by Crider, Bill
The Camry dropped off the pavement and slid toward the abutment. Burns hoped he could stop before he hit it. The anti-lock brakes helped, but Burns still found himself in a skid that he couldn’t control, heading straight for tons of solid concrete.
Burns wrenched the steering wheel, and he could almost feel the tires turning underneath the Camry. But there was no traction on the loose soil and rocks. The car was still going straight.
Bootlegger’s turn, Burns thought, having heard the term somewhere or read it in a book. He stepped on the emergency brake.
That worked, if you could call it working. The car turned sharply sideways, and now the side instead of the hood was headed for the abutment.
Burns reached down, smacking his head on the wheel, and released the parking brake, mashing the accelerator at the same time. Somehow the back tires grabbed hold, and the Camry shot past the abutment with about an inch to spare. Burns didn’t know how close he actually was because he had closed his eyes.
The car bottomed out in the ditch, and Burns bounced straight up. His eyes came open as the Camry slid up the side of the ditch and into the barbed wire strands of the fence. The wires twanged apart, but Burns didn’t hear the music they made as the car rocked from side to side and tried to flip itself over.
It stayed upright, slid past a mesquite bush whose thorns screeched down its side, and came to a stop in front of a scraggly oak.
For several seconds Burns did nothing more than sit there and breathe. The car’s engine was still running, and the air-conditioner was pumping cool air, but Burns was sweating. After a while he managed to pry his fingers loose from the steering wheel and assess the damage to himself.
There was none, as far as he could tell, glad for once that he always buckled his seat belt. He unbuckled it with shaking fingers and got out of the car, finding that his legs would hold him up just fine even though his knees were a bit watery.
There were long scratches down the side of the Camry, and the barbed wire had scored the hood, but there didn’t seem to be any other damage. Burns had insurance, and he could have the car repainted, but it wouldn’t seem new anymore.
He looked up the hill, but of course there was no sign of the car that had forced him off the road. He hadn’t expected that there would be. The road went on past the Codys’ house and along the crest of the hill before it curved around and down toward a little town named Butler, about ten miles away. Along the way to Butler, there were plenty of little county roads that a driver could take if he wanted to return to Pecan City. Burns figured the driver who had forced him off the road was cruising happily along one of them, jabbering away on his cell phone about the mesquite bushes, or maybe only asking for directions.
Burns wiped sweat off his forehead and turned to have a look at the path he had taken from the road. He supposed he could turn around and drive back that way. Might as well give it a try.
Navigating the ditch wasn’t any fun, even driving very slowly, but Burns managed it without incident and got back onto the road. The car seemed to be running just fine, and there weren’t even any new rattles.
Burns thought for a second about going up the hill to let Cody know that his fence was down, but Cody would probably want Burns to pay for the damage. Burns wasn’t in any mood for that, and since he hadn’t seen any cattle that might wander out onto the road, he didn’t think there was any danger to drivers, not that there was any traffic to speak of. He decided to wait until he got back to town and make an anonymous call from a pay phone at some convenience store.
Burns turned on the radio, hoping to find some soothing music. He turned to the country station, where Kerry Newcomb was singing his latest hit, something about a ramblin’ man named Poudre River Pete and his “amorous, three-legged, beer-swilling cur.“
Not exactly soothing, Burns thought as he punched a button. He got a news story about another soldier dying in a riot in Iraq, which was even less soothing, and so he punched another button, this one for an oldies station out of Dallas. Buddy Holly was doing “Words of Love,“ which was just right, and Burns was momentarily soothed.
Then he thought about what Boss Napier would say when he told him about the near-miss on Thrill Hill.
“Details, Burns. Didn’t we talk about that? You have to get the details. What was the make of car? How about the year? Or the color? What was the license number?“
Burns couldn’t answer any of those questions, but then he’d been more intent on getting off the road in one piece than in taking an inventory of the approaching car’s vital statistics.
“Thinking of yourself,“ Napier would say, his lip curling with contempt. “That’s an English teacher for you. How do you expect me to make an arrest if you don’t have any of the necessary details?“
And so on.
It was too horrible to contemplate, so Burns figured he just wouldn’t mention it. After all, there were plenty of bad drivers in Pecan City, and he’d encountered one of them in an awkward spot. That’s all there was to it. Except that try as he might, Burns couldn’t convince himself of that. Even his cell phone theory seemed to him a flimsy construction now. There had been something deliberate in the way the car headed for him and didn’t waver, though Burns couldn’t think of any reason why someone would want to hurt him.
Of course he couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would want to hurt Matthew Hart, Mal Tomlin, and Don Elliott, either. Or why anyone would want to steal Dr. Partridge’s toy soldiers. Maybe Boss Napier had come up with something, but for the moment Burns preferred to forget the whole thing and go home, which is what he did.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There was a message on Burns’s answering machine from Mal Tomlin.
“In case you were wondering,“ Mal’s voice said, “the game is still on for Saturday.“
Damn, Burns thought.
“If we don’t play,“ Mal went on, “the terrorists win.“
Burns wasn’t sure of many things, but he was absolutely convinced that terrorists had nothing at all to do with the shootings.
“I know what you’re thinking,“ Mal said, “but it’s the same thing. The students will think we’re gutless if we’re afraid to go out there.“
But we don’t have a right fielder, Burns thought.
“Walt Melling says he’ll try to play right field,“ Mal continued. “He won’t cover much ground, but nobody ever hits the ball to right field. We’ll be fine.“
Not if the sniper strikes again, Burns thought.
“I called Boss Napier,“ Mal said, “and he agrees that the game should go on. There’ll be a big police presence, and he’s sure there won’t be any shooting.“
Dandy, Burns thought. So I’ll get to humiliate myself after all.
“I know you’ll do great things,“ Mal said. “That home run you hit was something else. Do it again, and you’ll be a hero.“
Fat chance, Burns thought, and Mal didn’t have an answer for that one.
“I’ll see you at practice,“ Mal’s message continued.
What about the sniper? Burns wondered.
“In case you’re worried,“ Mal said, “the cops will be there this afternoon, too. According to your pal Napier, they’ve been all over the neighborhood for most of the day, looking for tips on the sniper. So we’ll be well protected.“
Dandy, Burns thought.
“Wear your hitting shoes.“
Like I own a pair, Burns thought. He wished that Mal were standing there so he could light into him. But Mal wasn’t there, and the message was over, so Burns got dressed and went to the practice field.
Boss Napier was sitting in the stands when Burns arrived. Burns stood at the entrance to the dugout and pretended not to see him.
The grass had been cut that day, and Burns liked the smell. He liked the way the grass looked, green and level. He hated mowing, but he liked the results.
Mal Tomlin was hitting flies for the outfielders. The sound of the fat part of the bat hitting
the ball was another thing that Burns liked. He wouldn’t mind standing there all afternoon, ignoring Napier, smelling the grass, and listening to the bat smack the ball.
“Hey, Burns,“ Napier called from the stands, “come here a second.“
Burns looked out at the field. Mal Tomlin wasn’t paying any attention to him, so he figured he had a few minutes to spare, and he was going to have to face Napier sooner or later. He climbed up the stands, tossed down his glove, and sat by the police chief.
“Going to hit another home run today?“ Napier said when Burns had settled himself.
Burns looked out over the field. Mal hit a long fly to Walt Melling in right. Walt wasn’t exactly a gazelle, but he managed to get under the ball and catch it. He threw it back in to Abner Swan. It bounced three times and then rolled the rest of the way. Swan picked it up and tossed it to Mal, who hit another fly.
“I didn’t hit a home run,“ Burns said, not looking at Napier. “Somebody tagged me out.“
“Look, Burns,“ Napier said, “I didn’t mean to rain on your parade. If you want to call it a home run, go ahead and call it a home run.“
“It was only practice. It didn’t really count anyway.“
“I never realized how good you were at feeling sorry for yourself. You have a real talent for it.“
“I’m an English teacher. We’re very self-absorbed.“
“Yeah, I can believe it.“ Napier pointed out over the field and toward Thrill Hill, where Burns could not quite make out the Cody mansion among the trees. “Ever been up there?“
Burns wondered, not for the first time, if Napier didn’t know a lot more about what was going on in Pecan City than Burns realized. And then he remembered that he’d neglected to call Cody about that broken fence. There might well be a connection between Napier’s question and that broken fence, but Burns wasn’t going to ask about it.
“I’ve been there,“ he said.
“Today?“
Burns turned slightly and looked at Napier. “Why do I get the feeling you already know the answer to that?“
“Because you think I’m omnipotent?“
Burns couldn’t help staring.
Napier got a smug look. “I’ll bet you didn’t think I knew words like that, did you, Burns. Well, I do. I’m not a complete jerk, after all.“
“You always act like a jerk when I use a word like that.“
“That’s because you’re an English teacher, and you’re showing off to prove you’re smarter than everybody else.“
“I am not. And even if I were, how does that make what you were doing any different?“
“The difference is that I was showing off to prove I’m not a complete jerk. Anyway, I’m not really omnipotent. It’s just that I got a complaint from Rex Cody about a certain Dr. Carl Burns who showed up at his place, asked all kinds of questions, and then drove through his fence.“
Burns wondered how Cody knew who’d wrecked the fence. “He can’t prove a thing.“
Napier turned around and stretched his neck to look at the parking lot where Burns’s Camry sat. After giving the Camry a long look, he turned back to Burns and said, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.“
“All right, ya dirty copper, but you’ll never take me alive.“
Burns stood up and jogged to the top of the stands, which wasn’t far, as there were only ten rows of seats. When he got to the last one, he turned around and raised his arms to the sky.
“Top of the world, Ma!“ he yelled.
Napier just sat where he was, shaking his head and not looking in Burns’s direction. However, several of the faculty team members stopped what they were doing on the field and looked at him as if he had gone crazy.
Burns stared back at them and held his pose for a couple of seconds. Then he shrugged, walked back down, and sat beside Napier again.
“You do a lousy Cagney,“ Napier said.
“You dirty rat,“ Burns said. “You killed my brother, you dirty rat.“
“That was even worse. I’ll give you a tip, Burns. Give up show business and stick to teaching kids about Edgar Allan Poe.“
“I’ll think about it.“
“Good. Did you find out anything from Cody?“
“Just that I don’t like him much. He didn’t confess to shooting anybody, and I can’t really see why he would. I can see why somebody might want to shoot him, though.“
“Why did you drive through his fence?“
Burns would have preferred not to discuss it, but Napier wasn’t the type to let the subject drop. So Burns told him the whole story.
“Those cell phones are a menace, all right,“ Napier said when Burns was finished. “If you’re sure that’s what it was. What kind of car was the guy driving?“
“I knew you were going to ask me that,“ Burns said, and he went on to tell Napier all the things he didn’t know.
“You’re a big help, Burns. You and that Poe are about on a par when it comes to the details.“
“I knew you were going to say that, too, so you can spare me the rest of the lecture. Why don’t you just tell me what you found out today.“
“You nearly get killed, and you want me to tell you what I found out today? I think we should talk about the accident, if that’s what it was.“
“I don’t want to talk about the accident. That’s all it was, and there’s no point in trying to make anything else out of it.“
“If you say so. But don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that you were nearly killed in the course of an investigation that you’re involved in?“
“I’m not involved in an investigation. I’m just asking questions because you and Dr. Partridge wanted me to do it. Nobody knew where I was. So there’s no way anybody could have tried to run me off the road.“
“All right. I believe you.“
Burns listened to Mal, who was encouraging Walt Melling to show a little more hustle. The players on the field were no longer paying any attention to Burns and Napier.
“I’m glad you believe me,“ Burns said. “Now, I’ve showed you mine. You show me yours.“
Napier said that he’d had a call from Harvey Ball, who’d given him the name of the place where he’d sent his rifle for repair.
“And sure enough, they told you they have it,“ Burns said. “What a shock. As if they’d say anything else after Ball called them.“
“They told me they had it for repair,“ Napier said. “And I believe them. It’s not the kind of place that would lie for a customer. It’s too big for that.“
“Did anybody in the Balls’ neighborhood see the sniper yesterday?“
“Not that we’ve found out so far, and we’ve talked to just about all of them. But you know how it is. People are inside, watching TV or in their back yards. Nobody’s watching for some strange car on the street.“
“What if he parked near the building where the shots were fired?“
“Now that’s a good question, Burns. We went over that area pretty well yesterday, and we don’t think that’s what happened. We think he got away through the neighborhood. So someone may have seen him. We’ll keep looking.“
Burns shrugged. He didn’t think Napier would find anything. People were too unobservant.
“What about Bruce?“ Napier asked. “He have anything to tell you?“
“Probably nothing an omnipotent cop like you doesn’t know already.“
“You’d better tell me anyway. Sometimes I’m not as omnipotent as I am at others.“
Burns told him about his talk with Bruce and about what had happened with Mary Mason afterward.
“You’re always getting beaten up by women,“ Napier said. “You should stay away from them.“
“She didn’t beat me up. She just hit me with her purse.“
“Sounds like she rattled you around pretty good if you ask me.“
“I don’t recall asking. Anyway, the important thing is that she tried to frame Stilwell for the theft of the soldiers because sh
e and Bruce are an item. So that lets Stilwell off the hook.“
“Nobody’s ever off the hook, Burns.“
“I think Stilwell is. I’ve hit a wall on this whole thing. I’m not doing you any good, my car’s a mess, and I’m making a lot of people very angry. Some of that anger’s going to transfer to the college, and Dr. Partridge is going to be upset with me.“
“What are you trying to tell me, Burns? You don’t have to weasel around with me. Don’t you tell your students to get to the point without being weasels?“
Burns admitted that he did, though not using that exact terminology.
“I thought so. Well, it doesn’t matter. I know what you’re saying. You’re saying you want to quit, but you can’t get out of it now. For all we know, you might be a target yourself. That little ’accident’ of yours should have proved that to you.“
“Different M.O.,“ Burns said. “Isn’t that what you cops say?“
“Very good, Burns. You have cop lingo down pat. You must’ve watched Dragnet once upon a time.“
“True. That new version, though, that one sucks.“
“The theme song’s not bad,“ Napier said. “Aside from that, it’s just another cop show.“
“True. Did you visit Don Elliott in the hospital today?“
“Yeah. He couldn’t think of anybody who’d shoot him. That’s your job, Burns. You’re supposed to figure stuff like that out, solve the crime, and make me look good.“
“It never happened that way on Dragnet. Joe Friday didn’t need any help.“
“He wasn’t dealing with a bunch of nutty college teachers, either, was he.“
“I guess not,“ Burns said. “But if he had been, he and Frank would have solved the case on their own.“
“That’s why we have TV,“ Napier said. “To make things work out the way they should. This isn’t like that. Have you talked to Elliott?“