Harry Dolan Read Online Free PDF Page B

to boost Kristoll out.
    “We’re close,” Kristoll said. “Another foot and a half should do it.”
    It went on. They traded places once again. Eventually Kristoll tossed the shovel over the rim, declared the job complete. Loogan helped him scramble out.
    They retrieved the cot, carried it to the side of the grave. By unspoken agreement, they paused and stood silently for a moment over the body of the thief. Then, because there was no graceful way to do it, they dragged the cot closer to the grave, lifted one side of the frame, and dumped the body in.
     
     
     
    “Something’s not right,” Loogan said.
    Kristoll had picked up the rake and started filling in the grave.
    “What do you mean?” he asked.
    “This has all gone too smoothly,” said Loogan. “Two men set out to bury a body in the woods, and they succeed. There’s no tension. You see what I’m saying?”
    “Not really.”
    “If this were a story for Gray Streets, you’d reject it out of hand.”
    Kristoll smiled. He dragged the rake slowly along the ground. “If this were a story for Gray Streets, ” he said, “I would have gotten a flat tire on the way here. And a helpful cop would have come along as soon as I pulled over. If this were a story for Gray Streets, there would be a mysterious blonde involved, and she would probably knock me over the head and push me down a flight of stairs.”
    Kristoll pointed the handle of the rake down at the body of the thief. “If this were a story for Gray Streets, he would only be pretending to be dead. The two of you would be in league, and the whole point of this exercise would be to lure me into the woods and make me dig my own grave.” He spread his arms out casually at his sides. “If you’re going to kill me, use the shovel. All I ask is: Not in the face.”
    Loogan shook his head. “I haven’t got the energy. But you’ve made my point for me. If this were fiction, things would be something other than what they seem. So what are we missing? Let’s go over the plan. We bury the body in the woods. We gather our tools, pick up the empty water bottles—no evidence left behind. Down the hill to the cars, a quick cleanup, a change of clothes. I drive the thief’s car, you follow along. We take the car to a questionable neighborhood, leave it on the street. And that’s it. The body’s taken care of, the car’s taken care of. What are we forgetting?”
    Kristoll gripped the end of the handle of the rake, holding it upright. He rested his chin on the back of his hand. “Well, you’ve gotten sloppy,” he said. “You forgot to wipe the steering wheel. Now you’ve left your prints.”
    “Fair enough. I’ll wipe the wheel. What else?”
    Kristoll seemed to consider the question for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.
    “What about the gun?” Loogan said.
    The flashlight was aimed at the grave, but in its light Loogan could see Kristoll’s face well enough. It went blank for a second and then life returned to it. To the eyes first. They were the eyes of a man making calculations.
    A trace of a smile formed itself in the corners of Kristoll’s mouth. “You’ve been waiting to ask me that, haven’t you? You’ve been very patient.”
    Loogan said nothing.
    “How did you know about the gun?” Kristoll asked him.
    The question hung in the air of the clearing. Off to the side, the branch that held the flashlight swayed. The clean edge of the circle of light shifted over the ground.
    “The thief had a mark on his ankle,” Loogan said, “the kind of mark made by a leather strap.”
    Kristoll laughed quietly. “You’re a detective.”
    “No. I just read a lot of stories. What do people strap to their ankles? Holsters. What do people keep in holsters?”
    “Elementary.”
    “So he had a gun,” Loogan said. “That’s an interesting fact. And here’s another: You took the gun. I can think of a couple reasons for that. You felt threatened. Your home had been violated. You planned to go