Ralph nodded. “Of the Flint City police. And it’s was. He’s dead, too. I shot him.”
Yune’s eyes widened. “What the hell was he doing here?”
“The outsider sent him. How he managed that I have no idea.”
“I thought he might have left the keys, but no joy on that. And nothing for pain relief in the glove compartment, either. Just the registration, his insurance card, and a bunch of crap.”
“I’ve got the keys,” Ralph said. “They were in his pocket.”
“And I’ve got something for pain,” Holly said. She reached into one of the voluminous side pockets of her beat-up suit coat and brought out a large brown prescription bottle. It was unlabeled.
“What else have you got in there?” Ralph asked. “A camp stove? Coffee pot? Shortwave radio?”
“Work on that sense of humor, Ralph.”
“That’s not me being funny, that’s true admiration.”
“I concur most heartily,” Yune said.
She opened her traveling pharmacy, dumped an assortment of pills into her palm, and put the bottle carefully down on the truck’s dashboard. “These are Zoloft . . . Paxil . . . Valium, which I rarely take anymore . . . and these.” She carefully slid the rest of the pills back into the bottle, saving out two orange ones. “Motrin. I take it for tension headaches. Also for TMJ pain, although that’s better since I started using a night guard. I have the hybrid model. It’s expensive but it’s the best one on the . . .” She saw them looking at her. “What?”
Yune said, “Just more admiration, querida. I love a woman who comes prepared for all eventualities.” He took the pills, swallowed them dry, and closed his eyes. “Thank you. So much. May your night guard never fail you.”
She looked at him doubtfully as she stored the bottle back in her pocket. “I have two more when you need them. Have you heard any fire sirens?”
“No,” Yune said. “I’m starting to think they’re not coming.”
“They will,” Ralph said, “but you won’t be here when they arrive. You need to go to the hospital. Plainville’s a little closer than Tippit, plus the Bolton place is on the way. You’ll need to stop there. Holly, will you be okay driving if I stay here?”
“Yes, but why . . .” Then she hit her forehead lightly with the palm of her hand. “Mr. Gold and Mr. Pelley.”
“Yes. I have no intention of leaving them where they fell.”
“Messing up a crime scene is generally frowned on,” Yune said. “As I think you know.”
“I do, but won’t allow two good men to cook in the hot sun and next to a burning vehicle. Do you have a problem with that?”
Yune shook his head. Droplets of sweat shone in the bristles of his Marine-style haircut. “Por supuesto no.”
“I’ll drive us around to the parking lot, and then Holly can take over. Are you getting any relief from that Motrin, amigo?”
“I am, actually. It ain’t great, but it’s better.”
“Good. Because before we get rolling, we have to talk.”
“About?”
“About how we’re going to explain this,” Holly said.
24
Once they were in the parking lot, Ralph got out. He met Holly coming around the hood of the truck, and this time it was she who hugged him. It was brief but strong. The rental SUV had mostly burned itself out, and the smoke was thinning.
Yune moved—carefully, with several winces and hisses of pain—into the passenger seat. When Ralph leaned in, he said, “You’re sure he’s dead?” Ralph knew it wasn’t Hoskins he was asking about. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. He didn’t exactly melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, but close. When the shit hits the fan out here, they’re going to find nothing but his clothes and maybe a bunch of dead worms.”
“Worms?” Yune frowned.
“Based on how fast they were dying,” Holly said, “I think the worms will decay very rapidly. But there will be DNA on the clothes, and if they should happen to run it against Claude’s, they could get a match.”
“Or a mix of Claude’s and Terry’s, because his change-over wasn’t complete. You saw that, right?”
Holly nodded.
“Which would make it worthless. I think Claude is going to be all right.” Ralph took his cell phone from his pocket and put it in Yune’s good hand. “You’ll be okay to make the calls as soon as you start getting some bars?”