Dead Man's Song

“I mean, with a wife and a new baby, you need to keep this job, am I right?”

Carefully, afraid to commit himself, Barney said, “Ye-ees.”

“Uh huh.” Weinstock rubbed at the corner of his mouth with the back of his bent wrist, his eyes fixed piercingly on the nurse. “Well, let me just say this, then. Right now there are just two people who know about the condition of these two bodies. Correct?”

“Um…yeah, I guess so.”

“Just the two of us. Now, I am going to write a very confidential report on the condition of these bodies. I will only be sharing that report with Mayor Wolfe, and perhaps with the chief—and no one else. I can reasonably expect those two gentlemen to keep this confidential, you understand?” He paused. “You know about it as well.”

“Well sure, but I—”

“And you need to keep this job.”

Barney said nothing.

“So I can also expect that you won’t tell anyone, either.”

After a long pause, Barney said, “Yes, sir.”

Weinstock nodded. “Understand me here, Barney—I like you and we’ve known each other for a long time, so I’m not threatening you. Don’t take it that way, please, but something is very, very wrong here and I need to know with absolute confidence that you are going to maintain the confidentiality of this at all costs.”

Barney’s face was flushed with anger, but he took a couple of breaths and nodded. “Whatever you need, Dr. Weinstock.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, then Weinstock gave a single curt nod. “Okay, I am going to do the autopsies on these officers, and you are going to assist me, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“However, once you leave this room, you are going to forget everything that happened here, understand? Everything you see. Everything I say when I make my notes.” He paused. “Everything.”

“Yes, Dr. Weinstock. Absolutely clear. You can count on me.”

Weinstock wiped sweat from his face with a paper towel. “Good,” he said softly. “Good man.”

“Dr. Weinstock…what’s going on? What’s happening?”

Weinstock looked at him for a very long time, his dark eyes intense, bright, but also watery. “What’s happening?” he murmured. He gave a short, harsh bark of a laugh. “What’s happening is something that can’t be happening.”

Barney frowned at him and felt very afraid.

Chapter 13

(1)

When Jim Polk’s cell phone rang he nearly pissed on his shoes. He jiggled and finished as fast as he could and was zipping up with one hand while digging his phone out of his pocket with the other. He flipped it open, saw Vic’s name on the caller ID and almost—almost—didn’t answer. Instead he flicked a glance at the police cruiser parked at an angle to the entrance to the Guthrie farm, where he could see his partner, Dixie McVey, reading a copy of Celebrity Skin magazine. Oblivious. Polk shifted out of sight behind a big oak and punched the RECEIVE button. “Yeah,” he said.

“You alone?” Vic asked.

“Yeah. Me and Dix are doing some bullshit shift, sitting on our thumbs outside of the Guthrie place. Waste of fu—”

“Are you alone?” Vic repeated, adding some edge to it. “Can McVey hear you?”

“No, I stepped out to take a whiz.”

“Well, put your pecker back in your drawers and listen up.”

“Okay, okay…go ahead,” Polk said neutrally, absolutely sure he didn’t want to hear whatever it was Vic was going to say.

“What’s the scoop on this manhunt bullshit?”

“They’re still looking for Boyd. Nobody’s found shit.”

Vic chuckled. “They will. I just made sure Boyd would be spotted far away from here.”

“You tried that shit before and the dumb son of a bitch came back.”

“Ancient history, it’s all been sorted out now. I can guarantee that he’ll do what we want from now on.”

Polk felt sick. “About that, Vic…why’d he have to let Boyd kill Nels Cowan? Nels was okay.”

“Well, life’s a bitch sometimes, but trust me when I tell you it wasn’t part of the Plan. Boyd screwed up but now he’s more or less on a leash. Either way, these things have a way of working out, so I’m looking at it less as a killing and more as a recruitment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think it means, Jimmy.”

The sickness in Polk’s stomach turned to greasy slush. “Oh, Jesus…”

“That ain’t why I called, though. Your cousin Kenny still work at the quarry? Still the shift foreman?”

“Nah, he got promoted two years ago. He’s assistant manager now.”

“Even better. You tight with him?”

“Sure, why?”

“Good. ’Cause I want you to get him to buy you some dynamite. I’ll e-mail you the specs on how much I need.”

“What the hell do you need dynamite for?” Polk said, his voice jumping an octave, and he looked around as if he expected Dixie McVey to be standing right there taking notes.

Vic’s voice was chilly. “You don’t need to know that, Polk.”

“Bullshit, Vic, I—”

“Let me rephrase that, dickhead…you don’t want to know. Am I being real clear here? If not I can swing by your place and explain it to you in person.”

Polk closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree.

“I’m pretty sure I remember giving you a shitload of cash the other day, Polkie,” Vic said. “And I’m pretty sure you didn’t give it to charity. From what I heard you bought a bottle and a piece of ass the second you were off the clock. That means you spent my money, Polk. That means you spent his money. So far I ain’t asked you for much—least not anything big. Now’s the time to earn your dime.”

“Vic…I mean…dynamite? For God’s sake!”

The laugh that came through the cell phone was filled with delight. “God don’t got nothing to do with this, Jimmyboy.”

There was a silence while Vic gave Polk the time to think about his life choices. “Damn,” Polk breathed.

“That’s my boy,” Vic said. “Check your e-mail when you get home, then I’m going to give you two weeks to get what I wanted. Two weeks don’t mean two weeks and one minute. Let’s both be clear on that. Let me down on