Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [108]
‘‘Well,’’ I said, ‘‘then George is out one inexpensive, internal modem.’’
When I got back to the office, they told me that Lamar was coming to Bud’s funeral tomorrow. It was true. By ambulance, but they thought he could be helped into the church. We were to watch closely. Any bleeding, or any signs of fainting, and he was to be hustled back out immediately. Lamar was tough. But I was surprised the docs would let him go that soon. It was good news, though, too. I mean, they were letting him go. Things had to be looking up.
Twenty
I’VE TOLD YOU already how much I hate funerals. Especially cop funerals. Bud’s was no exception, so I’ll just hit a couple of highlights, so to speak.
The first came when Lamar showed up, being wheeled into the church by Art and me. We were all three in uniform again, which is de rigueur for cop funerals. We caused a minor sensation, even though we tried to avoid one by going down the side aisle. It was hard to be inconspicuous, with the nurse in trail and all.
The second point of interest was that every cop involved in the investigation was there, including Volont and Nichols, for God’s sake. In the same pew, but not together. I hate to admit it, but having them there did sort of soften my attitude toward them. I hate to admit it, but it did.
The third point of note was that good old Borcherding of the fourth estate was also there, way back on the sidelines outside the gym, but there nonetheless. Nancy was there too. At Hester’s suggestion, we had a DCI tech taking photos of Borcherding all day, and the people around him.
The fourth point of interest, and the best news as far as I was concerned, was that ‘‘The Lord Is My Shepherd, He Rides in My Patrol Car’’ wasn’t on the show bill.
We’d not been bothering Lamar about office business, on doctor’s orders. All through the service, the poor son of a bitch kept trying to get Art or me to answer questions about the state of the office, and the murder of Bud. We’d just put our finger to our lips, pretty much telling him to be quiet and respectful in church. He’d nod furiously, then lean over and whisper a question ten seconds later. He finally got us on the way to the ambulance that was to take him back to the hospital.
‘‘You guys better tell me what the fuck’s happening, or you’re both gonna have your asses on the street lookin’ for work . . .’’ Or something like that. It was kind of hard to hear, with the ambulance engine running and Lamar trying not to make a scene. Art and I both got in the ambulance with him for a minute. We both started with a ‘‘don’t sweat the details’’ attitude, but Lamar knew us better than that. By the time five minutes had elapsed, he knew just about everything, in a general sense. You ever see anybody who was unhappy but content at the same time?
Art and I waved at the ambulance as it pulled away.
‘‘Well,’’ he said. ‘‘That’s over.’’
‘‘For today,’’ I said.
He grinned. ‘‘Yeah. I think we got off easy, don’t you?’’
‘‘Absolutely. Until he finds out what we didn’t tell him.’’
Art and I didn’t always get along, but we’d been together for nineteen years. We coped well.
‘‘Oh,’’ I said, ‘‘I’m gonna have to go to Rumsford’s funeral on Monday.’’
‘‘Why so late?’’
‘‘I’m not sure, but I think it took ’em that long to find somebody other than his partner who gave a shit.’’
‘‘Too bad.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ I said, with feeling. ‘‘It sure is.’’ I figured he’d find out where the funeral was going to be shortly. Spice his life up.
The funeral lunch was excellent. I hobnobbed with Volont and Nichols, as well as Al and the other bigwigs. Everybody on their best behavior, polite, smiling. Volont even said I looked good in uniform. I got the impression he would be happier if it were something in, say, Foreign Legion blue . . . but I could have been wrong.
As soon as I got to the office, I found X1 there, with his laptop. I told him we really, really needed it to monitor something over the weekend, and maybe into Monday, and that I would clear it with Nichols and anybody else who needed to know.