I said, “One of them must have a phone. We’ll call 911. Let the police handle it.”
“Is that smart? These guys have obviously been…well, they didn’t die of natural causes.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“But won’t the police send in a bunch of detectives? Forensic teams? The whole nine yards?” She paused for a moment. “Look, if I have to pay a price for what I did, I’m fine with that. I’ll take what I deserve. In due course. But I don’t want to wind up in jail while Dendoncker is out here, free. And I don’t want some huge investigation getting in our way and stopping us from catching him.”
My agenda was different. I hoped the police would send in a bunch of guys. As many as possible. I wanted them swarming around all over the place. It’s not smart to try and snatch anyone with the law watching you. I was counting on Fenton to realize that. Just not yet.
“That’s all part of the plan.” I pulled what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “You said Dendoncker is paranoid. If he sees the police sniffing around he’ll panic. Make a mistake. Something we can use.”
“I guess.” She didn’t sound convinced.
I moved across to the guy she’d shot second and searched his pockets. He had a bunch of keys on a ring with a square plastic fob. One was for a vehicle. A Ford. Two looked like house keys. One was a Yale. It was new and shiny. The other was for a mortise lock. It was old and scratched. I figured it was for a separate building. A garage, maybe. Or a storage shed. The guy also had a phone. And a wallet. It had no ID in it. No credit cards. But there was $200 in twenties, which I took. Spoils of war. Only fair.
The other dead guy’s pockets yielded a similar haul. He had a keyring with the same kind of plastic fob. One of the keys was for a Dodge. Two were Yales. And one was a mortise, which was also old and scratched. He had a wallet with $120 in twenties. And a phone with a cracked case. I pressed the guy’s thumb to its central button and held it there until the screen lit up.
“Where are we, exactly?” I asked Fenton.
She shrugged. “Everyone in town just calls it The Tree. Hold on a sec. I’ll see what I can find.” She pulled out her phone and prodded and swiped at the screen, then held it up for me to see. “Here you go. Map reference.”
When the emergency operator came on the line I gave him the coordinates and told him I had seen two guys shoot each other during an argument. Then I wiped the phone clean of prints and tossed it away.
I asked Fenton, “Is your Jeep wrecked?”
“No. I didn’t touch the tree. See for yourself.”
I walked around to the front of her Jeep and looked. There was maybe room to slide a cigarette paper between the fender and the tree trunk, but no more. She must be one hell of a driver.
I said, “Good. We’ll take yours. Leave the other one here.”
“Why? An extra vehicle might be useful.”
“True.” The tainted Jeep certainly could be useful. As another juicy morsel for the forensic guys to get their teeth into. Not as transport. “But it’s too big a risk. Dendoncker is bound to freak out when he doesn’t hear from his guys. He’ll send a search party. If either of us was seen with their Jeep, that would screw things up big-time.”
“I guess.”
I retrieved the guys’ guns, plus a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. “I doubt the cavalry will arrive any time soon. But we should still get out of here.”
“Where to?”
“Somewhere private. We have a lot to talk about.”
“OK.” Fenton made her way around to the driver’s side of her Jeep and flipped up the windshield. “My hotel.” She fired up the engine and shifted into Reverse, then sat with one foot on the brake and the other pressing down on the clutch. Both her hands were on the wheel. At the top. Pressed together at the twelve o’clock position. She was hanging on tight. Her knuckles were white. Veins and tendons began to bulge. She closed her eyes. Her chest heaved, like she was having trouble catching her breath. Then she regained control. Slowly. She relaxed her grip. She opened her eyes, which dislodged a couple of tears. “Sorry.” She brushed her cheeks then switched her right foot to the gas pedal and raised the clutch. “I was thinking of Michael. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
Chapter 7
Fenton pushed the Jeep hard. The aged suspension creaked and squealed. The motor rattled. The transmission howled. Clouds of dark smoke spewed out of the tailpipe. She worked constantly at the wheel, sawing back and forth, but she still struggled to keep us going straight. I tried to focus on the road ahead but after ten minutes she caught me glancing down at her right foot.