Baumbach swelled his chest and tugged at his gun belt. “What have you got?”
A cowboy, I told myself. I need this, I really do. Worse, he was young. He looked like a batboy for a minor league baseball team, yet he was calling me son?
“You have a first name?” I asked.
Baumbach glared at me as if I had just questioned his mother’s occupation.
“Boyd,” he snapped.
“Well, Boyd, it’s like I told dispatch.” I used my chin to point at the woman. “This woman wants to report a dead boyfriend.”
The woman was still sitting on the grass, still staring at her reflection in my car door.
“Ma’am?” Baumbach asked tentatively.
The woman didn’t answer.
“What’s your name, ma’am? Ma’am? You reported a dead body, ma’am?”
No reply.
“Do you live here, ma’am? Is the body in the house?”
Still nothing.
Baumbach glanced up at me.
“I think she slipped into a fugue state,” I said.
“A what?”
“A pathological condition in which a person is conscious of her actions yet has no real control over them. Kinda like sleepwalking.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I read.”
From Baumbach’s expression, you’d think I had just confessed to downloading kiddie porn. He turned toward the house.
“I’m going in,” he announced.
“Yeah? You do that. I’ll see ya around.”
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Hey, man. I’ve got places to go, people to see.”
“No, no, no, no, no. You stay right here.”
I was afraid he’d say that.
I attempted to lean against the Audi, but the surface was far too hot, so I just stood there, arms crossed in front of me, and waited while Baumbach followed the sidewalk to the woman’s house. He opened the front door, stared for a few moments, then quickly closed it without going inside. A moment later he crossed the lawn, moving quickly in a straight line, stopping only when he reached his police cruiser. He braced himself against the hood with both hands, ignoring the heat. He seemed to have trouble catching his breath. Beads of sweat trickled from his hairline and down his jaw. I was willing to bet that the Kevlar vest he wore and the nineteen pounds of equipment he carried were beginning to feel very heavy indeed.
Officer Baumbach stood that way for a full thirty seconds, trying to fill his deflated lungs with air. Finally, he turned to look at the woman. His mouth worked as if he wanted to ask her something. She was still staring at her reflection. Silent. I watched a maggot slither across her bare foot. Baumbach saw it, too. It was too much for him. He moved between the police cruiser and the Audi. Using the bumpers for support, he hurled both his breakfast and lunch into the street.
“You okay?” I asked.
“No, I’m not okay.” After he stopped retching, Baumbach wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glared at the woman. “What did you do?”
The woman glanced up at him, shielding her eyes from the bright sun with the flat of her hand.
Baumbach swooped down on her, grasped her shoulders, and yanked her to her feet. “What did you do?” he said.
“Hey,” I said.
Baumbach shook the woman fiercely. “What did you do?” He shoved her backward. The back of her head thudded against the Audi, and she slid slowly to the ground. She didn’t make a sound.
“What are you, nuts?” I pushed myself between them. “Stop it.”
“Don’t interfere,” he shouted back, shoving me hard for emphasis.
“Do it by the book. Secure the scene. Call CID. Then get the hell out of the way. What’s the matter with you?”
“Did you see that guy? Did you?” From the look on his face I guessed the closest Baumbach had come to real tragedy was watching driver’s ed films in high school.
“He could have died of diphtheria, you don’t know,” I said.
Baumbach grabbed the woman’s collar and dragged her away from the car.
“Why did you kill him?” he said.
The woman didn’t say.
“Answer me!”
When she didn’t, Baumbach gave her a quick backhand across the mouth. It wasn’t a vicious blow, but it certainly got my attention.
“That’s enough,” I said.
I chopped hard at his wrist with the edge of my hand, and Baumbach released the woman. He stepped back and rubbed the spot where I hit him, his breath coming hard, an expression of utter astonishment on his face.
“I’m a cop,” he said.
“Really? How long have you been on the job? Six minutes? Kid, you’re out of control. Think about what you’re doing.”
Baumbach rested his hand on the butt of his gun.
“No one is going to hold it against you if you just sit tight and wait for the adults to arrive,” I said.
“I’m the police officer,” he said. “I’m in charge. Now turn around,” he ordered.
“Look, pal, I’m trying to help you. I really am.”
His fingers tightened around the butt, and for a moment I thought he was going to pull it.
“I said turn around.”
I turned. He shoved me hard against the Audi.
“Assume the position.”