by M. G. Herron
“Good.” Alek bobbed his head. “Knew I could count on you.”
I rubbed my hands on my jeans and stared at the untouched plate in front of me. Now that I had work to do, my appetite had all but disappeared. I licked my lips as I thought about my next words. Best to get straight to the point. “Got any other jobs lined up after this one?”
Alek took a bite of his sandwich and shook his head while he chewed. His appetite, it seemed, had not waned. “Not yet,” he mumbled through a mouthful. “But if something comes up, as long as it doesn’t interfere with you finding Kovak, you can have first dibs.”
I had to inhale to make room for the fullness I felt in my chest at his reassurance. “Thanks.”
“Gunn… are you sure you’re okay?”
I waved him off. “I’ll be fine.”
I hid my face in my sandwich as I forced myself to take a bite. Although I wasn’t hungry, old habits inspired me to put the food down. Couldn’t afford to let it go to waste. Especially not one of Barry’s sandwiches.
The lanky bartender stopped polishing the counter at the far end of the bar and came over to lean down next to us. “Did one of you fellas say something about a Kovak?”
One of Alek’s eyebrows shot up. I took another bite of my sandwich and crunched down on a chip.
“Why?” Alek asked. “You know him?”
Barry thumbed back toward the kitchen. “Nah, just heard about him on the radio. Guy worked for the power company. They found his partner dead in a ditch this morning.”
My galloping heart skipped a beat. I turned to Alek. “If that’s true, we need to talk about hazard pay.”
Alek wiped his hands on a napkin and pulled his phone out. “This is the last thing I need right now.”
“Five percent,” I said. Normally I wouldn’t be jumping for joy at the thought of taking on extra risk to find a dangerous fugitive, but more danger meant more money. Fifteen grand would give me a three-month runway. I’d finally be able to get ahead again.
“Hold on, hold on. I’ll get to the bottom of this. If it is true, you know I have no problem including hazard pay. But first, you gotta be straight with me, Gunn. What’s going on with you?”
Barry and Alek both turned to watch me intently. I could see the genuine concern on both of their faces. They were just trying to be helpful, but my situation dug at me enough that I wasn’t enthused about sharing the details.
But you only get what you give, and Alek was the man with the money.
“It’s just been hard to keep up. My old man was never any good with money either. Maybe I inherited his bad luck.”
“Why do you say that?”
I thought back to the blue screen on my laptop. That wasn't the first computer I'd seen that on. Had a fella once tell me it was called the blue screen of death. I knew what it meant. “When did your family get their first computer?”
Alek chuckled, a wet hacking sound. “I’m a bit older than you are. I bought a Commodore 64 for the business the second year they had ’em. I was about your age then. Just getting my start.”
“My parents bought their first one when I was a kid. I was ten, it was the heyday of the PC revolution, and after arguing about the cost for several weeks, my parents finally caved and bought one. I think it was the realization they could do their finances with it, using spreadsheets, which my mom liked. You see, my dad was super scatterbrained—still is—and she invested a lot of time and money over the years in an attempt to upgrade the systems around him, thinking that would make her own life less chaotic. In reality, she just ended up doing the work herself.”
Barry nodded. “Typical in that generation.”
“Spreadsheets never made any sense to my father. He’d sit for an hour or two, pretending to enter his receipts while he waited for her to come to his aid. When she finally did—often after cooking a meal for all three of us—he’d shrug and say, ‘No reason to jinx a stroke of good luck!’ as he picked up a paperback and stretched out on the couch.” I sipped at the beer when I realized my mouth had gone dry. “He used to say quirky, carefree things like that more often, but he hasn’t been interested in much except the bottom of a bottle since mom passed. I guess maybe she held together more than finances for him.”
Alek and Barry had both leaned in while I was talking. I guess I was keeping my voice down unconsciously. They both straightened again when I finished.
“Hard thing,” Barry said.
Alek pursed his lips. “Forgive my bluntness, stud, but what's that got to do with the price of eggs in China?”
I laughed without mirth. “Just had another computer go to the big clearance sale in the sky.”
“Normally I’d cap it at two and a half, but today I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you three percent. Deal?”
An extra three grand? Count me in. Alek stuck out his hand, and I shook it. “Deal.”
Alek Ludwig returned his attention to his phone and searched the news aggregators while I took a half-hearted bite of my pickle and ate my sandwich. A loose plan began to formulate. I could start tonight by talking to Kovak’s wife, the one Alek seemed to trust. If what Barry said about a dead body was true, I didn’t want to waste any time.
Alek read a few more headlines and then cursed under his breath. “I’m going to have words with Kovak's damn lawyer. He should have called me the moment he found out about this. Look.”
Alek shoved the phone into my hands. It was an article from The Statesman, dated today. The picture of Kovak from Alek’s bond paperwork matched the mug shot I saw on the screen. This time I studied him more closely. Dirty blond hair. Big goofy ears. Smug smile. He had a splotchy birthmark at his left temple that would be hard to hide, even with a hat.
I skimmed through the text until I found the pertinent section. “‘Police are investigating the murder of Dale Edwards, a lineman employed by CenTex Power & Light. His body was discovered south of Austin early on Friday morning. The cause of his death is as yet undetermined, but police are actively searching for his missing colleague, Cameron Kovak, who was reportedly dispatched with Edwards last night.’”
“Unbelievable.” Alek chewed on his cigar, then spat a fragment of tobacco onto his empty plate. “Usually, I’m a better judge of people.”
I scrolled down the page with my thumb. “Wait a minute. Barry, I thought you said they found him in a ditch. Is that the ditch in the background?”
Alek squinted at the screen. “I can’t tell. Don’t have my glasses with me.”
In the photo, yellow caution tape was just visible in the distance. It seemed to make a perimeter at the edge of the so-called ditch, the full circumference of which was hidden behind a copse of oak trees. I felt the sudden urge to go there and see for myself. Unless it was just the angle, the hole looked enormous.
“Some ditch,” I said.
Barry’s stoic face was unreadable. “Radio said ditch.” He turned away, suddenly disinterested, and began removing liquor bottles and dusting the shelves beneath them.
Alek stepped outside to make a phone call, no doubt trying to get some more information from his contacts at the police department. I knew people there, too, but I didn’t have the same kind of leverage.
He returned a moment later. “Sergeant on duty said the cop assigned to the case is Detective Sheila Gonzalez. She’s still on scene.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said, as impressed by the name as with how quickly Alek acquired the information. The image of a tall, attractive Latina woman popped unbidden into my mind. Athletic build, proud green eyes, a thick mane of dark curly hair. She’d filled out in the years since we’d first met, but she was just as beautiful now as she had been then, and if possible, even more intimidating.
A soft laugh tipped me off that Alek must have seen something in my expression that amused him.
“You know her?” he asked. “The sergeant got weird on the phone when he found her name, made me think she might be new.”
“Her father us
ed to be the chief of police. Sheila transferred to Dallas so she didn’t have to work for her old man, but now that he’s retired, she’s back in town.”
“That’s right, I remember now. But how do you know her?”
“We went to college together at Texas State.”
“I see,” he said. “You two seeing each other?”
“Nothing like that. We tried dating in college, but it never worked out. We were better as friends. Suppose we still are.”
“Is it weird having her back in town?”
“I’ve known her forever. She’s like one of the guys to me, you know? Maybe it’s not a bad thing to have a friend on the force, though. It seems to have worked well for you. As much as I try to play nice with the cops, most of them keep me at arm’s length.”
“They’re just doing their jobs.”
“If you say so.”
“You still got a thing for her, don’t you?”
“What? No. C’mon.”
Alek pushed his empty plate to the back of the bar and stood. “You do.”
“I do not.” I swallowed the rest of my beer and slammed the glass down, maybe a bit too hard.
“Have it your way,” he said with another chuckle. “So, what’s your first move?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I visit the scene of the crime and talk to my lovely detective friend.”
“Oh, she’s lovely now, is she?”
“Shut up.”
He twirled his cigar expertly between his fingers, then bit it between his teeth again. “You know, now that Kovak’s a suspect in this case, she’s going to be looking for him, too.”
“Even better. I like a challenge.”
“I’m only paying you if you find him first.”
My stomach roiled, but I laughed good-naturedly and gave him my most confident smile. “Come on, Alek. Have I ever let you down?”
3
The scene of the crime was located south of the city, about twenty minutes’ drive from my office, and although the “ditch” wasn’t visible from the road, the knot of vehicles parked on the shoulder along the highway certainly was.
I counted three police cruisers, one unmarked car, and an ambulance. Overhead, power lines stretched like a spiderweb. One of the wooden poles had recently been removed, replaced with a fresh one, its wood grain lighter in color than the others. The damaged pole had been left in the drainage ditch, snapped jaggedly in two.
I pulled off, parking under the trees with my windows cracked so my truck could sit in the merciful shade while I nosed around.
After placing my sidearm in the glovebox and locking it—wouldn’t want the good old boys to mistake me for some kind of miscreant—I turned off the engine and hopped out. The air here was thick and soupy, and it made for a miserable trip through the mosquito-infested brush. I followed the sound of voices to the crime scene, constantly swatting at the little bloodsuckers as they attacked my arms and face.
When I reached the edge of the tree line, I stopped and stood for a long beat, staring with my mouth agape. I simply wasn’t prepared for the sheer size of the hole in the ground. It was twice the length of a Mack truck and two stories deep, a gray and black scar inexplicably gouged into the land. A group of a dozen cops and crime scene investigators loitered around the area, looking as equally dismayed as I found myself feeling.
A police radio squawked as a pair of uniformed officers wearing dark sunglasses noticed me and began to stalk toward me. I cursed under my breath. For the most part, as long as I stayed out of their way, the cops let me be. But that didn’t mean they liked having me around their crime scene.
Fortunately, a tall woman with curly dark hair angled quickly to intercept their advance. I put my fist to my mouth to conceal a smirk as their puffed-up chests deflated. Detective Sheila Gonzalez exchanged a few words with the uniformed officers, making it clear she would be dealing with me personally. The knowledge that she outranked them was implicit in her stance. The officer on the right nodded, as did the shorter one on the left, who, unfortunately for him, had the audacity to roll his eyes.
“I saw that,” Gonzalez said, cool and collected as ever. “Got something you want to say to me, Officer Danforth?”
“No, ma’am,” Danforth said, blushing and staring at his shoes. The two turned and marched away to take up their posts again.
Another plain-clothes cop, a wispy-looking man, consulted with one of the CSI guys as they looked at a tablet together. I figured since Gonzalez said something to him before she turned back to me, it must have been her partner, though I didn’t recognize him. She edged around the crater and came to meet me at the tree line.
“You didn’t waste any time getting out here,” she said.
I squinted. The mischievous twinkle in her eyes gave it away. “Knew I was coming, huh? Sergeant McHale must have tipped you off.”
“At the station, you have somewhat of a reputation.”
“Oh yeah? What do they say about me?”
“That you’re a royal pain in the ass. So, apparently, not much has changed.”
“Hey, I stay in my lane,” I argued playfully.
“I don’t believe you.”
“What? Sheila, come on. You were just a bored beat cop when you were last in Austin, so we didn’t have a reason to work together. If we had, you’d know that I’ve never been anything but professional.”
She snorted. “Debatable.”
Detective Sheila Gonzales stood five foot ten, just a few inches shorter than me. She wore gray slacks, a light blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and no makeup—or little enough that it wasn’t apparent. No jewelry except her badge hanging on a chain around her neck, either. Her thick black curls were tied back with a plain black band poofing out at the end from the humidity. She was obviously less concerned with how her hair looked than the fact that it stayed the hell out of her way.
“Cameron Kovak failed to appear at court for his DWI hearing,” I said. “I’ve been sent to collect him.”
Gonzalez flashed me a half-hidden smile. “Bet I want him more.”
For a second, I seriously considered taking her on, making this a competition like we would have had in the old days. But I didn’t have the money to waste on some juvenile bet. I let the impulse go, and thumbed at the corner of the past-due notice from my landlord, forgotten until now in my back pocket. I couldn’t afford to screw up the only chance I’d had in months at landing a decent paycheck. “I know that look. No, thanks.”
Our competitive natures were the primary reason Sheila and I were ultimately incompatible as a couple. The nerve to kneecap your opponent in order to win? We both had that in spades. A willingness to compromise? Ehhh, not so much.
“Besides, you don’t have a chance. Tracking down frightened fugitives happens to be a specialty of mine. I’ll find him in no time flat.”
She snorted. “Oh yeah? If you’re such a genius, where is he right now?”
“He got scared and went to ground somewhere safe and familiar. It happens all the time.”
She frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Once I get my bounty, I’ll turn him straight over to you.”
“You know we can’t work together, Andy. The department doesn’t like it.”
I shuddered. Andy. Hadn’t heard that nickname in years. Sheila was the only one apart from my mother who ever called me that. In both cases, it meant I was in trouble—or at least caught thinking about doing something neither of them would approve of.
I took a few steps past her, studying the huge hole and making sure the snoopy cops loitering and watching us from the other side couldn’t read my lips. “Doesn’t have to be on the record. You always used to say talking to me helped you think.”
After a brief hesitation, Gonzalez stepped up beside me. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, as if she was sore from standing. How long had she been out here, puzzling over this strange scene? After a few beats of silence, she said, “I�
�ll tell you what I told the press, but that’s all. The victim’s body was found down there. Call came in this morning. Some kids skipping school found it—sure they'll be having nightmares for a month. We’ve been out here ever since.”
“Kids? Damn. Any sign of Kovak?”
She shook her head.
Surrounded by yellow police tape on all sides, the pit was coated with a layer of gray ash. Dark soil and limestone rubble were visible, along with dozens of footprints that crisscrossed from the edges down the sloping cutout. It would be impossible to tell which tracks might have belonged to my friend Cameron Kovak at this point. A few guys and a gal were still down there, taking photographs with expensive cameras.
“Where’s the body now?”
“Back at the morgue, getting examined,” she said.
“Cause of death?”
“Inconclusive.”
“Come on, Sheila. Give me something. If this guy is dangerous, I need to know.”
Looking around to make sure the two junior officers still remained at their lookout posts and out of hearing range, Sheila lowered her voice. “Edwards’s body was just skin and bones. Folds piled up like he’d just had liposuction.”
“Plenty of places he could have had plastic surgery in Austin.”
“Not like that,” she said. “He looked like a—I don’t know—a Halloween costume. You know, the full-body kind, but loose and baggy. Like someone had been wearing him and then took him off and dropped him down there.”
I rubbed my neck. “That’s bizarre. And you think Cameron Kovak could have done that? How is that even possible? Witchcraft? Or is he some sort of mad scientist?”
“No idea. Can’t really rule anything out at this point, though calling it witchcraft is sure to do wonders for my career…”
“So, what do you think made this hole?” I asked. “You know what they’re calling it on the news? A ditch. Does this look like a ditch to you?”
Sheila scowled at me. “I told them it was a ditch, and they ran with it. It’s been a pain keeping the press away, but we’ve managed so far. I don’t need any more attention on this case than I already have. If I had called it a ‘crater,’ normal people would think it was some kind of meteor, lunatics would start calling it a UFO crash site, and we’d be overrun by people like that Marsha Marshall you’re always jabbering on about.”
