Chapter 42
DIBELLA SHOWED UP about forty-five minutes after Cromwell, and stood with us in the rain in the grove while the Dowling crime-scene specialist did what he could with the soaking crime scene. They both wore raincoats and hats. I didn't. I figured I had nothing to lose by getting rained on some more.
"Two more dead," Cromwell said.
I didn't say anything. Neither did DiBella.
"I don't like some know-it-fucking-all from the city coming out here and killing people in my town."
"Actually, that's person," I said. "Singular. I didn't kill the girl."
"And you don't think she'd be alive if you hadn't kept sticking your fucking snout into everything around here?"
"She might be," I said.
"On the other hand," DiBella said, "she's probably alive if whatsisname over there, Yang, doesn't shoot her in the fucking chest ... several times."
Cromwell shrugged.
"How many times he shoot at you?" Cromwell said.
"Came pretty fast," I said. "I'd say eight."
"How much brass you find, Clyde?" Cromwell said to the crime-scene guy.
"Eight from the nine, three thirty-eights. Dead guy had six rounds left in his piece. One in the chamber, five in the magazine."
"Thirty-eights are mine," I said. "I reloaded."
"You thought there'd be more people?" Cromwell said.
"I always reload," I said.
From the periphery of my vision, I saw DiBella nod approval.
"So, if that's the case," Cromwell said, "then he probably shot her someplace else and brought her here."
"She's been dead awhile," Clyde said.
"How long," Cromwell said.
Clyde looked up at Cromwell squinting against the rain. "Harry, I got no fucking clue. I do fingerprints and look for clues. I don't know shit about corpses."
"ME'll tell us," DiBella said.
"I want your gun," Cromwell said to me. "Ballistic comparison."
I nodded and took it out of its holster, unloaded it, and handed it to him.
"I'll need it back," I said.
"How do I know you didn't shoot her?" Cromwell said.
"ME'll tell you that she was shot with a nine," I said.
"You coulda had a nine."
"Sure, and before you came, I ate it and the brass."
"Maybe you didn't call us right away."
"C'mon, Harry," DiBella said to Cromwell. "You know he's legit. Besides, the crime scene matches his story."
"He could have arranged that," Cromwell said.
"Why, for crissake?" DiBella said. "You're just sulky 'cause there's another shooting in your town."
"I don't like it," Cromwell said.
"For crissake, Captain Healy vouched for him to me," DiBella said. "Shit happens."
"I don't like it when it happens in my town," Cromwell said.
"Nobody does," DiBella said. "But it's gotta happen someplace."
"We through here?" I said.
"What's your hurry."
"My dog's home alone," I said. "She'll need a walk."
Cromwell looked puzzled.
"You need to borrow a piece until they return that one?" DiBella said.
"Got one in the car," I said.
"I hope it's locked up safe," Cromwell said.
"Gun safety is job one," I said.
Cromwell looked at me and then at DiBella and then at the bodies on the ground and then at my stubby .38, which he was still holding.
"You can shoot," Cromwell said after a time. "I'll give you that."
I didn't say anything.
"Come by in a couple days," Cromwell said. "I'll see that you get the gun back."
"Am I free to go?" I said.
Cromwell stared at me for a minute.
"Yeah. Get some dry clothes. Come in tomorrow, give us a statement."
I nodded and turned toward the street. DiBella came, too.
"Where you going?" I said.
"You're unarmed," DiBella said. "I'm walking you to your car."