Once in the clearing, they rolled her in the hole, and when Troy got back with the shovel they took turns tossing dirt in on top of her. Troy was crying. Fritz realized he was weeping as well. Bayard sat on the ground with his back to them, rocking back and forth, murmuring to himself while Austin popped the magazine out of the Astra and reloaded it. Fritz watched him uneasily. Maybe Austin meant to kill all of them. Shoot ’em down and push them into the same hole.
Austin’s tone was conversational. “So here’s the deal. We were together at the cabin, just hanging out and drinking beer. It was a pool party. A few people went home. We stayed to clean up some and then we drove down the mountain together.”
“What do we say about Sloan?”
“She came with us, of course. She needed a ride because Stringer left without her, so we put her in the truck with us and dropped her off downtown. Then we say we went to my house and shot some pool and watched TV. She was fine last we saw her.”
“Is anybody going to believe that?” Bayard asked.
“Why wouldn’t they?” Austin asked. “We’re not killers. We’re just a bunch of stupid kids. If the cops should ask, all we did was goof around until we finally hit the sack around midnight. We admit to smoking dope because that sounds like we’re being candid.”
“We did do that,” Fritz said.
“My point, you ass.”
Fritz was white-faced. “Why would they talk to us at all?”
“Because we’re friends of hers. We were all at the same party. Of course they’re going to ask us if we know where she is.”
“What if someone saw her out on the road?” Fritz asked.
“Didn’t happen. She missed her ride, so she stayed at the cabin until we could give her a lift back to town.”
“Then we’re in the clear?” Fritz asked.
“I didn’t say that. We’re on shaky ground and we have to hang together. Cops are tough and they’re wily. We gotta keep our mouths shut.”
“I won’t say a word. That’s for sure.”
Austin shook his head. “All we have to do is stay calm and stick to the story. Any one of us cracks, it’s all over and I can promise you this. You ’fess up, you’re dead. You got that?”
“What do we do now?” Fritz noticed a tremor in his voice that made him sound weak, even though moments before he’d felt indomitable.
“What do you think we do now? We go back and keep our fucking mouths shut. I just got done saying that. For starters, no one except Iris knows we came up here with her. When Stringer and Michelle and all of them took off, Sloan was fine, right? Last anybody saw of her, she’d had a little too much to drink and she was sleeping it off. What happened was she sobered up and asked us to take her back to town. We said sure. The four of us dropped her downtown, the corner of State Street and whatever. We’re the only ones who know different and all we have to do is get our stories straight, tell the truth as we know it, and stick to that.”
“Won’t someone report her missing?”
“Like who? Her folks are out of town. Maybe she went to a movie or met a friend somewhere. None of our business. She asked us for a ride into town and we were happy to oblige.”
“What if someone finds the body?”
“What are you talking about? No one’s going to find her. Why would anybody even think to look up here? Isolated, rugged. It’s off the beaten path. If the coyotes get wind of her, then aren’t they the lucky ones. Dig her up and cart her off, bone by bone. Nothing left to identify. The only trick is to keep calm. We’re innocent. We didn’t do anything. She asked us to drop her off and we did. End of incident. Someone asks us, we’re as worried as everyone else.”
“But, Austin, they’re dismantling this camp. Look at all the machinery. There must be guys up here every day.”
“That’s why we buried her, schmuck. She’s four feet down. We pack the dirt, maybe leave the excavator on the spot so no one sees the ground’s disturbed.”
“What about the cops?”
“What about them? The average cop is denser than a load of manure. Barely anything going on up here,” he said and tapped his head. “They’d like you to think they’re smart, but what are the percentages? You think they solve even half the homicides that come their way? Guess again. Case gets cold and they’re on to the next, bumbling along the same as always. Just don’t let anybody shake your confidence. We back each other up. Even if they interrogate us separately, all you have to do is button your trap and what proof do they have? Other kids at the party will swear the same thing. Last they saw Sloan, she was doing great. Meantime, if one of you breaks down and blabs? I will kill you.”
Bayard said, “What about the gun?”
“Shit. Good point,” Austin said.
He looked at Troy, who backed off a step, saying, “No way. I’m not touching that.”
Austin pushed the gun into Bayard’s hand. “You take it. I can’t afford to have it on me if I get picked up.”
Bayard said, “I don’t want the fucking thing. What am I supposed to do with it?”
Austin said, “Give it to Iris and tell her to hold on to it.”
“Until when?”
“Until I say so.”
Bayard started to protest, but Austin held up a finger.
“Fine,” Bayard said, annoyed.
Austin said, “Any questions?”
He looked from Fritz to Bayard to Troy, but no one said a word. “Okay, then. We’re set. End of story. Just hang tight and we’ll be fine.”
38
Friday, October 6, 1989
I ate a brown bag lunch at my desk. I’d packed it with care, the “entrée” being one of those peanut butter and pickle sandwiches I’m so fussy about. Whole grain bread, Jif Extra Crunchy, and Vlasic or Mrs. Fanning’s Bread’n Butter Pickles. In a pinch, dill will do, but never sweet. My practice is to cut the finished product on the diagonal and then wrap it in waxed paper that I still fold the way my Aunt Gin taught me. I’d added two Milano cookies and, being ever so dainty, I included two paper napkins, one to serve as a place mat and one for dabbing my lips.
I had just finished arranging the items on the desk in front of me when I heard a tap at the office door. I got up and crossed to the outer office, where I peered around the door frame. Troy waved at me through the glass. He wore his dark blue Better Brand coverall, so he’d apparently come from work. He waited patiently while I went through the disarming and unlocking process. Once I let him in, I didn’t bother to lock the door. If Ned burst in, Troy would make short work of him. He wasn’t tall but he had a brawny look about him, a redheaded fireplug of a guy. As a bonus, he was twenty-five years old, which gave him the advantage over Ned except in the matter of craziness.
He followed me into my office.
“Have a seat,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“This is my lunch hour. I ate in the truck driving over. Spilled crap all over myself.”
I sat down and indicated my spread. “Mind if I go ahead?”
“Have at it.”
“What’s up? I thought you were mad at me.”
He flashed his teeth, which were crooked but very white. “I got over it. ‘What’s up’ is I saw the article about Fritz in this morning’s paper. They found the Astra Constable at the scene.”
“Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”