…A Dangerous Thing (18 page)

"I don't have any etchings.
 
I'm not even sure what etchings are."

"Good.
 
So what do you want me to look at?"

"It's a surprise," Burns said.

"All right," Elaine said.

B
urns didn't have any wine, and he didn't have any designer water, so he asked Elaine if she would like some Pepsi.
 
She said that would be fine.

"What did you have to show me?" she asked when he had poured the soft drink.

Burns went into his office and brought out the yearbook he had found in Henderson's office.
 
He had spent part of the afternoon examining the picture of Henry
Mitchum
with a magnifying glass.
 
He still couldn't make up his mind about it.

"I didn't know you went to San Diego State," Elaine said when she saw the cover of the yearbook.
 
"Did you play baseball there?"

"No," Burns said. "That was somewhere else.
 
This yearbook isn't mine.
 
It belonged to Tom Henderson."

"How did you get it?"

"I don't think you want to know."

"Why not?"

"Never mind.
 
I want you to look at some pictures."

Burns opened the book to the page with
Mitchum's
photo.
 
He handed the book to Elaine.

"What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"I can't tell you that.
 
Well, maybe I can.
 
I want you to tell me if anyone on those two pages looks familiar."

Elaine set her Pepsi on the coffee table and took the yearbook.
 
She held it in her lap and looked down at the photographs.
 
Burns sat beside her, ignoring the pain in his backside, and waited patiently for her to say something.

"Maybe this one does," she said after several minutes.

She had her finger under the picture of Henry
Mitchum
.

"Why?" Burns asked.

"I'm not sure.
 
Something about the eyes."

Burns decided to give her a hint.
 
"Think about the HGC faculty."

Elaine thought.
 
And thought.

"The English faculty," Burns said.

Elaine thought some more.
 
Then she said, "Eric Holt?"

Bingo, Burns thought.
 
"That's what I thought.
 
But it's hard to say for sure."

"What difference does it make if two men happen to resemble one another."

Burns explained that Henderson thought he recognized Holt from somewhere and that the yearbook had been on Henderson's desk.

"I'm not sure I see what you're getting at," Elaine said.

"I was just wondering if Eric Holt is really who he says he is," Burns said.

He went on to explain that Holt was, after all, a somewhat mysterious character, a well-published scholar who never went to meetings and preferred to spend his life as far from the academic mainstream as he could get.

"But this probably isn't even him," Elaine said.
 
It's only something about the eyes.
 
The rest of the face isn't the same at all."

"Of course not.
 
Holt has that thick beard.
 
The eyes are the only thing we have to go on."

"It's not a lot."

Burns had to admit that it wasn't.
 
"And even if it does mean something, it doesn't prove that Holt had anything to do with Henderson's death."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to see if I can find out anything about this Henry
Mitchum
.
 
I'll call the school tomorrow."
 
Burns took the yearbook from Elaine.
 
"And I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this to Boss Napier.
 
This is probably nothing at all, and I wouldn't want to get Holt into any unnecessary trouble."

"Do you think R. M. might do something to Eric?"

Burns didn't like to hear Elaine using Holt's first name any more than he liked hearing her refer to "R. M."

"No.
 
Well, he might question him.
 
I don't want to start anything like that until I have more to go on."

"What about your friends?"

"What friends?"

"You know very well.
 
Mal and Earl.
 
You heard what Mrs. Henderson said about them, and she said that she told R. M. the same thing."

Burns admitted that he was a little worried.
 
"But I'm sure they didn't do anything to Henderson, because I'm sure their wives are completely innocent.
 
If anything happened between them and Henderson, they dealt with it themselves, just like you did, and didn't tell anyone."

"Maybe they told each other."

Burns thought that was likely, but he was more interested in something else.
 
"Just exactly what did Henderson say to you that day in the library, by the way?"

"He said something about my figure."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I told him that if he didn't get out of my office in two seconds I was going to stuff a
bullriding
trophy down his throat."

"And did he leave?"

"Of course he did.
 
He could tell I wasn't kidding."

Burns thought about that.
 
"I guess I shouldn't try making a pass at you then, should I."

Elaine looked around the room.
 
"Oh, I don't know.
 
I don't see any trophies handy."

Burns smiled.
 
This was turning out to be quite a night.

B
urns was feeling awfully good the next day, better than he'd felt in a long time.
 
Thanks to his mildly successful pass of the previous evening, he was beginning to think that maybe he was getting a little bit ahead of Boss Napier in the race for Elaine's affections.

He didn't want to think about murder at all, but now that he'd started investigating, he couldn't stop.
 
There was something about digging into people's secrets and their pasts that he couldn't resist.
 
Maybe he really did have a talent for investigation.

He could hardly wait to get to the boiler room and talk to Fox and Tomlin.

Fox and Tomlin, on the other hand, were not nearly so pleased with what was going on in their lives.
 
It seemed that Boss Napier had already made his first move in their direction.
 
Burns was actually somewhat grateful; Napier's machinations kept their minds off the fact that Burns hadn't showed up for the Mud Tug.

"I want to know what the hell's going on, Burns," Tomlin said, sucking on his Merit and then breathing out a cloud of smoke.
 
"You've got an in with that cop.
 
What's he questioning our wives about?"

"Hasn't your wife told you?" Burns asked, suddenly craving a cigarette himself.
 
He controlled the impulse to ask for one, however.

"She hasn't talked to him yet.
 
She's supposed to go in this morning."

"Rae's going in too," Fox said, lighting a Cost Cutter.
 
Smoke spiraled lazily up toward the thirty foot ceiling of the boiler room.
 
"I don't understand what's going on."

Burns enlightened them.
 
"I talked to Samantha Henderson last night.
 
She has this fantasy about your wives having been in love with her husband.
 
And maybe one of you killed him in a
rit
of
fealous
jage
."

"That's from one of those Pink Panther movies," Tomlin said.
 
"And I don't think it's a damn bit funny.
 
Joynell
wouldn't have given that creep Henderson a second look, so I didn't have anything to be jealous of."

"And Rae thought he was a weirdo," Fox said, as if that settled everything.

"I didn't make a joke of it," Burns said.
 
"Napier's convinced that Henderson was murdered, and he has to check every lead."

"He'd better not use that bullwhip on
Joynell
," Tomlin told them.
 
"That's all I can say."

"Do you think we'll be questioned?" Fox asked.

It was clear that he viewed getting called to the police station as an evil even worse than getting caught smoking on campus.
 
Or maybe it was the thought of the bullwhip that scared him.

"I don't see why," Burns said.
 
"After Napier talks to your wives, he'll know you're in the clear."

"He'd better," Tomlin said.
 
He dropped the butt of his Merit to the concrete floor and stepped on it, twisting his foot viciously.

Burns was holding the yearbook.
 
After telling them where he had found it, he showed them the picture of Henry
Mitchum
.

"It's that damn Holt," Tomlin said almost at once.
 
"I knew it!
 
He's living under an assumed name because he did some crime back in California.
 
He was
Mitchum
then, but he's Holt now, and he killed Henderson!"

"That's a pretty big logical leap," Burns said.

Tomlin clearly didn't think so.
 
"The hell it is.
 
Nobody changes his name for nothing."

 
"We don't know that Holt is
Mitchum
," Burns reminded him.

"Look at those eyes.
 
I bet Holt knew that Henderson was checking up on him.
 
Maybe he even knew about this yearbook.
 
He was probably going after it when he killed Tom."

"It was on Tom's desk," Burns said.
 
"No one took it."

"Panic," Earl Fox said, dropping one Cost Cutter and getting another out of the pack.
 
"He ran away without it after he knocked Tom through the window."

"Right," Tomlin said.
 
"I knew it all along.
 
Damn hippies.
 
Tom saw him on
America's Most Wanted
, I'll bet you anything."

"He had the yearbook," Burns said.
 
"He didn't need to see anyone on television."

Tomlin ignored him.
 
"And what's more, there's some connection between Holt and Partridge.
 
That's why he's here, and you can mark my words.
 
The two of them probably offed Henderson."

"Offed?" Burns said.
 
"
Offed?
"

"Right.
 
They offed him.
 
Now all we have to do is catch them together."

"What would that prove?" Burns asked.

"You're the detective," Tomlin said.
 
"You figure it out."

Burns tried, but he didn't see the connection.
 
He had, however, thought of a better way to get information on Henry
Mitchum
than by calling the school.
 
He would get Napier to check to see if
Mitchum
had a criminal record.
 
He told Fox and Tomlin his plan.

"Maybe you ought to talk to Holt first," Fox said.
 
"Hear his side of this."

Tomlin snorted smoke through his nose.
 
"Yeah.
 
Right.
 
If he
has
a side."

"No, Earl's right," Burns said.
 
"I do have to talk to Eric."

But not about the photo, he thought.
 
No need to make Holt any more suspicious than he was likely to be when Burns asked him about his whereabouts on Tuesday evening.

Besides, it was possible that Henderson had said something to Holt about the picture, and look where Henderson was now.

That thought reminded Burns of something.
 
"Are you two going to the funeral tomorrow?"

"Sure," Tomlin said.
 
"But only because I feel like I have to."

Burns knew what he meant.

"What about you, Earl?"

"Yes.
 
That is, if Rae doesn't have other plans for us.
 
It was thoughtful of Samantha to wait till Saturday for the burial, wasn't it?
 
That way it won't interfere with classes."

"You could go without Rae," Tomlin said.