“More than one person?”
“It’s a good guess. That shot is a kill shot, clean. He’s wrapped in what looks like two or three garbage bags. See the tape connecting the two at his waist? Seems a weird choice of material to cover him. Almost like they didn’t have anything else on hand. Whoever dumped him here also didn’t dig this grave deep at all. I mean you were able to use your hands to get at him faster than it probably took to cover him.” Beau shrugs. “Seems sloppy compared to the shot that killed him.”
I nod because that’s what you do when a former detective is talking so casual about the former medical examiner and his trash bag and dirt cocoon.
Beau stares a little long.
Then he shakes himself.
“I need to call Lee,” he says. “Can you drive us to the ranch? The animal shelter to be specific. Unless you have somewhere we can lay low until we get some kind handle on it?”
“The animal shelter sounds good to me.” I stand and look down at poor Mr. Cleary. “How long do you think he’s been, well, in here? Can you guess?”
I think about Mr. Cleary’s daughters. They’re grown and have their own families somewhere out in Texas, but distance doesn’t do a thing for love and grief.
Beau cocks his head to the side like he’s running calculations.
“More than a day, less than three.”
He starts using his hand to use his phone.
I can’t help but ask another blaring question.
“Do you think Guidry did this?”
Suddenly, him being in the ground is the less daunting option of him being the one to put Mr. Cleary into it.
Beau’s brow is drawn. His jaw is set hard.
His scar is shining.
“I think this cemetery means something to Guidry,” he says. Then, after a second. “It would be a mighty coincidence if he didn’t have a hand in putting Mr. Cleary here.”
There’s not much more to say after that. I drape the opened part of the garbage bag back over Mr. Cleary’s body.
Then we leave in my Jeep.
It’s only when I hear Beau updating Lee on the phone next to me that I think about the men at the Fulton house.
Specifically, the man I shot.
After the house went quiet and he stilled, I kicked his gun away from his hand, took his keys, and tried not to focus on the blood around him growing in a puddle.
Then Lee told me to leave fast.
So I did that too.
I wonder if I killed him.
I wonder if me leaving him alone killed him.
I wonder when all of this will catch up to me.
But as I drive and Beau talks, I pretend we’re not doing anything but cruising on a nice Tuesday morning.
CHAPTERTHIRTY
Beau
