Billy Straight

“Why don't you let him out?” said Petra.

“You wa

“I want to talk to him.”

It took a long time to calm Boehlinger down. He was wearing a gray Washington U. sweatshirt, baggy gray tweed wool trousers, probably from an old suit, and white sneakers. Flecks of spit whitened the corners of his mouth, wisps of hair flew at random angles, and his goatee looked grizzled.

Finally, thirty seconds of silence earned him unlocked cuffs. The moment his hands were free, he brandished fists at the deputies. “You stupid fucking imbeciles!”

Forbes and the shorter man- Beckel- ignored him. Before uncuffing him, they'd held the little man at arm's length as he shouted and kicked- a cartoon situation. Now they headed back to their cruiser, conferring with Ron, as Petra ushered Boehlinger to her car.

“Idiots!” Boehlinger shouted. He coughed, spit phlegm into the dirt, started to rant again. Petra tightened her grip on his shoulder. He was shaking like a lapdog, still frothing at the mouth. “Brain-damaged idio-”

“Please, Doctor!”

“Don't please me, young la-”

Propelling him faster, Petra talked into his ear. “Dr. Boehlinger, I know you've been through hell, but if you don't settle down, we'll be forced to let them arrest you.”

Boehlinger said, “You're an idiot, too! That butcher walks free, bodies pile up, and you threaten me! Goddamn all of you, I'll have you all collecting welfare-”

“Bodies where?” said Petra.

“In there!” Boehlinger jabbed toward the gate. “Behind the pond- there must be a God! I came to get into the house, go through the butcher's papers, some evidence of what he did to Lisa, but I saw a hell-uva lot more than I bargained for-”

“What kind of evidence were you looking for, Doctor?”

“Anything,” Boehlinger said quickly.

“What made you think Ramsey'd left any evidence behind?”

“I didn't think! I hoped! Lord knows you people haven't done a damn thing! I dip into my own pocket, and you don't have the brains and the decency to follow-”

“Dr. Boehlinger,” Petra said firmly. “What evidence were you hoping to find here?”

Silence. Boehlinger's watery blue eyes lowered. “I didn't have a… clear concept. But what could it hurt? This is the place he beat my Lisa. What's to say he didn't write notes to himself- or something Lisa wrote- Stop interrupting my train of thought, young lady, the point is, I went to find something to break the window-”

“The shovel.”

“No, no, no! I chose the shovel after I saw it! I was looking for a chisel to pry the lock. I'm good with tools.”

The last sentence a pathetic boast. Look, Mom, I'm useful. Sulfurous breath blew out from between Boehlinger's lips. His eyes were frightened. Maybe he hadn't been the best father in the world, but Lisa's death had ripped him up. Such a small man.

Petra said, “You switched from the chisel to the shovel after…”

“After I saw the grave. Behind that pond of his.”

“A grave? How can you be-”

“Put your money on it,” said Boehlinger. “Fresh excavation, about six feet long. Far side of the pond. Plants trampled, plants missing. I've been here before. After the wedding, the bastard was trying to impress me. I have an eye for detail, saw the difference right away.”

“Is the pond plumbed?” said Petra. “Maybe there'd been a repair-”

“And maybe Charles Manson's the pope-designate. Don't be stupid, young lady! I've assisted at autopsies, seen my share of crime-scene photos. I know what a grave looks like.”

Ron came back, saying, “Looks like you're off the hook for now, Doctor.” Boehlinger huffed.

Forbes waved from the cruiser and Petra went over.

“Okay, he's yours. Hope you're taking him straight back to L.A.”

“We will eventually,” said Petra.

“Eventually?”

“We're in a bit of a bind, Deputy. He claims he saw a fresh grave on the Ramsey property, but we have no jurisdiction, can't step onto the property to check.”

“A grave? You're taking his bull seriously?”

“Given the details of our case, we can't afford to ignore it.”

“Oh, come on. Burying someone right here?”

Petra shrugged.

“Oh, man.” Forbes turned, and said “Gary?” to Beckel, who was sitting in the car writing an incident report. The shorter deputy had a broad, stoic face and a meaty chin. Forbes filled him in. Beckel said, “What, some kind of serial killer or something?”

“It'll probably turn out to be nothing,” said Petra. “On the other hand, if something did occur, it's your jurisdiction.”

“We can't just go in there,” said Forbes. “No warrant.”

“You've already been in there. Because of Dr. Boehlinger's trespassing- obvious criminal behavior gave you clear grounds for entry. Once on the premises you apprehended a suspect, then noticed something amiss. Fresh excavation.”

“Oh, come on,” said Forbes. “You're putting our nu- Putting us in a position.”

“Okay,” said Petra. “But I'll have to write this up for my boss, and you can bet the first thing Boehlinger's going to do when he gets back is contact the media. He's already played that game.”

Forbes cursed under his breath.

Beckel said, “Let's call it in, Chick.”

“Yeah,” said Forbes. “I'm calling my boss.”

When Petra returned to the car, Dr. Boehlinger was sitting in the backseat with Ron, talking animatedly. Dry-eyed, still tense, but conversing at normal volume. Ron listened intensely, nodding. Boehlinger smiled. Ron smiled back, said, “Interesting.”

“Extremely interesting,” said Boehlinger.

Petra got in the driver's seat.

“So?” said Boehlinger.

“I told them I thought they should take you seriously, Doctor. They're notifying their superiors.”

“In their case,” said Boehlinger, “that encompasses most of the world.”

Petra couldn't help herself; she laughed.

Ron said, “Doctor?” in a prompting tone.

Boehlinger cleared his throat. “I apologize for everything I said before, Detective Co

“Not necessary, Doctor.”

“Yes it is. I've been a rude lout… but you have no idea what it's like to lose everything.”

“True,” said Petra. Suddenly she pictured Kathy Bishop under the knife. It was almost noon- Kathy was probably out of surgery, chest stitched. How much had been taken from her? Petra resolved to call the hospital soon.

“So tell me, Doctor,” said Ron. “Those autopsies you mentioned, were they part of your duties as ER chief, or special consultations?”

“That was years ago, Ron,” said Boehlinger wistfully. Ron? “Back when I was chief resident. I actually deliberated going into pathology, spent some time with the St. Louis coroner's. Back in those days, the place was a regular-”

New man. Dr. Banks, master psychologist.

Shuffling sounds drew Petra's eyes to the side window. Forbes's big feet scraping asphalt. “Okay,” he said, looking at Petra, avoiding Boehlinger. “The boss is coming. Then we'll have a look at this so-called grave.”

Captain Sepulveda was a blocky, silver-haired man around forty-five, with brown-suede skin and an impeccable uniform. He arrived in an unmarked with a third deputy, went onto Ramsey's property alone, and emerged moments later, ordering all three officers inside.

Petra and Ron and Boehlinger waited in the car as Boehlinger rambled on about medical school, graduating top of his class, multiple triumphs as an ER doctor.

Twenty minutes later, Sepulveda appeared, dirt streaks on his shirt, rubbing his palms together. A few athletic steps brought him to Petra's side. His eyes were slits, so compressed Petra wondered how he could see.

“Looks like we have a body. Female, buried four feet down. Maggots, some deterioration, but plenty of tissue still on it, so it's been days, not weeks.”