by David Bishop
“We need to get moving, folks,” I said. “Time is an important element in these things.” I turned to face Eddie. “Pick up Charles and put him on the couch. The police won’t like your having moved the body. You didn’t know any better. You acted from caring. That’s part of why I couldn’t have been here. I would have prevented you from moving him. And remember, all of you, Charles was facing the open door to the patio when he was shot.”
Then I stepped closer to Karen. “Take the general upstairs. I want him to shower. Scrub his hair. Clean his knuckles and under his fingernails, his ears and inside his nostrils. Everything he is wearing is to be immediately put in the washing machine with the hottest water possible, including his lap blanket, even his slippers. Clean his glasses, very well. Soak them while he is in the shower. When he’s out, put his wheelchair in the shower and wash it, including the leather seat and back. Have him put on different clothes and come back downstairs. By that time Eddie should be back. Come on now. We’ve got no more than an hour. I came fifteen minutes after the shot and spent about a half an hour outside, then we called the police. Let’s get a move on. Now! Oh. Karen, get the doors and windows open down here. We can’t smell it right now, but the shot fired in here was supposed to have been fired from outside. Get this place aired. Close it up when you come downstairs. Okay. Scat.”
Eddie moved Charles onto the couch. Then Eddie took the wrapped gun from me and left for the garage in a jog. Karen pushed the general’s wheelchair out the door toward the elevator. With them gone from the room, I went out the glass door to do the things I would do if looking around for the shooter or anything left behind. I made sure my footprints were in the garden and across the lawn. I went out into the driveway and along the side of the house noticing the things there sufficiently to be able to discuss where I had looked.
*
Karen brought the general back downstairs a few minutes before Eddie got back. When they returned the general was in his wheelchair with the tube from the oxygen tank aiding his breathing. They had swapped out the seat and back cushion of the wheelchair from the leather one they had scrubbed to a fabric covered set. He handed me an envelope. “Your fee, Matt. You have served my family well.”
We went back over the facts of how we would play it. I cautioned them to put it in their own words so it wouldn’t sound rehearsed. We moved the time of the shooting up so that only about forty minutes had passed before I called Fidge to report the murder of the general’s devoted friend, Charles Bickers.
Someday I will tell Fidge what really went down this day at the home of General Whittaker, after the general has died, in a few days.
This wasn’t perfect justice. Not in an antiseptic textbook fashion anyway. But like I said earlier, I remain more interested in getting things as close to right as possible than I am in how that gets accomplished. And the hell with the details.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-ce30b7-bf46-8d4e-c293-7d2c-893b-b0eae2
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 08.06.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.29, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Bishop, David
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