Triangle

“So, what? We go to a ball game together? ”

“No, it's got to be more than that. Ask him to come visit you. ”

“Oh, that 'd be fun. ”

Pete reloaded and they continued through the grass.

“So,” Doug said. “How’s she doing?”

“Fine. She’s fine.”

Whenever Mo was upset and Pete’d ask her how she was she’d say, “Fine. I’m fine.”

Which didn’t mean fine at all. It meant: I don’t feel like telling you anything. I’m keeping secrets from you.

They stepped over a few fallen logs and started down a hill.

The grass was mixed with blue flowers and daisies. Mo liked to garden and was always driving up to the nursery to buy plants. Sometimes she’d come back without any and Pete began to wonder if on those trips she was really seeing Doug instead. He got angry again. Hands sweaty, teeth grinding together.

“She get her car fixed?” Doug asked. “She was saying that there was something wrong with the transmission. ”

How’d he know that? The car broke down only four days ago. Had Doug been there and Pete didn’t know it?

Doug glanced at Pete and repeated the question.

Pete blinked. “Oh, her car? Yeah, it’s okay. She took it in and they fixed it.”

But then he felt better because that meant they hadn't talked yesterday or she would have told Doug about getting the car fixed.

On the other hand, maybe Doug was lying to him now. Making it look as if she hadn’t told him about the car when they really had talked.

Pete looked at Doug’s pudgy face and couldn’t decide whether to believe him or not. He looked sort of innocent but Pete had learned that people who seemed innocent were sometimes the most guilty. Roy, the husband in the Triangle book, had been a church choir director. From the smiling photo in the book, you’d never guess he’d kill a soul.

Thinking about the book, thinking about murder.

Pete was scanning the field. Yes, there… about fifty feet away. A fence. Five feet high. It would work just fine.

Fine.

As fine as Mo.

Who wanted Doug more than she wanted Pete.

“What’re you looking for?” Doug asked.

“Something to shoot.”

And he thought: Just witnesses. That’s all I’m looking for.

“Let’s go that way,” Pete said and walked toward the fence.

Doug shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Pete studied it as they approached. Wood posts about eight feet apart, five strands of rusting wire.

Not too easy to climb over, but it wasn’t barbed wire like some of the fences they’d passed. Besides, Pete didn’t want it to be too easy to climb. He’d been thinking. He had a plan.

Roy had thought about the murder for weeks. It had obsessed his every waking moment. He'd drawn charts and diagrams and planned every detail down to the nth degree. In his mind, at least, it was the perfect crime.

Pete now asked, “So what’s your girlfriend do?”

“Uhm, my girlfriend? She works in Baltimore.”

“Oh. Doing what?”

“In an office.”

“Oh.”

They got closer to the fence. Pete asked, “You’re divorced? Mo was saying you’re divorced. ”

“Right. Betty and I split up two years ago.”

“You still see her?”

“Who? Betty? Naw. We went our separate ways.”

“You have any kids?”

“Nope.”

Of course not. When you had kids you had to think about somebody else. You couldn’t think about yourself all the time. Like Doug did. Like Mo. Pete was looking around again. For squirrels, for rabbits, for witnesses. Then Doug stopped and looked around too. Pete wondered why, but then Doug took a beer from his knapsack and drank the whole bottle down and tossed it on the ground. “You want something to drink?” he asked.

“No,” Pete answered. It was good that Doug’d be slightly drunk when they found him. They’d check his blood. They did that. That’s how they knew Hank’d been drinking when they got the body to the Colorado Springs hospital-they checked the alcohol in the blood.

The fence was only twenty feet away.

“Oh, hey,” Pete said. “Over there. Look.” He pointed to the grass on the other side of the fence.

“What?” Doug asked.

“I saw a couple of rabbits.”

“You did? Where?”

“I’ll show you. Come on.”

“Okay. Let’s do it,” Doug said.

They walked to the fence. Suddenly Doug reached out and took Pete’s rifle. “I’ll hold it while you climb over. Safer that way.”

Jesus… Pete froze with terror. Doug was going to do exactly what Pete had thought of. He’d been planning on holding Doug’s gun for him. And then when Doug was at the top of the fence he was going to shoot him. Making it look like Doug had tried to carry his gun as he climbed the fence but he ’d dropped it and it went off.

Roy bet on the old law enforcement rule that what looks like an accident probably is an accident.

Pete didn’t move. He thought he saw something funny in Doug’s eyes, something mean and sarcastic. It reminded him of Mo’s expression. Pete took one look at those eyes and he could see how much Doug hated him and how much he loved Mo.

“You want me to go first?” Pete asked. Not moving, wondering if he should just run.

“Sure,” Doug said. “You go first. Then I’ll hand the guns over to you.” His eyes said: You’re not afraid of climbing over the fence, are you? You’re not afraid to turn your back on me, are you?

Then Doug was looking around again.

Looking for witnesses.

“Go on,” Doug encouraged.

Pete-his hands shaking from fear now, not anger-started to climb. Thinking: This is it. He’s going to shoot me. I left the motel too early! Doug and Mo must have kept talking and planned out how he was going to ask me down here and pretend to be all nice and then he’d shoot me.

Remembering it was Doug who suggested hunting.

But if I run, Pete thought, he’ll chase me down and shoot me. Even if he shoots me in the back he’ll just claim it was an accident.

Roy's lawyer argued to the jury that, yes, the men had met on the path and struggled, but Hank had fallen accidentally. He urged the jury that, at worst, Roy was guilty of negligent homicide.

He put his foot on the first rung of wire. Started up.

Second rung of wire…

Pete’s heart was beating a million times a minute. He had to pause to wipe his palms.

He thought he heard a whisper, as if Doug was talking to himself.

He swung his leg over the top wire.

Then he heard the sound of a gun cocking.

And Doug said in a hoarse whisper, “You’re dead.”

Pete gasped.

Crack!