Джон Гришэм - Camino Winds

“I like it,” Bob said. “But where’s the blood on the floor?”

They looked at their feet. All six were on a wet and stained rug. Nick said, “It’s too dark in here to see anything, but what if, and, again, just indulge me, but what if we’re standing in the middle of a crime scene?”

Bob said, “I didn’t do it, I swear.”

Bruce said, “Let’s take a closer look at his head.”

They studied each other’s eyes for a second, then tiptoed back to the patio. Nick took the lead and inched closer to the corpse. He lifted a towel and leaned down. The bloody gash above Nelson’s left ear was sickening and, to their untrained eyes, certainly looked ghastly enough to cause death. Using the towel and being careful not to touch him with his fingers, Nick tried to lift Nelson’s head, but his neck was already stiff.

Nick stood and said, “Okay, here’s what I think we should do. Let’s roll the body off and let it land on the deck. We need to see his face and the other side of his head.”

Bruce said, “Not so sure about that. The cops have seen him and they’ll know we messed with the corpse.”

Bob said, “I agree. I ain’t touching him.”

Nick said, “Okay, then we can put him back to where he is right now. But we need to see everything.”

“Why?” Bruce asked. “What’s your theory?”

“The killer hit him once inside and knocked him out, then dragged him out here and whacked him again, probably more than once, to finish him off.”

“In the middle of the storm?” Bruce asked. “With rain coming down in sheets?”

“Exactly. The killer wasn’t worried about getting wet. Don’t you see? It was the perfect time to kill him.”

“With what?” Bob asked.

“Exactly! With something the killer found in the apartment. He didn’t show up at the door with a gun or a knife. He got inside, maybe it was someone Nelson knew but sure as hell didn’t know what he wanted, and he let him in because he was roaming around in a Cat 4. The guy grabbed a fire poker or a baseball bat or something he probably knew was in the apartment, and used it.”

“You’ve read too many crime novels,” Bob said.

“You’ve already used that line,” Nick replied.

They stood still and gawked at poor Nelson. Bruce retreated to the shade and returned to his chair. Nick and Bob slowly did the same. The sun was bearing down, the temperature getting hotter. Around them the rescue was coming to life as more choppers buzzed about and more chain saws were heard in the distance.

It had been an hour since the cops left.

2.

Nick stood and without a word walked to the corpse, pulled off the towels, grabbed Nelson by his legs, and rolled him off the brick wall. He landed on the patio, faceup. Bruce and Bob hurried over for a look.

His right eye was swollen shut and there was another gash above it. “Just what I suspected,” Nick mumbled to himself. “Would you please get me the flashlight?”

Bruce found it on the kitchen table and brought it outside. Nick took it and knelt low over the head, as if searching for lice. He found a knot on the crown of the skull, hidden by thick hair, and continued his search. When he finished he reclined against the brick wall and said, “Looks like the limb hit him at least three times. Want to explain that?” He was looking at Bruce, who was speechless.

Bob said, “Okay, okay. Now let’s put him back up there before the cops get here.”

“No! The cops need to see this,” Nick said. “We’re talking about murder, guys, and the cops do the investigating. Or at least they’re supposed to.”

Bruce said, “Okay, but cover him up. I can’t stand to see his face like that.”

Nick gently placed the two towels over Nelson.

Bob, who in another life had spent time in a federal prison, was nervous. “Look, we probably left some fingerprints in there. Shouldn’t we try to rub things down?”

“Hell no,” Nick said. “The cops said we could go inside. If our prints are there it’s because we were there. Doesn’t mean we’re involved in the crime. And if we start rubbing things we might destroy prints left by the killer.”

“Good point,” Bruce said. “Do you think he left the murder weapon behind?”

Nick, now the head sleuth by default, thought for a second and said, “I doubt it. He probably fled in the storm and it would’ve been easy to discard anything in this mess. But we should look around.”

“I’m not going back in there,” Bob said. “In fact, I’m thinking about leaving now. I need to start ripping out carpet.”

“We’ll help you,” Bruce said.

“You can’t leave,” Nick said. “You found the body and the cops will want to talk to you. They asked us to stay here.”

“Right,” Bruce said. “Let’s stay put until they tell us to leave.”

Nick said, “I’ll be inside. You guys want another hot beer?”

Both nodded and Nick brought out two more bottles. He left them on the patio and walked around the kitchen, careful not to touch anything. He found a dish towel and used it to open cabinets and cupboards. In the den, he noticed that the set of four fireplace tools was intact in the wrought iron holder. Using the flashlight and not touching the tools, he carefully examined the poker, tongs, shovel, and brush. Only the poker was a possibility. The tongs would be too unwieldy. The shovel and brush could not deliver a lethal blow, at least in his amateur opinion. With his cell phone, he took photos of the stains on the wall in the den.

On the patio, Bruce asked, “Who in the world would want to kill Nelson Kerr?”

“I can’t begin to imagine,” Bob said. After a long pause he asked, “Do you really believe this, Bruce?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I say we take a deep breath, wait for the cops, and let them deal with it.”

“I agree. But right now they’re running in circles. Hell, we’re all stunned. I’m not sure we’re thinking that clearly right now. I was up all night, not a wink of sleep, and scared to death. I’ll be honest.”

Upstairs, Nick entered the master suite, which was even darker. He opened the shades and eased around the room, touching nothing. The bed was unmade. There were clothes on the floor. Nelson kept the downstairs neat but not his bedroom. Nick walked through the other bedroom and found nothing of interest—no more blood, no possible murder weapon. He looked in the two bathrooms; nothing.

On the patio, Bob said, “You know, it’s possible that he got hit by more than one limb. Look, they’re all over the place. I’m not sure I’m buying this murder story.”

“And the blood on the wall?”

“Are you sure it’s blood?”

“No. I’m not sure of anything, except our pal Nelson there is quite dead.”

“Should we move him out of the sun? Hell, he’s just roasting.”

“It’s not bothering him. No, we’re not touching him again.”

They sipped their hot beer and studied Nelson. The shadows were shifting and they would soon lose their shade.

In the garage, Nick found Nelson’s shiny BMW sitting unscathed. An impressive rack of fishing rods covered one wall. A bag of golf clubs was in the corner. On a small workbench, Nelson had neatly arranged the usual assortment of household tools, gadgets, and supplies. Extra lightbulbs. Cans of insect and wasp repellent. Nothing was out of place. Indeed, his garage was tidier than his bedroom. A designer tool kit sat unopened and Nick toyed with the idea of having a look inside. He was particularly interested in the hammer, if it hadn’t been removed, but he resisted the temptation to touch it. Let the cops do that.

Bob said, “There are some bad guys in his past, right? I mean, he wrote about some pretty nasty boys.”