Act of God

you do, Rog, impersonate a cop?”
    Houle looked at me.
    “Anyway, you get into his place, maybe carrying a weapon of your own, but lo and behold, there’s a fireplace poker there. You remember I told you that’s how Rivkind was killed, while you were in Denver, so you figure using the same kind of weapon is the perfect way for the cops to think Rivkind and Teagle must have been killed by the same person, who couldn’t be you. Tell me, did you find Mrs. Thorson’s videotape in Teagle’s apartment?”
    Houle just kept looking at me, eyes piercing me, really seeing it now.
    “I’m guessing you did, Rog. I’m guessing you figured at that point you were home free. A little covered in blood, maybe, and still distraught over losing Darbra, but at least well-off and in the clear on all the killings. Except for one thing.”
    Houle opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking.
    “Not curious, Rog? Come on now, we’ve gotten this far together, you don’t want to know the one glitch you can’t fix?”
    His hands started flexing.
    I said, “The other videotape.”
    “The other...?”
    “When I was here the first time, remember? You were going on about having to claim the body, how they conducted the identification, the video monitor in the room.”
    “No.”
    “They do keep a copy of that, Rog.”
    “No!”
    “Before they release the body, they make a tape of it, to show the injuries. A tape that will also show the half of the face that wasn’t burned, the features belonging to Darbra Proft, not Caroline Houle.”
    He squeezed his eyes shut.
    Now for the play. It would work, or it wouldn’t. “I haven’t told the cops, yet, of course.”
    The eyes opened, blinking. “What...?”
    “I haven’t told the cops yet, because I wanted to learn about the one thing I didn’t know. Exactly how Caroline died.”
    I suddenly stood and started through the house toward the back. “This way to the garden, Rog?”
    I walked as briskly as my braced knee would allow, so he’d come after me quickly. I heard his steps behind me right away.
    I went out the back door, the flowers and shrubs in front of me, the new potting shed to my left. The plastic bags and garden tools were all arranged in the shed now, as though someone had just straightened it. I turned around to face Houle, putting the shed to my right.
    He came through the door and out, hands still flexing, something off about his breathing.
    I said, “There was only one real problem with your original plan, Rog. Since your theory was that Caroline disappeared in Washington while you were alibied by the Thorsons up here, it would look kind of funny if her body turned up around the house. Damned complicated to get rid of a body, too. Woods? Always hunters and hikers, poking around. Water? Boaters and fishermen. Look at that guy on the sailboat, the lobstermen bringing up the woman he’d weighted down and sent overboard. So, what to do, what to do?”
    I looked over at the shed and snapped my fingers. Houle shifted his feet, moving closer to it.
    “A little creative concrete, Rog? It’d mean you’d have to live here forever, just in case a new owner wanted to tear down the shed, tear up the concrete under it. But what better way to hide the Massachusetts body of the wife who disappeared in D.C.?”
    Houle’s breathing was getting more irregular, his head now shaking a couple of times like a fighter trying to clear it. I wasn’t sure he was seeing his chance.
    “What say you pick up one of those long-handled shovels, Rog, and we do some archaeology?”
    I’d tipped him, but the way he kept his eyes on me while reaching out and grabbing the handle told me he’d been thinking it before I said it. He brought the shovel into both of his hands, first like Little John with a quarterstaff, which would have been a lot more trouble. Then he switched to a baseball grip, a leftie, and swung at me forehand. I jumped back, the knee twinging as I torqued it. He swung backhand, striking me on the left bicep and knocking me downward as I drew the Smith & Wesson Chief’s Special worn over my right hip.
    From the ground, I could see Houle raising the shovel above his head, like a man with a maul to split firewood. When the shovel came forward, I fired three times into his chest and rolled left, the shovel hammering my right shoulder as Houle’s face thumped into the lawn about where my head had been.

    “So, what made you think it was this guy