Bob walked over. “You going to shoot me?” he asked as he closed the twenty-foot gap.
Czernowitz’s eyelids fluttered, his strength abandoning him again, gun hand dropping to the dirt. “Guess… guess not. I think… I think I need an ambulance.”
Bob reached down calmly and took the pistol. “You were going to kill me, stick me in a hole. Why shouldn’t I just leave you here to bleed out? They probably wouldn’t find you until your bones are picked clean.”
Czernowitz’s head bobbed slightly as he tried to think. “I can… I can tell them… about the professor. I can tell them what Jeb did. I figure, if I don’t, they’ll blame you for sure.”
Now… that’s a good point, Bob had to concede. “And you’ll confess to setting up Marcus Pell for Hap Singh’s murder.”
Czernowitz peered at him, confused. “Wah?”
“The boy! My friend. The car in the alley near Jenkins Mechanical!”
Czernowitz shook his head gently. “Didn’t do it,” he said. “
“What?!”
“I didn’t do shit, mister. I ain’t lying.”
“Your partner… Go over the scene again. Quickly. The gun…”
“Jeb leaned in the car. He…” Czernowitz paused, confused. “He reached in first, dropped something.”
“He dropped the gun in the car, then claimed he found it there. His report said he found it in Marcus’s pocket.”
The prone officer nodded. “Kept an old Walther that was clean as a backup piece. Same as the gun they seized.”
“He planted the piece.” Was it enough to get Marcus sprung? Probably. “Why? Who ordered him to set up my friend?”
“I… I don’t know, for real. He… He said he was just making sure. Making sure we get the right guy.”
“Cut the shit!”
“I… I ain’t lying. You… you want me to lie?” He slumped back, panting slightly, the effort of sitting up too much.
“No. No, I don’t want you to lie.” Bob sighed. Goddamn it. He was going to murder me twenty minutes ago, but now he decides to play it straight!? A motive would’ve cemented the notion of a setup. “Stay still. I’m going to take a look.”
He crouched beside Czernowitz. The entry wound was fleshy. Blood pooled around the hole near his left armpit. Turned slightly at the last second to raise his piece, probably saved him. He reached around the officer’s back and found the exit wound. “Got you really clean, missed your lung. You’re lucky. Is there a first aid kit…”
“Lower door… panel on the driver’s side,” Czernowitz managed.
“Stay put.” Bob headed back towards the car. He needed to get the man patched up enough to stem any more bleeding. Then he needed Sharmila’s help. If anyone knew where they could stash a wounded cop witness, it would be a local doctor.
28
Sharmila stared through the observation window at the man in the addiction treatment center bed. A saline drip, sedatives and painkillers were hooked up to his arm, clear plastic tubing leading back to a chrome pole his intravenous bags were hanging from.
He slept, head elevated, his chest wrapped in wide white bandages.
She’d known Czernowitz on and off for half her life. He’d never really grown up. Everyone knew that.
She turned back to the waiting area chairs, outside the room. Bob had his head in his hands, massaging his cheeks as if trying to stay awake, even though it was just past four in the afternoon. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, dirt streaks up and down his forearms.
“You look exhausted,” she said.
“Yeah.” His expression was bleak. He’d told her what happened, the two hours of digging in the blistering heat, the fight with Fowler.
“This wasn’t your fault,” she said. “And it changes everything, of course. Witty can put Merry Michelsen away for bribery. And beyond that, once he ties Fowler to Michelsen, Fowler’s credibility goes out the window in your friend’s arrest.”
“That’s why he’s here,” Bob said.
“Because otherwise, you’d have left him to die in the middle of nowhere?” she said sardonically. “Sure.”
He looked up sharply. “Don’t assume you know me well enough to discount it. He tried to kill me and bury me in a hole in the desert. His homicidal stupidity and general positive intentions notwithstanding, that kind of behavior tends to piss a man off.”
Sharmila realized she needed to weigh her words more carefully around Bob. Whoever he really was, there was anger simmering just beneath the surface. If it blew before she had answers, her father’s killer could disappear into the extensive annals of dubious local murder cases, the truth fading away with them.
“I picked up your stuff from the motel, like you asked.”
“Thank you,” Bob said.
“They’re going to find his cruiser in Bakersfield because of its beacon,” she said. “Then they’ll know something happened to him. One of the first places they’ll look is local hospitals, in case he had a knock and is incapacitated. But eventually, once they think it’s been long enough to assume foul play, they’ll try the smaller clinics.”
“I thought you said this wouldn’t be a problem, keeping him under wraps while I figure this all out?”
“It’s not,” she said. “Not immediately. A private addiction center isn’t going to be high on their list. But the longer this stretches on, the more nervous my administrator friend will get. She’s a big ‘true crime’ podcast fan, so this is exciting for her. But her job is at stake, her career. Mine too. And you’re wanted for assault. And you have a client…”
“Your cousin has a client.”
