends? Since grade school,” Fowler demanded. “And ain’t I always been there, watching your back? When the other boys picked on you, who was there to set you straight when you come up crying and such? Who got them to all lay off you? Who helped you get your job with the god-danged department!?”
“Well… yeah, Jeb, but… Professor Jenkins!? I mean… he didn’t ever hurt nobody.”
“He planned to!” Fowler insisted. “He was putting all sorts of heat on Baird about the land. He was sticking his nose where it don’t belong when he’s supposed to be retired and out of the picture. Eventually, he’d go public.”
Czernowitz looked deeply uncertain. But he positioned the body over Bob’s outstretched arms nonetheless. “Go on, lift and turn. I’ll get the weight on the other side.”
Bob did as commanded, the two men facing each other, spreading Jenkins’ dead weight across their arms like a makeshift stretcher.
Even then, he was heavy as hell, Bob figured. Dead weight is dead weight, and Jenkins had to weigh at least a hundred and fifty pounds.
They carted him twenty-five feet to the hole in short steps. Bob alternated his view from their route to Czernowitz’s empty eyes and half-dazed expression. The doubt was building, he figured. It had to be.
Bob looked down. “This hole is only a half-foot deep. You couldn’t bury a dead beaver in it.”
“Uh huh,” Fowler said. “That’s why you got a shovel, smart man. Just… set him beside it there and get digging.”
The two men lay Jenkins’ body in the dirt. Bob held up his wrists. “Again… I’ll give myself all kinds of credit for getting hard work done, Officers, but…”
Fowler looked annoyed. He clearly hadn’t considered that Bob needed two hands to use a shovel. He took a few steps back, so that he was a solid ten feet from both men. “Witty, undo his cuffs… Ah! Do up the clip on your holster first. Don’t want him trying to grab your weapon or nothing. There we go.”
Czernowitz removed the handcuffs then scurried backwards, out of range.
“Well, don’t act like he’s a gol-dang tiger, Witty!” Fowler chastised. “Dang, son! He’s just a troublemaker!”
“He’s a troublemaker who kicked Vern Kopec’s butt. I ain’t taking no chances,” Czernowitz said. “’Sides, you don’t get to make fun, Jeb, not after getting me in this mess with you. Dang! I mean…”
“Don’t get lippy with me, Witty!” Fowler commanded as he jabbed his forefinger in the other man’s direction.
Czernowitz glanced down at the professor, his expression morose, like a child watching a grandparent’s funeral.
“Drink it in, Czernowitz,” Bob suggested. “One day, he’ll have someone trying to bury you in a hole in the desert.”
“YOU BE QUIET NOW!” Fowler snapped. “You be quiet, or this’ll be a lot quicker and uglier for you.”
“You’re going to kill me twice?” Bob said. “The trouble with leading a man to his own grave, fellas, is that he has no other options, and a man without options has no reason to give a shit. Maybe I don’t want to dig a hole. Maybe I figure I’d be better off charging you; either way, I’m dead, but in my version… you dig the hole.”
