Fick seemed intent upon listening to Bergeron talk.
“So, our boy Jimmy gets himself spooked, and when Jimmy got spooked, he did what he always did—he ran. The Running Redskin. But in this case, he ran straight to the home of the big ol’ Billy Goat Gruff. I don’t think he intended to hurt Ngo, maybe thought he could just scare him off. Don’t know. What I do know is that Jimmy was no match for Ngo one on one; few men were. That sonofabitch was some serious bad news. Always was. So it’s not surprising that when Jimmy shows up last night at Ngo’s with a damn can-plinker .22 and starts to wave it around, that he’s the one who ends up dead.”
“You’re saying Ngo did it,” Fick entered the conversation.
“Why yes, General Fick, I am. Don’t tell me you’re surprised, you? You of all people shouldn’t be.”
“Then how’d you get involved?” Fick asked.
“Another good question. I’d been watching Ngo’s house. I didn’t trust him any more than Jimmy did. Or you did, General, for that matter.” Bergeron smiled as he shrugged. “So there I was, sitting and watching, and who to my wondering eyes should appear but Chief Tenkiller. I followed him into the house. Watched the whole thing unfold.”
“Then why didn’t you stop Ngo?” Deveroux asked. “You said you liked Tenkiller. You try to stop him?”
Bergeron smiled. “Hmmm. Well, for one thing, it happened too fast, and for another thing—well, let’s just say that while I liked Tenkiller, I really did, I liked him, but let’s just say that he also had the potential to be a major embarrassment. And, after all, who was going to miss him? He was already dead—isn’t that right, General Fick? KIA. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, I think you signed the death certificate, didn’t you?’
There was a thin squeak as Fick tightened his grip on his pistol. His interest in what Bergeron had to say was about exhausted.
“If that’s the case, why’d Ngo burn up his own house? And why’d he come here with you?” Deveroux asked quickly in an effort to regain control of the situation. He wanted to keep Bergeron talking and distracted.
“Who said he did?” Bergeron smiled again. He too had tightened his grip. His skin, too, squeaked against the pistol’s handle. “I get to claim credit for the housewarming. When I showed up—properly armed, I might add,” he wiggled the Glock slightly to illustrate his point, “Ngo saw the logic of entering into a one-time limited partnership, you might say. He was always a shrewd businessman, I must give him that. Neither one of us particularly wanted some of our youthful indiscretions coming to light, you see, and Tenkiller’s death—while presenting a slight logistical problem—was probably for the best. The problem was that we had a body to get rid of, and with the two of you having just been poking around Ngo’s house, it seemed best if the body was not found anywhere close by. Ngo thought of this building. They’re set to pour a cement slab out to the side later this morning, and he proposed that the two of us bury poor Jimmy in the sand foundation. If everything had gone as planned, by this afternoon there wouldn’t have been a trace.”
“Of either one of them,” Deveroux added. “You intended to get rid of Ngo as well.”
Bergeron actually laughed. “You ought to be a CID agent, you.”
“Thanks. I’ll talk to the army recruiter at school. But what about the house? Why’d you torch it?”
“Think about it.” Bergeron looked intensely at Deveroux. “Think it through, special agent. Tenkiller’s fingerprints, my fingerprints. I have to thank Jimmy for the idea really. He’d brought a couple of gas cans with him. Like I said, I don’t know if he really intended to hurt Ngo, but he sure as hell intended to take away his nice house, his fancy belongings, his clothes—all the things that Jimmy had had to forgo in his life as a hermit. So Jimmy gets a point and a half for the idea, but I’m the one who put it in motion. That was always my specialty. I’m an operations-type guy.”
“But why’d Ngo agree to it? You said this was a partnership. Why would he agree to let you burn his house up?” Deveroux kept up the conversation.
“He didn’t,” Bergeron replied. He seemed surprised, and disappointed, that Deveroux’s comprehension was lagging so far behind. “I convinced Ngo to come on in here ahead of me and start digging the requisite hole in the sand; I couldn’t get in here without attracting attention, but the big boss man could. I had him bring Jimmy’s truck. I said I’d clean up the mess at the house and bring the body in as soon as he had the hole dug. With Ngo’s car and its military window sticker, I could get past the guard easier. Plus, by him coming on ahead, we weren’t sitting around on a military post with a dead body in the trunk for any longer than we had to. He agreed.”
“And as soon as he drove off…”
Bergeron laughed again. “You got it. I torched the house. This is Rolla, Missouri, Agent Deveroux. I figured there was a real good chance that they’d misidentify Jimmy boy as Ngo, and once I buried the real Ngo—here in the cement—the case would be closed. On the other hand, if they got lucky and did identify po’ ol’ Jimmy, then they’d start a manhunt for Ngo, who, mysteriously enough, would have disappeared. Either way, no one would be looking for me, and there’d be no more loose lips sinking anybody’s ships.” He paused and drew his mouth into a humorless smile. “But now things have gotten very complicated—haven’t they, General?” Bergeron’s almost giddy enjoyment at relating the events of the last twelve hours suddenly ebbed, and his whole demeanor became tense. With a jerk he readjusted the aim of his pistol at Fick’s head.
“Whoa, cowboy,” Deveroux said quickly. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. There is no reason in God’s green earth for this thing to spiral out of control.” He had both hands up, palms forward, fingers spread as if he could will a sense of calm. “This just is gettin’ way too serious to be doin’ anyone any good.”
“Perhaps you should tell him,” Bergeron said, a quick nod in Fick’s direction.
Deveroux bounced a quick look over his shoulder at Fick and then returned his attention to the man in front of him. “This has got bad time stenciled all over it. Ain’t nothin’ good goin’ come out of y’all wavin’ all these guns about.” He put a wide smile on his face and bent his knees, putting himself into a semicrouch. “Ain’t nothin’ good at all.”
“I doubt much good is going to come out of this no matter what,” Bergeron said. His head motioned to the adjoining room and the curled-up body of Ngo Van Thu.
“You may be right, but I tell you what, good is a relative thing. There’s good, and then there’s good; and this here ain’t good. There’s two of us and only one of you.”
“True, but at the risk of stating the obvious, Deputy Fife, you seem to be somewhat empty-handed at the moment. While I, on the other hand…”
Deveroux smiled. It was obvious, and it wasn’t a fact that he needed reminding of. “Well, that’s right, that’s right, but as I see this, this is goin’ to play out one of two ways. Now, you shoot me, and the general here drills a good-size hole in your head. And believe me, he’ll do it. He’s not much on foolishness, and right about now I suspect he thinks both of us are pretty danged foolish. That’s one option, and it ain’t so good for either you or me.” Bergeron seemed to be listening. “But, on the other hand, I’m a mite bigger than you. That’s a fact. You shoot the general, and I’ll be all over you before your brass even hits the floor. Good for me, but not so good for either you or the general.” He arched both eyebrows.
“Decisions, decisions.” Bergeron smiled. “This is like the fox, the duck, and the bushel of grain. Quite a puzzle here.”
“Maybe, but the way I figure it, either way ends up bein’ a bad end to your day.”
“So you say. I guess I really have to pick the lesser of my two devils, then. Yes, you might be bigger than me, that seems to be true, but then, no offense, I watched you walk across the parking lot, you. You limp like my old grandmother. I’m banking on your old knees slowing you down long enough to at least make it interesting.” Bergeron raised his arms sligh
tly, locking his elbows. He sighted down the barrel at Fick, but his eyes kept flicking in Deveroux’s direction.
“Whoa, whoa, time-out there.” Deveroux took a quick step forward while using one hand to dampen Fick’s response. “Let’s think this one through some more. There’s another option here.”
“Do tell, Agent Deveroux.”
“We can all calm down and put all these dang guns down; that’s what we can do. I hate them things.”
“I’d probably feel the same way if I was standing in your shoes, empty-handed, but right now I get a certain sense of satisfaction from the feel of this one.”
“I hear ya, Mr. Bergeron, believe me, I hear you. Loud and clear. But let’s everybody just sit tight and work out some sort of solution we can all live with. Okay?”
“How about him?” Bergeron asked. “I’m looking at his eyes, you’re not. I suspect General Fick wants to dampen my afternoon, regardless of what you want. Don’t you, General?”
Deveroux could tell that the general’s left hand was tightening around the butt of the pistol grip, he could hear it, and he realized that Fick had trouble holding the gun steady with only the three fingers of his right hand. He looked back at Bergeron.
“Aw, shucks. You know how generals are. Their eyes always look that a’way. Comes with the stars. But General Fick, here, he’ll put his gun down if you do—right, General?” He turned his head in Fick’s direction but kept his eyes on Bergeron. “He’ll do it. Right, sir? You’ll put your gun down. Right?”
“Correct,” Paul Fick answered. The tone was even and efficient—as always.
“There you go, Mr. Bergeron. See? You set down, and the general sets his down, and then we all just hunker down here and work this out. Simple. No muss, no fuss, no one gets hurt, no one here redecorates the Sheetrock. Easy.”
“Easy for you, Deputy Fife. You won’ be leaving here in handcuffs.”
“You got that right, cowboy, but then none of us will have to leave here in a body bag either. Besides, you know our dang legal system. We can’t convict anybody in this country even when they confess on TV. You’ll be makin’ money on the talk-show circuit and signin’ fancy book deals before you know it.” He took another step toward Bergeron, trying to close the distance should he have to react.
Bergeron caught the movement and flicked his gun at Deveroux. Behind him, Deveroux could feel Fick’s body tense.
Deveroux took a half step back and raised both hands palms outward. “Ho, now. Calm down, bubba. Let’s put the gun down. You know it’s the right thing to do.”
“Him first.” Bergeron had recentered Fick in his sights.
“No, sir. That dog won’t hunt, and you know it. It’s got to be you first. Gotta be. That’s just the way it is.”
Bergeron’s eyes shot back and forth. He seemed on the verge of movement. “We all put the guns away. That right? We talk. Work something out.”
“You got it. That’s the smart play. Everyone’s a winner. Now go on…”
Bergeron hesitated, and then he slowly began to bend at the waist and knees, keeping his arms parallel to the floor and the barrel pointed at Fick. When the gun was a few feet from the ground he broke his elbows and slowly placed the weapon on the floor with his right hand, his left held upward in supplication. He shifted his attention from Fick to Deveroux and back.
“That’s right. Now that’s the right decision. Now, take a step back, and the general here will set his down as well.”
Bergeron slowly stepped back a half step while straightening up. His eyes were back on Fick, waiting for him to follow the lead.
“Now, General, if you’d be a mind to set your weapon down.” Deveroux watched Bergeron carefully, trusting Fick to cooperate.
Fick didn’t move.
Bergeron’s eyes began rapidly shifting between the two men. His body was tense and Deveroux sensed that he was about to get spooked.
“Calm down, Mr. Bergeron.” Deveroux’s hands began patting the air again as if he were stroking a cat. “Calm down. General Fick’s goin’ to set his piece down now. Don’t worry. You got my word on that.” He looked over at Fick. “Ain’t that right, Paul? He’s got my word.”
Fick didn’t move.
“Paul? General Fick?” Deveroux looked at Fick’s hands. He saw the awkward grip of the right hand. He saw him take up tension on the trigger. “General Fick?”
Behind him he heard a shuffle as Bergeron moved.
The explosion of Fick’s .45-caliber semiautomatic in the small room was stunning. Deveroux felt himself pushed backward a step by the concussion, his ears ringing so loudly that he couldn’t hear the sound of Bergeron’s body hitting the floor. The big, copper-jacketed slug had caught him square in the forehead and had removed the back of his skull.
CHAPTER 62
Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri
THURSDAY, APRIL 24, 2008
Kel sat in the front seat of a Humvee, his legs swung out to the side; Shuck Deveroux sat in the backseat, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His whole body shook. It was slight but noticeable.
“How’d that happen? Can you tell me?” Deveroux asked. He’d been repeating the same question for the last five minutes. “It’s like we got dumber and dumber as the case went on. Least I did. How’d that happen?”
Kel had been sitting quietly, not responding, assuming that no response was warranted. He was content at first to let Deveroux vent, but as the questions were repeated over and over, he finally weighed in. “Goddamn, Shuck, you’re bein’ way too hard on yourself. You’ve been watchin’ too many cop shows on TV. This is how it is in real life. You do get dumber and dumber. That’s how these cases work.” He shifted in his seat so that he could look at Deveroux more easily. “It’s like pilots getting’ fixated on the target. We’ve identified a lot of pilots—good pilots—that got so focused on the target they couldn’t pull out of the bomb run in time. Flew right into the ground. Called target fixation. That’s what happens to us. All the damn time. You get so focused on some aspect of the case that you can’t pull out when you need to. Target fixation. Doesn’t make us bad investigators. That’s just how it works sometimes. And when the shit finally breaks, guess what, you feel absolutely pinheaded for not being able to see it sooner.”
“But I should have seen this comin’.”
“Yeah, maybe so, but you didn’t. Beatin’ yourself up isn’t goin’ to change that. Not today and not tomorrow either.”
“A man’s dead.”
“Yeah, you’re right. A bad man is dead, and you’d better be damn glad that he is. Could have been you.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve never had someone’s brains splattered over you.”
Kel sighed. “You might be surprised,” he said quietly.
Deveroux looked up and caught Kel’s eye. He saw something that he didn’t understand but respected, nonetheless. “Sorry.”
“Look, my read on this is that only one of you was comin’ out of that buildin’ alive. My money’s usually on the one with the gun. If Fick hadn’t charged in there when he did…”
“I know. I know,” Deveroux replied. “It’s just…it’s just that I didn’t see this comin’ until it was right on top of me.”
“Cut the crap, Shuck. What do you mean? You went in there knowing what could happen.”
“Did I? I went in there because I wasn’t thinkin’ it through. Because I thought he might have a hostage. Because I was so sure this case was dead-ended that I never figured anythin’ like this would happen. I feel pretty worthless.”
“Look, Shuck, you know what bein’ good is? Bein’ good is not havin’ all the answers—hell, you may not have any of the answers. Leave that for the cheap novels. Bein’ good is about positionin’ yourself to catch the pieces when the roof finally falls in. You were there, partner. You caught the pieces. And your skin is intact. That’s all that counts.”
“And how many men died?”
“Some of those men died a l
ong time ago.”
Neither man spoke for several minutes.
“So what are you goin’ to do?” Deveroux finally asked.
“Me?” Kel arched his back and took a deep breath. “Well, my guess is that there’s a coroner in Rolla that could use some help. I assume you’ll want some reports to close out your files. I’ll tie up some loose ends here, and then,” he paused, “and then, I’ve got a beautiful wife whom I need to spend some time with. And two sons who are growin’ up way too fast. And a lab to run. People to take care of. Hell, son, I even have a Diversity Awareness Plan that’s six months overdue.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”
Kel laughed. “Hardly. For all my big talk, I’m the one who’s been gettin’ dumber and dumber as time’s gone by. I’ve been fixated on the wrong target the last few months. My way of dealin’ with my problems has been to run and hide.” He opened his hands as if to indicate the present surroundings. “I think it’s time for me to get on home and try to catch some of those pieces when they fall.”
The silence returned.
Kel broke it. “How about you? What are you goin’ to do?”
Deveroux slowly nodded and then stood. The shaking had stopped. “I guess I have to go arrest Paul Fick.”
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