…A Dangerous Thing (22 page)

That wasn't strictly true, but Burns didn't think it would do any good to split hairs.
 
"I'm not trying to weasel out of anything.
 
But none of this politically correct stuff was my idea."

Napier sat back down.
 
"So that's it.
 
Political correctness.
 
I should've known."

"Why?" Burns asked, surprised.

Napier gave him a hard look.
 
"You think I don't know what's going on in the world, don't you, Burns.
 
You think I'm a real dummy, and all I do is watch
Hawaii Five-0
reruns in my spare time, isn't that right?"

Burns was well aware of Napier's fondness for Steve
McGarrett
and the men of the Hawaiian State Police.
 
"I know you like to paint model soldiers, too."

"Yeah.
 
Right.
 
That and watch TV.
 
But that's not all, Burns.
 
I even read newspapers and magazines occasionally.
 
So I know a little about political correctness and how it's the big thing on college campuses these days."

Burns was curious.
 
"Well, what do you think of it?"

"I think it's cultural Nazism, that's what I think.
 
It's not just in the schools, either, Burns.
 
It's all around us.
 
I read that in some city in Canada you can't even call a manhole cover a manhole cover anymore, not if you work for the city.
 
You have to call it a 'maintenance access cover.'
 
What would an English teacher think about that?"

Burns thought it was about the same thing as calling a toothbrush a "home plaque removal implement," though the purpose was slightly different.
 
Not all that different if you thought about it, however.

"That's what I think, too," Napier said.
 
"I don't mind calling a fireman a firefighter, and I don't see anything wrong with talking about mail carriers instead of mailmen.
 
But
maintenance access covers
?
 
It's just stupid, if you ask me.
 
That's off the subject, though, and it's not what I came here to talk about."

Too bad, Burns thought.
 
If Napier had gotten sidetracked, it might have been easier all around.
 
In fact, the idea was so appealing that Burns tried again to steer Napier away from the subject of
lookism
.

"I'm sure you didn't come here to talk about anything that trivial," he said.
 
"You probably came to talk about Tom Henderson's murder."

Napier's jaw tightened.
 
"The murder.
 
No, Burns, that's not really why I came here.
 
But you're right.
 
Maybe this other stuff is just trivial, considering that someone's been killed.
 
So let's talk about that.
 
Let's talk about the murder."

Burns started to relax.

But not for long.
 
Napier glared at him.
 
"And then we'll talk about Elaine Tanner and
lookism
and what a low-life backstabber you are."

"All right," Burns said weakly.

"Yeah," Napier said.
 
"But now let's talk about the murder.
 
You go first, Burns."

So Burns went first, thinking about the story of Scheherazade, although he was afraid that he couldn't hold out for a thousand and one nights, as appealing as the idea was to him.
 
Napier wouldn't let him get away with it.

His only hope was that Napier would get so caught up in the murder case that he wouldn't remember his real purpose in visiting.
 
Somehow, Burns didn't think that would happen, but it was worth a try.

I
n fact, Burns didn't last anywhere near a thousand and one nights.
 
He didn't last even fifteen minutes, for the simple reason that he didn't have that much to say.
 
He didn't want to make any accusations about
Melling
or Holt because he didn't really know anything for sure.
 
Of course he knew that
Melling
had lied about being in Henderson's office at first, and he was convinced that
Melling
hadn't told him the whole truth even yet, but that didn't make the man a killer.

On the other hand, Holt was obviously concealing something as well, but what he was concealing might not be murder.
 
Then again, it might be, but Burns wasn't sure of that.

And Burns hadn't even talked to Kristi Albert yet.
 
He was planning to do that on Saturday if he could find her after Henderson's funeral.

So all he could do was tell Napier that he was "looking into things" and mention that Henderson had something of a reputation as a womanizer or at least as someone who was not above a little sexual harassment now and then.

"But not to hear his wife tell it," Burns went on.
 
"Her version of the story is that Henderson was irresistible to women.
 
They were the ones who came on to him instead of the other way around."

"You've been talking to your buddies, haven't you?" Napier said.

"Not since early this morning.
 
Why?"

"I talked to their wives about Henderson.
 
Mrs. Henderson told me that both of them were after her husband and that their husbands might have done him in."

"You didn't believe that, did you?"

"I never believe anybody in a murder case, Burns."

Burns tried to look offended.
 
"Does that include me?"

"Especially you.
 
Anyway, those two women told me that things were just about the opposite of what Mrs. Henderson had said.
 
Some
body's lying, right?"

"Right," Burns agreed.
 
"Samantha Henderson."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Burns.
 
You never can tell about who some women might be attracted to."

"That's probably a sexist remark," Burns told him.

"Maybe.
 
But if it is, I don't care.
 
Let's just call it an observation based on my experience.
 
Not everyone is attracted to physical appearances."

Burns studied Napier's face to see if there was a double meaning in the police chief's words, but it was like looking at a weathered stone.
 
Napier revealed nothing.

"Did Mrs. Henderson mention anyone else?" he asked.

"Yeah.
 
Somebody named Spelling.
 
Used to be a big-time football player, but now he works at the college.
 
I haven't talked to him or his wife yet."

"
Melling
," Burns said.
 
"He's a recruiter."

"That's him.
 
Mrs. Henderson says his wife used to be all over her husband."

"She's wrong," Burns said.

"That's what you say.
 
How do you know.
 
Have you talked to her?"

"As a matter of fact, I have.
 
Her story is a lot different."

"I'll get around to her, and her husband, too.
 
But that won't let your pals off the hook.
 
Their wives, either."

"Well," Burns said, "if you think
Joynell
Tomlin or Rae Fox would be interested in Tom Henderson, you're not as experienced a cop as I think you are."

The mild jibe didn't bother Napier in the least.
 
"Maybe I'm not.
 
Anything else, Burns?"

"There is one thing.
 
I'd like for you to run a check on someone through your computer set-up.
 
You can do that, can't you?"

"Run somebody through the computer?
 
Sure.
 
I can do that.
 
But didn't you mean to ask me if I
will
to that?"

Now Napier was lecturing him on the use of
can
and
will
.
 
Would wonders never cease?
 
Maybe there was a frustrated English teacher lurking under the tough-cop exterior.

"Yes," Burns said.
 
"That's what I meant to ask you.
 
Will
you do that for me?"

"OK.
 
Now which of your buddies do you want to know about?"

Burns was surprised it had been so easy.
 
"It's not one of my buddies.
 
It's not even someone I know."

Napier was puzzled.
 
"What does this have to do with Henderson's murder, then?"

"I'm not really sure," Burns admitted.

"That's great, Burns.
 
Just great.
 
Now let me be sure I've got this straight.
 
You haven't found out anything about anybody, and you're sure that I'm wrong if I think your buddies might be involved, not to mention this
Melling
, but you want me to run a name though NCIC just out of idle curiosity."

"That covers it pretty well," Burns said.

"OK.
 
What's the name?"

Napier had surprised Burns again.
 
"You're going to give in just like that?"

"Why not?
 
You'll tell me the rest of it when you get around to it.
 
But don't blame me if whatever you're sitting on gets you in big trouble."

"I won't."
 
It was an easy promise to make.
 
Burns didn't see how anything he knew could cause him a problem.

"So what's the name?" Napier asked.

"
Mitchum
," Burns said.
 
"Henry
Mitchum
."

"That's it?"

"Also known as Hank."

"And after I run the name through?
 
Then what?"

"You tell me what you find out."

"Fine."
 
Napier took out a pocket-sized spiral notebook and wrote something in it with a
Bic
pen.
 
Then he shut the notebook and looked at Burns.
 
"And that's it?"

"That's it."

"You're sure there's nothing else?
 
You don't want me to fix a few speeding tickets for you while I'm at it?"

Burns wasn't going to be baited.
 
"No.
 
But thanks for asking."

"Don't mention it," Napier said.
 
He had a thoughtful look. "Funny thing.
 
That name seems familiar to me for some reason."

"Do you watch
America's Most Wanted
?" Burns asked, wondering whether Mal Tomlin could have been right.

"Is that what this is?
 
You've seen some wanted felon on TV and you want me to check him out?"

"No," Burns said.
 
"It was just something that popped into my head.
 
Forget it."

Napier opened his notebook and stared at what he'd written.
 
"I don't know.
 
It's like I've heard the name before but I can't remember where.
 
You ever get that feeling, Burns?"

Burns was having it now, sort of.
 
He was thinking that there was something that he had heard in the last couple of days that he'd interpreted incorrectly, but he couldn't think what it might be.
 
However, he thought that if he could only figure it out, he'd have a completely different outlook on Tom Henderson's murder.

"I've had the feeling," he said.
 
"But it doesn't make much difference, does it?
 
Not unless we can tie it to Tom Henderson.
 
Why don't you tell me what you've found out?"

Napier told him, but it didn't add anything to what Burns already knew.
 
Actually, Napier hadn't found out anything of any significance.
 
So far, his chief suspects were Tomlin and Fox, which was patently ridiculous.
 
Napier and his men clearly weren't as good at investigation as Burns was.

Or maybe Burns just happened to be in a better position to hear things.

"It's not going so well, is it?" Burns said.

"Nope," Napier said.
 
"It's not.
 
Unless your buddies happen to be guilty.
 
Then I'd say it was going pretty well, wouldn't you?"

"Not for them."

"Right.
 
I bet they're counting on you to clear them, Burns.
 
Think you can do it?"