Dead Soldiers

by Crider, Bill

  He started with Karen Ball. It took him a while, but eventually, after navigating through several screens, he found her transcript. Her grades were generally very good, though she hadn’t done as well in Tomlin and Elliott’s classes as she’d done in Burns’ American lit. She’d made a C in both sections. And she had flunked Hart’s course in educational psychology. That was interesting, but it had been a long time ago. Besides, Burns saw, she had taken the course again, from Hart, and made a B, so there was no reason for her to be upset after so long a time, certainly not upset enough to start shooting people.

  Burns drilled down through more and more screens and located the rosters for the classes Karen had attended. He saw that her fellow students had included Steven Stilwell’s son, who had also flunked Hart’s class. But then so had another couple of students. It must have been a bad semester.

  Burns fooled around with the computer for another half hour, but he learned nothing of interest. He left his office and went downstairs. Everyone was in class, so no one saw him.

  He thought about going home, but there was nothing there that he wanted to eat for supper, so he drove to the Whopper Burger and got a number six (“an old-fashioned burger, just the way your mother used to fix ’em“) with fries and a soft drink. He found a space in a deserted corner of the parking lot where he could eat and think.

  He didn’t think much about the murder. Instead he thought about his home run that had become an out, thanks to the sneaky Boss Napier, and he thought about Elaine Tanner. Then he remembered why she hadn’t been in the library that afternoon when he’d gone by to see her. The library staff took turns at working in the evenings, and when they did an evening shift, they got the afternoon off. Which meant that Elaine would be at work at that very moment.

  Burns finished his burger, wishing he hadn’t gotten the old-fashioned one with onions, and washed it down with what remained of the watery soft drink. They always put too much ice in the drinks at the Whopper Burger, he thought. In fact, that was true of every fast-food place where he’d ever eaten. Maybe it was a way to save money.

  He listened to the radio as he drove to the library, but the news on the all-talk station was depressing. Several more American troops had died in yet another helicopter accident in Iraq, and even though the war was over, the casualties kept mounting. He put in the Warren Zevon CD. Listening to Zevon sing about the werewolves of London was a lot more uplifting than hearing the news.

  When he arrived at the library, Burns managed to get back to Elaine’s office without being spotted by anyone other than the student at the check-out desk. He felt grungy, and the scratches on his arms and legs itched. The good news was that he’d found a package of breath-freshening strips in the console of the Camry and let two of them dissolve on his tongue, so his mouth no longer tasted like onions and mustard. He might not look the part, but he felt he was a fine candidate for a romantic reconciliation.

  Elaine was at her desk, reading a book, and she looked up when he got to the door.

  “What happened to you?“ she said.

  Burns told her about Don Elliott’s being shot and his own run through the woods to look for the shooter. As it happened, Elaine had already heard about Elliott, although she hadn’t heard about Burns’s heroic attempt to find the person who shot him.

  “So you were in real danger?“ Elaine said.

  Burns smiled modestly. “Not as much danger as I was in from Mary Mason in that elevator.“

  Elaine’s look of concern turned to one of disgust. “I don’t want to talk about that.“

  “But we have to,“ Burns said, blocking the doorway so that Elaine couldn’t make a quick exit. “Believe me, it was nothing. Well, okay, it was something, but I didn’t have a thing to do with it. I didn’t grab her. She grabbed me.“

  “I don’t believe that. She’s a lady. She would never throw herself at a man.“

  “You must be the only person in Pecan City who believes that. And you should know me well enough to realize that I’d never try to make out with a woman in an elevator.“

  Elaine thought it over. After a few seconds she said, “That’s true. And it’s not one of your most endearing qualities, if you must know.“

  Burns was taken aback. “You mean you’d like me better if I tried to make out with you in an elevator?“

  “I didn’t say that.“

  “Well, you implied it.“

  “Possibly. But we aren’t anywhere near an elevator, are we.“

  “No, but we’re in your private office.“

  “It’s not so private. People walk by here all the time.“

  “But they couldn’t see anything if the door were to be closed.“

  “That’s right, they couldn’t. But as you can see, the door’s wide open.“

  “Not for long,“ Burns said, stepping into the office and pulling the door shut behind him.

  Burns felt much better when he left the library. Elaine was no longer angry with him, and he even wondered if she hadn’t simply pretended to be in order to goad him into making up with her. It didn’t matter to him, one way or the other. The making-up had been worth the anxiety he had felt.

  On his way home, he drove by the Yowell Pharmacy. It was still open, so Burns parked in the lot and went inside. Yowell was on his list of suspects, and this was as good a time as any to talk to him. The element of surprise, as Napier would say.

  The fluorescent lights in the pharmacy gave the place an icy brightness that Burns didn’t much like. It gave an odd color to the scratches on his legs.

  One of his former students, Ron Williams, was at the check-out counter in the front of the store. There were no customers in sight.

  “Hi, Dr. Burns,“ Ron said, looking him over. “You need something to put on those scratches?“

  Burns hadn’t even thought about putting anything on the scratches. And he figured it was too late now. If they were going to get infected, they’d already done it.

  “I’m all right,“ he said. “I was wondering if Mr. Yowell was working tonight.“

  “Nope. Mr. Lee’s filling in.“

  Burns was immediately suspicious. “Is Mr. Yowell sick?“

  Ron laughed. “I hope not. He and his wife drove to Galveston yesterday. They’re going to meet his brother and go on a cruise over to Key West and then on down to somewhere in Mexico this weekend.“

  “Oh,“ Burns said. It sounded like the perfect alibi to him. If the person who had killed Hart was the same one who had shot at Tomlin and Elliott, Yowell was in the clear. “Well, I hope they have a good time.“

  “I’m sure they will. They’ve been looking forward to this for months. He said he really needed some time off. I hope what you wanted to talk to him about wasn’t an emergency because he didn’t even take his cell phone with him.“

  “It wasn’t important,“ Burns said. “I can see him when he gets back.“

  He didn’t plan to do that. There was no need for it now.

  “Thanks for the help,“ Burns said.

  “You’re welcome,“ Ron said, and Burns realized he hadn’t heard anyone say that for a while. These days when you thanked people, they always said “no problem“ or “sure thing“ or something similar. The language kept on changing. He supposed that was a good thing, but there were times when he didn’t much like it. Probably that was a sure sign he was getting older.

  It had been a long day, and Burns hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. It wasn’t late, but he didn’t feel much like doing any reading. He listened to the other side of the tape Stilwell had given him. It was as entertainingly melodramatic as the first side had been, and Burns was a little sad to think that once there had been a time when you could turn on the radio and hear shows like The Shadow, whereas these days you could run the AM dial from one end to the other and find nothing more than arrogant windbags expounding on their political views or would-be jocks giving their insipid “takes“ on some sports team. The FM dial wasn’t much better. Burns
didn’t like country music that sounded like pop tunes, he didn’t understand the appeal of rap, and he thought most of the R&B music sounded like people moaning in pain. Another sign of his rapid ageing, Burns thought.

  He went to bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He kept going over things in his mind, and he realized that one problem was that he still hadn’t talked to all the suspects.

  He told himself that questioning them was none of his business, no matter how much Dr. Partridge or Boss Napier pushed him. Napier or one of his minions had probably already tried to interview Yowell, for example, and nobody had mentioned to Burns that Yowell was out of town. You’d think they’d let him know things like that.

  Burns thought about the other suspects, Neal Bruce and the Codys. All of them as rich as anyone in Pecan City. Richer, most likely. What possible motive could any of them have for stealing toy soldiers or shooting at HGC instructors? Sure, Neal Bruce collected toy soldiers, but there would be no need for him to steal any from Partridge. He could buy all her soldiers with his pocket change. The Codys could buy them with the change they found under their couch cushions. Thinking that they would steal them was ridiculous.

  But that didn’t mean it couldn’t have happened.

  Burns decided to let Boss Napier worry about it. He was tired of being involved. From now on, he was going to teach his classes and stay out of things.

  When he finally got to sleep, he dreamed he was being chased through the woods by an army of tiny toy soldiers, some of them dressed in British uniforms and some of them wearing the blue and the gray of the Confederacy. All of them holding little softballs, all of them trying to tag him out.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Neal Bruce looked exactly the way Burns thought a banker should look. He was middle-aged, silver-haired, and a little stout. Not fat, but just well filled out. His suit was expensive, and so was his haircut. His office was on the third floor of the Universal Bank building, and it was paneled in unfashionable dark wood. But it was a corner office and had windows on two sides, so it was well lit and quite pleasant. There were tall cabinets on two walls, and they were filled with toy soldiers that Burns assumed were Staddens. Bruce himself sat behind a big wooden desk and asked what he could do for Burns.

  Burns considered asking him to confess to Matthew Hart’s murder, but he didn’t think that would work. And he didn’t know what would. He didn’t really even know why he was there in Bruce’s office. He certainly hadn’t planned to, but after his class that morning, he’d returned to his office and found Boss Napier waiting for him.

  Napier had told him that while the crime scene investigation had pretty much proved that the shot at Elliott had been fired from the old metal building the previous afternoon, there hadn’t been anything else in the way of helpful evidence.

  “The shooter is picking up his brass, and he’s probably wearing gloves,“ Napier said.

  Burns knew what brass was, but he pretended that he didn’t.

  “Empty cartridge shells,“ Napier said. “They should be there if they weren’t picked up. So they were.“

  “So how do you know the shots were fired from there?“

  “The toy soldier, for one thing. It’s one of Gwen’s. And there were footprints in the dust on the stairway and in the little room it led to,“ Napier said.

  Burns mentioned that he’d been by to talk to Roy Yowell. “But he wasn’t there. You probably knew that already.“

  “Sure. He and his wife are on a cruise. First thing I did was check on the whereabouts of all the people on Gwen’s list.“

  “So there’s no doubt that he’s gone off into the Gulf of Mexico on a ship?“

  “Not a bit. I’ve talked to his family, and I’m convinced he’s there. He and Hart had their differences, that’s for sure. But Yowell is mostly just bluster. Even at that he never made any threats. And he didn’t have anything against Elliott or Tomlin, as far as we know.“

  “Neither did anyone else, as far as we know. And you should have told me about Yowell.“

  “I thought you’d rather find it out for yourself, you being such a hotshot investigator and all.“

  “I never said that.“

  “Yeah, I know.“ Napier’s mouth twisted snidely. “Gwen’s the one who thinks so, but don’t let her know I told you.“

  Burns hadn’t known that the dean had such a good opinion of him, though she was the one who’d asked for his help in the first place.

  “I hope you’re not jealous,“ Burns said.

  “Nah. Not a jealous bone in my body. Besides, why would I be jealous? I don’t have any interest in Gwen.“

  Burns kept a straight face. He said, “What about Elaine?“

  “Now that’s one good-looking woman,“ Napier said. “And I think she likes me. You aren’t jealous, are you?“

  “Not a jealous bone in my body,“ Burns lied. “But I have a feeling you didn’t come here to talk about your amazing appeal to women.“

  “Nope. I came to ask if you’d talked to Neal Bruce yet.“

  “No, and I don’t plan to. I’ve decided to stick to being an English teacher. This crime business is way too complicated for me.“

  Napier did a take. “You’re kidding me, right?“

  “No, I’m not kidding you. I’m not getting anywhere at all by talking to people. They’re not telling me anything useful, and I don’t need the aggravation.“

  “You think you have aggravation now?“ Napier said. “Wait and see what you get from me if you don’t talk to Bruce.“

  “Why do I have to talk to him? You can do that as well as I can. If you don’t want to do it, send somebody else from the department.“

  “I’ve already talked to him. I didn’t get anything out of him, but I think he’s hiding something. You might be able to catch him off guard.“

  “What makes you think so?“

  “Because you teach here, and he’s on the board. You can talk to him about college stuff, lull him into a false sense of security, and then pounce.“

  Burns tried to think of himself pouncing. The image just wouldn’t come. He wasn’t a pouncer, and he told Napier so.

  “Give it the old college try, then, as a favor to me,“ Napier said.

  “The old college try?“

  “You know, like winning one for the Gipper. Don’t you have any school spirit, Burns?“

  “This isn’t an athletic contest.“

  “Just try it. See what you can find out.“

  “I didn’t find out anything from Stilwell.“

  “How do you know? You haven’t told me what he said yet. Maybe there’s something you didn’t pick up on. Tell me the whole thing.“

  Burns told him what he remembered. He didn’t think Napier had learned anything from the recitation, but that hadn’t stopped him from wheedling Burns into talking to Bruce, which was why Burns now found himself in the banker’s office, telling Bruce that he’d come there about the stolen soldiers.

  “As a board member,“ Burns said, “you can understand that it wouldn’t look good for the college if the word got out that our students were thieves. You were at Dean Partridge’s party when the soldiers were taken, and she asked me to check with you to see if you’d noticed anything suspicious.“

  Bruce looked out a window while he thought it over. He struck Burns as one of those people who always thought everything over before speaking, which sometimes resulted in long pauses in the conversation.

  “No,“ he said, turning back to Burns, “I didn’t see anything suspicious at all.“ He waved a hand at the cabinets against the wall to Burns’s right and then waved to the left. “As you can see, I collect soldiers, too, and they’re very well insured, let me tell you. And while those cabinets might look easy to break into, they’re not. They’re locked, of course, and that’s not glass you’re looking through. It’s plastic, a very tough plastic. To get any of my soldiers, you’d have to take those cabinets apart. Believe me, it wouldn’t be an easy job.“


  “Dr. Partridge could learn a thing or two from you.“

  Bruce thought about that. Then he said, “She’s a good woman, but she’s too trusting. She tends to believe the best of everyone, and that’s not always a good idea.“

  Spoken like a man who’d made a bad loan or two in his time, Burns thought. He said, “She certainly thinks the best of Steven Stilwell.“

  This time Bruce didn’t have to think. “I’ve had some dealings with him, and he’s always been quite fair.“

  “He’s sold you soldiers, I suppose.“

  “Yes, among other things. I have several collecting interests.“

  “You were in the military, weren’t you?“ Burns asked.

  “Yes. That was a long time ago, though. Why?“

  “I was just wondering why you collected the soldiers.“

  “Not because they remind me of my time in Viet Nam, I can tell you. I don’t want to be reminded of that. It was just as bad as you may have heard it was, and I’d prefer to forget it, not remember it. Those soldiers in the cabinets remind me of my childhood, which was a much happier time. I had a great childhood.“

  “Do you have any Britains?“

  Bruce paused for quite a while and stared out the window. When he finally turned to Burns again, he said, “I hope you haven’t come here because you think I might have taken those soldiers.“

  “Absolutely not,“ Burns said. He felt he was becoming quite good at lying. Associating with Boss Napier would do that for a guy. “Dean Partridge just thought that you might have noticed something, seen somebody alone in the room with the soldiers maybe.“

  “How could they have been alone if I saw them?“

  “A poor choice of words on my part,“ Burns admitted.

  “I’d say so.“ Bruce leaned forward. “I didn’t take the soldiers, Dr. Burns, and I don’t know who did. You have my word on that. I hope that’s good enough for you.“

  Bruce leaned back in his chair, and Burns knew that he’d been dismissed. He stood up, thanked Bruce for his time, and left.