

Mad Town

Perry Jewell

Copyright 2018 Perry Jewell

Smashworks Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places. And incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

  1. Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

# Chapter 1

I hadn't realized how much I'd missed the snow and winter until I stepped down on to the tarmac in Madison. It had been better than ten years since I had left home and in all my travels I hadn't made it back to snow country for a winter. There had been too many Christmases spent in rotting green jungles or blazing dry deserts. Granted, I had volunteered to be there but I had had no urge to go home. My parents had divorced about the time I left and both had remarried and moved on. Two siblings, both older had done likewise to lord only knows where. I felt a sharp pang of regret that we had never really been all that close as a family and none of us had made much of an attempt to keep in touch over the years. We were a family of loners with me being the worst.

As I stood looking over the snow I heard a discreet cough behind me. Without looking I stepped to the side.

"First time in the snow?"

I glanced over at the speaker. It was the cool elegant type I had noticed getting on the plane in Chicago. I had guessed her as some kind of professional, probably a lawyer from the papers she had taken from her hand tooled briefcase as soon as she had taken her seat. Her clothes were off the rack, a very expensive exclusive rack, and her auburn hair was done up in an intricate coronet braid. She reminded me of a red headed Grace Kelly from To Catch a Thief. What had surprised me were her eyes. They were a pale brown, shading towards the color of old gold coins. They were absolutely stunning in their impact.

"Not really. Its more of a homecoming." I said smiling. Her answering smile was more brilliant than the sun on the snow.

"Well then, welcome home. I'm Claire Bennings."

Her handshake was firm in spite of the cold. There was a brisk wind out of the northwest buffeting us with dry arctic air. She was bundled in a large fur coat, the collar turned up high around her neck. My black leather coat was half open. I guessed the temperature at about ten degrees with a pretty stiff wind chill taking it well below zero but after the heat and humidity I was used to I was reluctant to zip it up.

"Lane Garrison. Do you live in Madison or are you here on business?"

"I live here. I'm an attorney with the Attorney General's office." She shivered and clutched her coat tighter. "Mr. Garrison, I don't mean to sound pushy but..."

"Could we continue this talk in the terminal? Out of this wind?" I finished for her.

"Yes, please."

We headed for the terminal at a brisk walk. I could feel her glance at me several times during the short trip but she didn't speak again until we were well inside the terminal and headed for the baggage claim area.

"How could you stand that cold with just that light jacket?"

"I couldn't. I was just as cold as you."

She looked at me questioningly.

"Like I said, this is a homecoming. I've been gone a long time and I just didn't have it in me to notice the cold all that much. And what I did notice was an enjoyable change. Give me a few days and I'll notice it right away. Right now its too well remembered to be a problem."

"You're a rather eloquent man when you want to be."

I laughed as the carousel rumbled to life.

"And out of place here with that tan. May I ask where you got it?"

"Not at all. I just finished a job in Spain two days ago."

"Spain? What kind of job?"

"Construction. I was the assistant field manager on a road and bridge project down near Cadiz."

My flight bag came by so I hefted it off and set it at my feet.

"Which one is yours?"

"You don't have to..."

"I know. Which one?"

" that blue overnight."

It came over so I picked it off the belt and grabbed my own, slinging the strap over my shoulder.

"It really isn't necessary, you know."

I just smiled. She was watching me again, trying to decide something. I motioned towards the door and she fell in to step beside me.

"I'm heading downtown if you don't have a ride. Could I drop you somewhere?"

She hesitated at the doors, studying me with serious eyes then gave me another smile. Lower wattage. Like Mona's.

The cab was warm and the lady sitting next to me had opened her coat. She was watching me with open curiosity while I watched the passing scenery. Her attention only registered on a small portion of my mind as my thoughts went over, for what seemed the hundredth time since Chicago, what it was going to be like to see my old friends again. I was torn between excitement and apprehension.

"Are you always so rude, Mr. Garrison?"

I took a slow deep breath and brought my attention back to the inside of the cab. I liked the gently mocking tone in her voice and the mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Not usually. I'm afraid I have a lot on my mind."

"You must. I haven't had a man deliberately ignore me since I was twelve."

"I can imagine."

"You make me wonder if I've forgotten my makeup or something."

"You could forget your makeup and still turn every eye in a hundred yard range."

She smiled demurely.

"I was beginning to wonder if you had noticed."

I laughed and shook my head.

"Hardly, Miss Bennings."

"Claire, please."

"All right, Claire. You're a lady used to being noticed and appreciated. You know damned well the effect you have on men."

Her smile faltered a second.

"Most men. Or should I say members of the male species?"

"And I'm not?"

"I don't know. Yet. You seem different somehow."

"How different?"

She put her finger to her lips and those golden eyes watched me closely. Meeting those eyes was both easy and difficult. Easy because she was very beautiful. Difficult because there was something behind them that kept trying to reach out to me. The mood shifted as they grabbed hold and suddenly the inside of the cab became too close. We both felt it. Luckily we were pulling up to the Capitol and the cabbie said as much. He stopped and went to get her bag. Claire took a slow deep breath then blinked rapidly bringing the lady attorney back.

"A strange man."

She quickly got out of the cab then leaned back in the open door.

"You intrigue the hell out of me, Garrison. I'm going to be a brazen hussy and ask when I'm going to see you again."

I caught a hint of a question that she wasn't used to asking.

"I'll be busy for a few days. How about after Christmas?"

She smiled and shook her head.

"And I suppose there's no way I can get in touch with you."

"Try the Villa Roma. Lew Apollaro will be able to get a message to me."

Her eyes met mine and the rapport flared briefly.

"I'm in the book."

  1.

# Chapter 2

I paid the cabbie and stood on the snowy sidewalk outside the Villa Roma. It hadn't changed. The windowless white walls were still covered in posters and graffiti. Different from the SDS slogans I remembered but in the same general vein. The place was only a couple of blocks off campus and still an open wall political forum. I remembered it for its excellent cheap Italian food. For a struggling underclassman it was always a treat to come down to the Villa and pig out on pasta and dago red. Old Tony Apollaro, Lew's dad, had been generous.

Old Tony. Short, fat balding patriarch from the old country. He had a voice like a gator's bellow and a damn hard hand. I had bussed tables for him for pocket money my one semester at the U. It was where I had met Lew when he came back on leave to visit. He was a few years older than me but I had a season of charter boat crewing down in Florida under my belt and the wander itch growing. That one semester had been all my budget could handle and I really had no idea what I was doing in college so I had enlisted one step ahead of the draft board. I had gone Sea Bee so I had spent the prerequisite time in Ho's paradise but things were winding down by the time I got there. I had run into Lew again there. He was a seasoned second lieutenant running the Quartermaster group at the base I was attached to for over six months. We both managed to make it through our tour in country. After Lew rotated out I was working on an airstrip near Cam Loc when word had reached me about Tony. By that time he had been in the ground almost two weeks. I sent my regrets and got an open invitation to visit whenever I was in town.

The front door was still locked so I walked around back. The kitchen was open for deliveries so I went in. The smells of garlic and tomato wrapped around me like an old friend's hug bringing back memories of dirty dishes and late nights with old Tony pushing us hard in that gravely voice. I set my bag in a corner and headed for the double swinging doors that led to the restaurant proper. The cooks gave me a quizzical look so I smiled and waved. Beyond the doors I could hear a heated discussion with a familiar growling tone. I swung the door open quietly and looked inside. At the bar a short man was waving his arms as he yelled at a trim young man in a suit. I gathered he worked for a liquor distributor and his company hadn't come through with a part of a promised order. Lew was heavier than I remembered but four years of running an Italian restaurant can sometimes do that to a person. As I walked up behind Lew I could hear the salesman's pitch and I could see why Lew was angry.

"Listen, I've got other customers who had their orders in first. I can't just arbitrarily decide who gets what. The computer lays out the schedule and there isn't anything I can do about it."

"You know what you can do with your computer. Villa Roma has been buying from Abco for almost twenty years. When I ask for an order and you say you can do it, I want it done. I don't want excuses."

"We do the best we can. I can see if there's..."

Lew made a disgusted sound and waved the man off.

"Excuse me. Mr. Apollaro, I don't like interrupting but I couldn't help hearing the discussion and I think I can help you."

Lew turned like a cat and glared at me, a hot reply on his lips. When he recognized me his eyes narrowed a touch and a hint of a grin touched his mouth.

"Yes, Mr.?"

"Wayne, Jonathan Wayne." I took out my wallet and handed him one of the various business cards I had collected over the years. Lew palmed it in his big hand so the salesman couldn't see it.

"I represent a distributor who is new to the Madison area. We cater to the specialty restaurants over in the Fox Valley and we've been expanding down the 151 corridor. I can safely guarantee we can supply you with the best in liquors and wines at fair prices. We've been working with some of the finest restaurants and we know how to deliver the products you need, when you need them. We are a family owned business and we believe in keeping relations with our customers on a personal basis. Computers are great organizers but they're not very good at dealing with problems. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Apollaro?"

All during my pitch, the other salesman had tried to hide his growing discomfort. He craned his neck trying to read my card but Lew kept it well hidden.

"Yeah, I like it. How soon can you get me what I need?"

"Lew, there's no reason to go to another distributor." The salesman put in anxiously. "We can get the rest of your order by this afternoon."

Lew gave the clown his best withering glare.

"What about your computer?"

"I'll find a way to work around it. Please, Lew. Give me a chance to see what I can do before you make a decision."

Lew thought for a minute. How he could keep that black glare on his face was beyond me. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I thought the poor guy was going to cry when Lew relented.

"Alright. You get until 2 to get this mess straightened out. You get one more chance. Screw it up and I'll go with Wayne here. Now go get me my product."

The salesman pumped Lew's hand, his feet already shuffling towards the door.

"You won't regret this Lew. Abco will take care of you."

"It damn well better."

Lew waited until the door swung shut before his face split in a grin and he grabbed me up in a bear hug.

"Lane, you old pirate, how the hell are you? Damn, it's good to see you."

He let me loose but kept his hands on my shoulders.

"John Wayne. For Christ's sake, you couldn't come up with something more original? I don't believe the putz bought it. Well, dammit, don't you have anything to say?"

"I would if you'd shut up for a second."

"So talk. What the hell brings you to Madison? Without a call or letter or nothing to tell your old friends you're coming?"

"Just passing through on vacation, Lew. How's the restaurant business treating you?"

He laughed and slapped his belly.

"Too good. It's all this good life. I can see why the old man had this gut."

"Glad to hear it."

"How about you? How's the road treating you?"

I waggled an open hand and shrugged.

"Good times and bad."

"What say I give the padre a call and we have lunch?"

I had planned on calling Stan Campbell later but it sounded like a good idea. Stan had been a newly ordained priest back when I had gone to school and he had come from my home town.

"Sounds good. How's the old padre doing?"

"Ask him yourself when he gets here. Help yourself to a beer while I see if I can get hold of him. You know where they are."

I was sitting at the bar twenty minutes later debating on another Old Style when Lew came back from his office and fished a trio out of the cooler. He waved for me to follow him back to a corner booth. We had just sat down when Father Stan came through the kitchen. He hadn't changed much. Six foot five of walking shadow with a beard that made him look like John the Baptist fresh from the desert. Lew called to him and he ambled over. As long as I had known him I had never seen him just plain walk. His loose legged ramble covered ground but always made him look like he was just about to sit down under a tree and watch the world go by. I stood up and shook his hand.

"Good to see you Padre."

"And you, my son."

I laughed and gathered him in to a hug. My fears and apprehensions about coming home were fading fast. Some friends are friends no matter what time and distance do to you.

"How's the soul saving business?"

"Booming. The godless are coming back to the flock in droves. Tight economy makes for good business."

"Will you two sit down?" Lew grumbled from the booth. "You give me a stiff neck watching you up there. Why can't you be normal height like decent people?"

"Quit carping, runt, and get a serving wench over here. I'm starving."

Lunch flew by. Through the antipasto and linguine with clam marinara sauce washed down with good Chianti, we swapped stories filling in the blank spaces of the past few years. We were settling in over coffee when Lew leaned back, not even trying to stifle a belch.

"Almost like old times, eh guys?"

"Close, Lew."

"We had some good times. Even with those nuts blowing up buildings and demonstrating any place they could get together. Now we got crazy drugs making kids do bizarre things. Just last year some crazy broad went swimming in Mendota in the all together."

"What's so crazy about that. We used to do it."

"Not in February we didn't. No, Lane old buddy, that little lady was doped to the gills. A friend of mine was involved in that one. She was his lady friend for a while and he took it kind of personally. Set the guy up who got her hooked and ended up killing him."

I sipped at my coffee.

"He get in trouble?"

Lew shrugged.

"Some but Johnny Tenadore's nobody's fool. He covered himself pretty well. Now we got some nutbag who thinks he's Jack the Ripper or something. Killed a girl out on Picnic Point a couple of days ago."

"Lew."

We both caught the sharp warning tone in Stan's voice and we looked at him. It was the first time I had ever seen him look uneasy.

"I say something wrong, Stan?"

"No, Lew. Not wrong." Stan looked at me but couldn't hold my eyes. The good feeling was slipping away and I felt my back tingle. What ever it was he felt he needed to say just wasn't coming out and that really set off the warning bells. I had seen this man break some of the ugliest news known and do it with nothing more than pure compassion and caring.

"Who was she, Stan?"

"Lane, I didn't want you to hear it like this."

Fear grabbed my stomach and twisted it. Cold spread out, damping the peace lunch had built. Lew muttered a quiet sweet Jesus under his breath.

"It was Carol, Lane. Carol Morrissey."

I waited for the hammer of pain I should have felt. On the outside I must have looked like some one trying to keep something inside but all I could feel was a cold queer emptiness. I closed my eyes and lifted the glasses from the bridge of my nose, searching in me for the pain that should be there. There was nothing. I looked at Stan and felt a twinge of guilt at the concern in his eyes.

"Do they know who did it yet?"

"Not yet. The paper says they are still gathering evidence and checking on the known offenders in the area. They expect an arrest soon."

Lew snorted.

"Right, padre. I think they keep that one on tape so they can trot it out anytime they hit a blind alley."

Lew emptied the Chianti bottle into our glasses. He looked at me, half embarrassed but with that fire old Tony had whenever he suspected we were up to something. Stan wasn't sure how to proceed but Lew wasn't the kind to squirm when it came to friends.

"She a good friend, kid?"

I glanced at Stan then met Lew's probing gaze. It appealed to my blacker sense of irony. I gave Lew a tight grin.

"Rumor had it we were going to be married once. Long time ago."

"Pretty tough."

I looked down at my glass.

"Maybe even worse." I said flatly.

Stan caught the note and leaned forward.

"Lane?"

Suddenly the restaurant was too warm, the air too close. My chest and throat tightened until I could hardly draw a breath. I watched in fascination as the wine glass in my hand began to tremble and shake.

"I called her from Spain just before Thanksgiving. I told her I was coming back day before yesterday but my flights got screwed up. I tried to call her but she wasn't home."

My voice started to break so I drained my wine. Now the pain was there. I couldn't breathe or think. The fine Italian food was roiling in my gut like it wanted out.

"Lane, you couldn't have known."

"Thanks, Stan. You're probably right and I know it. On one level. But I don't feel it. All I can remember is how glad she was to hear from me. And how much she was looking forward to seeing me again."

Lew waved to the bartender. He brought over a bottle of bourbon and a glass. Lew poured me a stiff shot and motioned for me to drink it. I looked at them. Damn good friends just waiting because there was nothing else they could do. I knew they wanted to help but there was no help. Not right now. I tossed the bourbon down and concentrated on the burning fire. Finally I looked at them.

"Thanks, guys."

"Don't know what for but I'll drink to it." Lew said as he sipped his wine. Stan followed suit. After a time Stan leaned back.

"So, Lane, what are your plans?"

I shrugged.

"Shot for the most part. Maybe I'll just go up and visit the old homestead, do a little skiing. I don't have to be back until the end of January so I guess I'll just play it by ear."

"Hah. More likely your boss told you he doesn't want to see that ugly puss of yours until then."

I grinned at Lew.

"Up yours."

The waitress brought over a plate of deserts and set them on the table in front of me. She had to lean past me a bit to do it and she did it in a way that made sure I noticed her. I gave her a small smile and got a thousand watter in return. Lew caught the action and shook his head in disgust.

"Stan, you know what this reprobate is going to be doing as well as I do."

Stan shot him a warning glance but the stocky paisano ignored it.

"There won't be a skirt in town who'll be safe. Skiing, my ass. He's going bunny hunting."

"Come on, Lew, give him a break."

"Not damn likely, padre. Giving this wolf a break is like keeping a tiger for a house pet. Never cut him any slack in the past and I damn sure ain't about to start."

Stan looked from Lew's wolf head grin and cold eyes to me. My face wasn't showing anything. It couldn't.

"Lane, if you need anything, give me a call. I'll be available."

"Thanks Stan. I appreciate it."

"I known this isn't easy for you. Stop by the rectory sometime. I've got a Nicaraguan house keeper who can cook an iguana and make it taste like a little piece of heaven. I've got to get back to work. Give me a call."

After Stan had left, Lew and I sat in silence. I nursed another bourbon while Lew swirled the last of his wine in his glass. I could feel his eyes on me. They were way too much like Roger's. Lew had been right in his assessment of what Rog had told the home office. There would be no new job until we had talked and Rog was sure I had things worked out.

# Chapter 3

Two men sat watching the sun set from the rickety wrought iron balcony of their small apartment. The old chair creaked quietly as the older man picked up his bottle of San Miguel. It all but disappeared in his ham fist, roughed and tanned from years of construction work. His name was Roger Dykes and he had worked for Regency Construction for thirty three years, all of it in the field. He was a short man, 5'6", but broad and stocky. His shoulders and chest were slabbed with weather toughened muscles. His dark tan was cooked permanently into his skin giving him the color of an old penny. His face was a maze of wrinkles and cracks from too many years of squinting into the sun over the blade of a cat. But the eyes were those of a much younger man. Bright blue and wise with a perpetual twinkle.

I leaned back against the railing trying to find a more comfortable spot for my back on the rough stucco wall. I could feel those eyes on me. I took a long swallow from my beer and stared out at the sunset that was turning the quiet Atlantic a bright red gold. On the narrow street below people were finishing their daily business. Cars whined along the rough cobbled streets tooting their horns at the small groups of pedestrians in their way. Every now and then a rattling burst of Spanish would be raised above the normal sounds. In another hour the noise would be more hushed as the locals settled in to their homes for the night, leaving the streets to los touristas. Rog said something I didn't quite catch and then grinned when I turned and asked him what it had been.

"I asked if you were ready for another beer."

I finished mine off and handed him the empty. He disappeared inside and came back with a pair of frosted bottles.

"Rog, have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a place you could call home?"

He paused as he handed me my bottle.

"Once or twice."

I took the beer.

"What did you do about it?"

"First time I went and got married. The other times I got drunk."

I turned and looked at my boss. I hadn't known he had ever been married but it seemed logical. His straw colored hair was heavily shot with silver and the white threads curled out of the open front of his khaki shirt. But the arms below the short sleeves rippled as he raised his beer and drank. His face bore the brunt of his years of hard living but the eyes sparkled in the heart of that rough map. Rog was a hellion, a brawler and a joker. He'd seen life from just about every angle since he'd been born in the outback of Australia where his mother had followed his construction bum father.

"Did it help?"

"Getting drunk did. Those hangovers were enough to keep me from getting down far enough to have to drink it dead."

He turned his head and fixed me with those damned eyes.

"You thinking its time to go back?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Let me tell you one thing, Garrison. I've seen a lot of men come through this game. Some stayed, some went back. I wouldn't give a bucket of warm spit for some that went. They couldn't handle anything life threw at them. Went running to mama when it got rough. Only mama couldn't make it stop hurting."

He took a long drink and looked out at the ocean.

"What about the others?"

Rog chuckled and reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the stub of a cigar he had started earlier. A kitchen match appeared from the same pocket and he snapped it to life with a practiced flick of his thumb. The smoke swirled around his head like a fog bank in the still night air until he got it puffed to life and exhaled through it. Those eyes looked directly into me.

"You don't miss much, do you, kid?" He smiled and chewed on the cigar. "The others were driven. Or ridden. Like you, Garrison. First time I saw you I figured you to be chased. Back then I would have guessed it was woman. Now I'm not so sure."

"Now who doesn't miss much." I asked chuckling uneasily. Keep it light, I told myself. He's way too close to the old wounds. He studied me closely for a while then nodded slowly.

"Maybe I wouldn't have been all wrong either way. You thinking its time to head home?"

"Don't you know, Rog, that you can never go back?"

He didn't respond to my glib shot so I went inside for another pair of beers. When I came back he was leaning, elbows on the rail, watching the streets.

"Kid, I once got into a backroom poker game outside of New Orleans. I was about your age and fresh from a year long job down in Chile. I had more money than I'd ever had at one time so I got a little drunk and cocky and sat down to show those boys how to play cards. Eighteen hours later I was down to about $500 when I woke up got the hell away from that game before it broke me. I slept round the clock and then went back. When I left the second time I was a little poorer than I had been when I had come home but it was a damn sight better than the day before. That game was bad news, rigged as hell but while I didn't beat it I left with a lot more money than they had intended me to have. So I didn't beat them but I didn't lose either."

We stood in silence, watching the quiet Spanish evening unfold. This was the longest Rog had ever talked about anything even close to personal.

"Why don't you think it's a girl, Rog?"

"Because you haven't been soured on them. And you aren't chasing them either. I can still remember that dark eyed chiquita down in old Mexico last year. I thought I was going to lose you for sure with that one but I wasn't sure who'd get you first, the lady or the police."

"The police won on that one. If you hadn't gotten the boss to use his pull I'd still be rotting in that jail. How'd you get them to do it?"

He shrugged and drank.

"Just told them if you weren't with me when that job got done, I was quitting."

I glanced sharply at him. I hadn't known. Rog had never told me anything about how he had gotten me loose. And now I find out he had offered up his job for one green kid. I couldn't think of what to say. He saw the surprise and laughed at my uneasiness.

"Jeez, kid, don't get all cramped up about it. Regency wasn't about to leave any of their people in that kind of a fix. Besides, I can get a job anywhere I want in this business. I just told Harry we'd been getting harassed all along and it was a personal thing so he went over the locals heads and told them if they wanted any construction work done in the future, they'd damned well better get you sprung."

"Thanks anyway."

"Por nada, amigo."

A pair of girls called up to us from the street. They worked one of the clubs that catered to the sailors and construction workers. One had been a schoolteacher in England and the other a Dutch secretary before they had vacationed down in sunny Rota and decided there was better money in hustling drinks and what not in the bars. They weren't exactly hooking but it was close. We waved back and declined their offer to join them.

"Rog, you're talking a hell of a lot more than usual. Sometimes I think you know more about me than I do."

"I don't know half as much as you do but what I do know I can admit to, no sweat off my back. You just plain ain't sure of most of it. I know you'll be leaving after this job. Hell, I'm surprised you made it this long. Some kind of devil has been eating at you since you turned up to work for me. I ain't ashamed to say I'll miss you, kid or that I don't know where I'm going to get another segundo as good as you. We've worked pretty damn good together these past four years and I want you to remember you've got a job with Regency as long as I'm here."

"Maybe I'll stick..."

"Like hell you will. You've got something to do so go do it. You ain't going to be worth a pinch of shit if you don't. I got along without you for years and I can damn sure do it again. But if you get things straightened out back home you get your raggedy ass back. Now it's still early so hit the rack and tomorrow you make your flight arrangements. We've got about two weeks to finish up here so get to it."

# Chapter 4

Somewhere in my musings Lew had left the table. I looked around and saw him sitting at the end of the bar doing some paperwork so I went over and took the stool opposite him. He kept at what he was doing but reached under the bar and handed me a newspaper.

It was yesterday's and the banner headline read about something in the Middle East. The murder story was in the bottom corner and had Carol's high school graduation picture with it. It was a good picture. You couldn't see the hazel of her eyes or the blonde highlights in her hair but the warm smile came through 1000%. I started reading reluctantly. Two paragraphs in I picked up the paper.

It was crap. Basic background, a crude layout of theorized chain of events, some righteous indignation and a few comments on the state of affairs in general. It was pretty clear they were trying to down play this one. Other than a vague tendency to moralize on the sadness of her death as a senseless isolated piece of violence, there wasn't much to the piece. Details were sketchy but there were hints there was more that couldn't be revealed yet. There was an implication that the police were trying to cover it up. Something about the public's right to know. Sure the public had a right to know if there was a real danger. But they didn't need to know all the gory details. They didn't need to know what the police had that could help them break the case. By the end of the article my hands were shaking again, making me put the paper down.

Damn rubber necked morons. My anger became a flaming ball of ice in my chest as I thought of all the good people sitting safe and warm in their easy chairs bitching about their right to know. Carol was cold dead. She couldn't cry for her rights. Not even for the decency of her right to die well. There wasn't anyone fighting to keep her shame and horror even a little bit private.

I stared at the paper but I couldn't see the print anymore.

What was it, Carol? A mistake? Blind chance? You deserved better. We all do. Dying should have some dignity, no matter how ignominious the vehicle. The police are doing what they can but is it enough? Are they looking in the right directions? I lowered the paper and looked at Lew. He was watching me closely. His eyes were hooded and noncommittal but they knew.

"Still going skiing?"

"Later, maybe."

He nodded and reached for a beer. I waved him off on his offer so he drank without me.

"That's what I figured."

He took a long pull on the beer.

"Ken Manley is heading the case."

"Manley?"

"Same guy who worked Johnny's case last year. He's a good man."

"You're telling me this for a reason?"

"Punk. This is Luigi, remember? I was with you in Nam when you got mixed up with that peone family. You think I don't remember that day when you walked up to those three ARVN goons with their machine guns? All for what? Huh?"

I grinned at him.

"I don't remember you running."

Lew snorted and waved his beer at me.

"If I'm getting bullet holes in me, punk, they go in the front. But you? What made you a hero? Li's pretty little face?"

"Damn it, Lew. She was only eleven years old."

"They marry young down there."

"You are an evil bastard."

He gave me a grin.

"Ain't I though? But what I'm not is dumb."

"No?"

"Maybe Stan thinks you're a cream puff inside. Me, I know different. You got good steel in your back and the kind of nerve most guys only dream about. Shit, you were more scared of those gunnies than I was but it didn't even slow you down. And you knew what a dead end it was before you took that first step."

"I don't believe in dead end situations."

Lew chuckled and gave me a knowing grin.

"Like the cops checking out known offenders? And an arrest being imminent?"

"Merde."

"So, you go talk to Manley."

"Will he talk to me?"

"Depends on how you ask. He's a hard line cop. Likes to go by the book."

He finished his beer.

"When the book has the answers."

The desk sergeant directed me to a clerk type when I asked for Lt. Manley. She asked me in an asthmatic wheeze what I wanted to speak with him about. When I said it was about the Morrissey case she wanted my name and number so they could take my statement. She seemed confused when I said I wanted information, not that I was offering it. She was debating on how to handle my request when a dark man in a rumpled suit stopped and asked if he'd had any messages.

"No, Lt., but this gentleman says he wants to talk to you about the Morrissey case."

He turned his attention to me and gave me a thorough visual going over. I noticed his black hair was thinning on top and his belly was probably more muscle than it appeared. His eyes were cop sharp and I could almost hear him classifying my jeans and button down oxford shirt, my leather jacket and worn boots, the mix of old and new all backed with a dark tan and coming up with curious. He nodded for me to follow him. We walked back through a maze of partitions and desks until he pulled out a chair somewhere in the middle and motioned for me to sit. We watched each other for a minute before he broke out a pack of Camels and lit one up.

"Nice tan. You from around here?"

"Once upon a time."

He inhaled deeply and let the smoke trickle out through his nose.

"What was it you wanted to talk with me about?"

"The Morrissey case. I'd like to know where you are with it."

He snorted a short blast of smoke and disbelief.

"And just who the hell are you that I should tell you anything?"

"The name is Garrison. Lane Garrison. Carol was an old friend of mine."

"So what?"

We locked eyes for a long moment. There wasn't much give in either one of us. I finally stood up and started to leave. Manley spit a piece of tobacco on the floor before he spoke.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Out to see what I can find out about this. Or maybe some one who has the sense to work with some one who knew Carol and might be able to help."

He glared at me.

"So sit down."

He continued to try and stare me down then started digging at a stack of files on his desk. When he found the one he wanted he opened it and began reading. Finally he put it down and took another drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out in an already overfilled ashtray.

"Vet?"

I nodded. He waited a moment then prompted me with his hand and expression.

"SeaBee. I did 19 months in country. It was towards the end and I spent most of my time in the deep south."

"See any combat."

"Nothing official."

His eyes narrowed and then he nodded.

"You the reason she was in town?"

"Probably. I'd called her from Spain a couple of weeks ago. We were supposed to meet on Sunday but I got held up. I just got in to town this morning."

"And you can prove that?"

"Pretty much."

He nodded and leaned back in his chair. It creaked ominously as he thumbed through the file.

"A bunch of kids found her at 10:30am on Sunday, December 16th. She was buried in a drift. One of the kids had dug into the bank to make a snowball and came up with a chunk of bloody ice. The coroner set the time of death at sometime the previous night. The outer portions of her torso and extremities were frozen but there was still some lividity to the internal organs. There was also ice crystals in the wounds which he says lead him to believe she had been alive during the snowfall of Saturday night. Cause of death was loss of blood due to multiple blunt trauma wounds. If that hadn't killed her she probably would have died from the hemorrhaging in her skull from those wounds. Her skull had multiple fractures. She lost one hell of a lot of blood in a short time. We found a short chunk of wood near the body that had been used as a club. There was hair and blood on it, all matching the decedent's and the shape of the club was consistent with the injuries. The site of the major blood loss was from where the assailant had used the club to repeatedly penetrate her. The coroner estimates he used the club at least a dozen times."

He looked at me over the file with those cold cop eyes.

"You want me to go on?"

"If you've got more."

He nodded and reached for another Camel.

"Like I said, she was alive when she was taken to the spot. There were signs of struggle. There was a scrap of cloth on a bush and other indications she was conscious and trying to flee. We figure the assailant took her out there, made his pass and went berserk when she turned him down. The guy had to have picked up a fair amount of blood from the looks of things but we can't turn anyone who saw a car out there that night. We've tried to check tires tracks but we can't get clear separation on anything useful. Any questions?"

"You mentioned you thought she went willingly."

"Just a guess. There was too much damage to the head to be able to say for certain if she had been knocked unconscious prior to the assault. Also, she was a big girl so her assailant would have to have pretty strong to carry her any distance."

"May I see the report?"

He started to say no but decided against it and handed it over. I read it quickly glossing over the heavy technical jargon and going for the over all picture. It wasn't pretty. She had died ugly, slow and hurting. The ice in my chest thudded heavily against my ribs. The collar of my shirt dug in to my neck and I began to sweat.

"She was staying with an aunt here in town. Her home address is in Whitewater. She roomed with a woman named Helen Krueger. Krueger went through a divorce that was final last spring and they'd been room mates since last October. We checked the ex but he moved to Seattle for work reasons last January. That was the reason for the divorce. Carol was back in college working on a Masters and was due to graduate in the spring."

"Any other men she was dating?"

"None that the Krueger woman could say was more than occasional and casual. She was focusing on her degree. She did say Carol had become much more animated since Thanksgiving."

I finished looking at the report and handed it back. I noticed a lot of the cool had left Manley. His cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth trickling smoke into his squinting eyes.

"I read in the paper she was last seen at the Stone Hearth around 11:30."

"She had a date that night with a local jock hero name of Fred Hartman. It was something her aunt had set up for her. Freddy plays forward for the Badger Hockey team and he's rated as one of the top college players in the country. He'll be going pro in the spring. Anyway, they took in a play at the Fine Arts Center and then went to join some of Freddie's friends at the Hearth after."

"I take it Hartman didn't leave with her?"

"No, Carol left without saying anything to anyone."

"That doesn't sound like Carol."

Manley shook his head. "Maybe if I tell you that the friends they joined were mostly female admirers of the great Freddie?"

I nodded. "So Carol didn't feel like being one of a pack. I can see her finding her own way home."

"That's how I figure it. She probably hitched a ride with the wrong guy and ended up dead in a snow bank."

I leaned over the desk and picked up his pack of Camels and shook one out. I looked at him and he nodded his ok and handed me his lighter. There were things that just didn't mesh with the tale they had built so far and I got the impression I wasn't the only one who thought so.

"Lt., can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

He checked his watch then wrote a quick note. He snagged a young kid as he past the desk and told him to take it to Miss Fenton then motioned for me to follow him. Down in the cafeteria he picked up a pot of coffee and a couple of donuts and headed over to a table in the corner a little apart from the others. He sat down and began eating. I poured myself a cup and sat across from him.

"Ok, so talk. What's on your mind?"

I liked his looks. He had been ready to let me walk but something had changed his mind. I knew the information he had given me so far was probably beyond what he was authorized to give out. Lew said he was by the book but that he wasn't afraid of rewriting. I needed a friend on the inside and I had a feeling Ken Manley would make a good one.

"Lieutenant, I just got back to the states the day before yesterday. Part of the reason I came back was to see Carol. We'd meant something to each other a long time ago and I wanted to see if she was anything like I remembered. I called her a few times around Thanksgiving and we hit it off pretty well over the phone. Must have, judging from my bill. Granted, it's not much to go on but the Carol I knew wouldn't take a ride from just any clown. She was fully capable of calling a cab or a friend. She was no Joan of Arc but she was choosy. This killing doesn't sit right with me. You cops do a pretty good job but I've got a hunch that without knowing Carol and the kind of person she was, you may miss something."

"So you're going to stick your nose in it."

I liked that. No question, just a statement of fact. What I didn't like was the tone that told me what was coming next so I jumped in quick.

"Yes. I'm going to do some digging. Quiet and unofficial. I want to talk to the people she knew and see what I can find out about her. If I find anything I think might be useful to you, I'll pass it on. If not, I'll just get a chance to say good bye to her."

Manley finished his donut and took out his cigarettes. He offered me one but I turned him down. Once he had it lit he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of the table. There was an awful lot of official weight behind him. Personal authority that made him the kind of police officer people trusted and listened to.

"Garrison, this isn't some kid game. Finding murderers isn't fun or safe. You get into this and I'll guarantee your amateur ass is going to be sorry. I don't need some heart broke puppy messing where he doesn't belong. Go back to where ever it was you came from and write this off. We'll find the killer."

"Will you?"

He bristled and the authority ratcheted up a notch.

"I will."

I could almost believe him. He truly did believe he would find the killer and given enough time I think he would. I just didn't think he would have that time.

"How? You've got other cases to work on and pressure from the public to wrap this up. No one wants a crazy killing women in a college town. Especially over the holidays. I'd be willing to bet your boss is pushing pretty hard for a quick fix to this and from what I've seen there isn't going to be one."

The thundercloud between his brows grew and I thought it would break and he would rain all over me but he kept it under control. He finished his cigarette and leaned back, watching me carefully.

"Garrison, I've learned a bit about Carol these past couple of days. I tend to agree with you about the ride. It just doesn't sit right. And there's a handful of other things that tell me I'm going to be losing some serious sleep over this one. I don't need you on my back or my conscience."

"I won't be on your back, Lt.. And you don't need to add me to your guilt load. I was going to talk with most of the people involved anyway so maybe I can do some digging. People might say things to me they wouldn't say to a cop."

He shook his head. "I must be nuts to even listen to you. You play fast and loose, even hint you've got official backing and I'll have your ass in the can so fast your feet won't touch the ground. If there's even a peep of trouble out of you and the Chief finds out we talked, he'll have my guts for garters."

I had to laugh. It brought a hint of a smile to his dark face that I figured was a close as he came to having a good time these days. I stood up and offered my hand. He took it and tried to get his hand positioned to put some pressure on mine but I forced my hand back into the web of his and matched his game. We both put some pressure to it, just to see what would happen. He finally grinned and released his grip.

"Where've you been since you last saw Carol?"

"I work for Regency Construction out of Chicago. We do road and bridge work on the other side of the pond. I just finished a job in Spain."

"Take it real easy, Garrison. And keep in touch."

#  Chapter 5

I checked in to the Howard Johnson on University and stashed my gear in the room. I had a few places to start and I needed to decide which one would be first. I didn't think Aunt Mona would be able to give me much information. She and Carol hadn't been terribly close and I suspected she had gone to stay with her when my arrival had been delayed. I would have to make a trip over to Whitewater to meet with Helen Krueger but the timing on that was bad. I was sure she would be dealing with packing Carol's things and she probably didn't need to be answering questions just yet. That left Mr. Hartman. I started making some calls. The kid I talked to at his frat house had no clue as to where he was, let alone where Freddie might be. I tried the athletic office and found the team was practicing even as we spoke and would be wrapping up around 8. That would give me time for a shower and a quick bite before I talked to the local hero. Tomorrow I would have to see about renting a car.

Freddy and company came out of the practice rink about ten minutes after I arrived. I had my cab standing by to follow them but they headed down the street walking. I paid the cab off and followed. There were five players and half again as many fans, all female and all young. It looked like the boys enjoyed their status and were milking it for all it was worth. They turned in to a pizza joint and headed for a big table in the back. I took a stool at the bar and waited for them to settle in. It wasn't going to be easy to break in to that group for a chat but I had to give it a try. I waited until their order was in and the pitchers poured before I went over. Freddy was talking with a girl who looked like she had graduated early and he made a point of ignoring me. I waited patiently while his little friend got more nervous. Finally he leaned back and gave me an insolent challenging look.

"What do you want?"

"A few minutes of talk. About Carol Morrissey."

"You a cop?"

"No. I just have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

"I already told the cops everything. The bitch walked out on me for no good reason and no one does that to me. She got what was coming to her, the little prick tease."

I could feel my nails dig in to my palms as I fought the urge to pull the arrogant bastard out of his chair and ram that cocky grin down his throat. The icy anger that was my constant companion held my face in a blank mask as I worked to get the anger under control so I could talk. He didn't give me a chance.

"You can just peddle your questions to some one who gives a shit, buddy. Now drag ass or me and my friends will toss your ass out of here."

A thin pale blonde with impossibly large breasts got up and flipped me the bird.

"Yeah. Get outta here before we throw you out. Freddy don't have to talk to no one. He's got his rights."

Three of the other players started to get up so I turned and headed for the door. I could hear their cat calls behind me as I pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold night air. I was shaking with the anger but I knew I wasn't going to get anything out of the boy wonder on his terms. The trick was going to be getting him alone, without his peanut gallery. There was a possibility. I went in to another bar just down the block and looked up the number for the pizza place. I told the bartender I was Freddy's coach and asked if he would please relay the message that I wanted to see Fred down in my office. As soon as possible? She said she would. I only had to wait about ten minutes before he came out and headed for the campus at a fast walk. I was waiting at the middle of the block in an alley entrance and called his name as he stormed by. He stopped and turned. It didn't take him long to figure out he'd been tricked and he wasn't happy about it. He rolled his shoulders and stepped in to the alley.

"I told you I didn't have nothing to say to you. Maybe I got to tell you a little harder."

He may have been hell on skates but he sure didn't know much about fighting. Without a stick he was pure bush league. His looping right haymaker went over my shoulder and I hit him with a couple of short hard shots in the stomach. He staggered back, more surprised than hurt. He was in pretty good shape. I didn't want to drag this out so when he came again I caught his wrist and spun him around, twisting the hand up between his shoulders and ran his head into the side of the building. I pulled him back and body slammed him against the wall keeping the pressure on his hand and shoulder.

"Freddy, you've got a real bad attitude here. All I wanted was a couple of minutes of your time. You want to continue this dance, I'll be happy to oblige but I don't think you really want to get me mad."

"You sonofabitch. When I get loose, I'm going to get the guys and kick your ass;"

I twisted his arm a little harder and ground him into the wall. He hissed in pain.

"Freddy, you just aren't getting it. I don't give a rat's ass about you or your ego. I'd just as soon wrap you up in a little ball and sink you in Mendota. That little prick tease was very dear to me and if I think you had anything to do with her death, I'll make sure you won't like the way you follow her. Right now the cops believe your story but it smells like old fish to me. You and your buddies are just a little too quick to play rough. Maybe you played rough with Carol and got carried away. I like that idea. I'd like to take you apart. It would make me feel much better knowing you got what was coming to you."

"Jesus, man. I didn't do her. I was with my friends."

"Yeah, like they wouldn't lie for you. You've got to do better than that, boy. Much better. You've got a bad attitude and a bad temper. Just the right stuff to set you off when she turned you down."

"No way, man. We just went and saw some stupid play together. My mom knows her aunt and she set it up. I never saw her before. Shit, she was too old for me."

I ground him in to the wall and put a little more pressure on the hand and shoulder.

"Why did she leave the Hearth?"

"I don't know."

I pulled him back and slammed him into the bricks again.

"I told you, Freddy. I don't care if I have to take you apart and put you in the hospital. Now, why did she leave?"

He was shaking. I thought it was anger at first then realized he was crying. I knew I should back off. I felt like shit for doing this to him but the anger was burning a dry ice hole in my chest and I had to know. Maybe even had to hurt. If there was even an outside chance he had killed Carol, I had to know.

"Why?"

"Ok, ok, just ease up, man. She got pissed because I was hustling on some of my groupies. I just took her out to get my ma off my back. I didn't want to."

"Anything else happen that night? At the play or before? Anything at all?"

"She ran in to some guy at the theater. During intermission. He was sitting down in front with some blonde babe. She went down and talked with him for a few minutes."

"Did she say who he was?"

"Nah. I didn't ask. She just said he was an old friend from high school. Come on, man, let me loose. I think you busted my shoulder."

"Not just yet. What did he look like?"

"I don't know. Old guy like you, kind of red hair. He was wearing a letter jacket."

I gave his hand another squeeze and rubbed the knuckles together. He yelped and began to cry seriously. I felt like a total heel. He had nothing left to give me but I couldn't just walk away. The tough guy was all veneer, maybe ice. All geared up or with a pack of his buddies, he was a mean one. Petty mean. The only place he had been tested was on the ice where there were rules that had to be followed. In spite of the violent ruthless appearance of the game, there were things that were allowed and things that weren't. There were referees and coaches to keep things from getting too rough. And to pump him up to be as hard as he could get away with. Off the ice he ran with the same pack. They covered each other and took on the world as a team. Nice protective coloration as long as you had the pack. I had cut him out and brought him down all by himself. His ego hadn't wanted to let him admit things and I had made him face them. Petty things maybe but they had been meant for hiding.

I gave his arm one last twist and stepped back. He lowered it slowly and rolled against the wall, bringing his arm around until he could cradle it across his stomach. I suspected I had stretched some ligaments but he was in too good of shape for it to be much worse than that. His shoulder would be sore for a few days and the pain in his hand would be gone before he got back to the bar. The come-along grip I had used was designed for max pain, min damage. Two years as Shore Patrol had given me a few tricks to handle the rough ones.

He leaned against the wall and cried quietly, rubbing his shoulder. There was a raspberry on his cheek where I had scraped his face against the brick that bled slightly.

"What else you want, man?"

"The woman at the theater. What did she look like?"

"She never stood up. All I saw was the back of her head. I think she was wearing a wig. That's what Carol said." He tried moving his arm and winced. "I think you tore something up."

"So?"

"I gotta play hockey, man. I'm going pro. If you busted it, I can't play."

I waited a long moment, letting a little of the hell inside me show through my eyes.

"You'll play. Put some ice on it and have the trainers work it for you. Just remember, it could have been more. Will be if you don't behave yourself. You've got two choices here, Hartman. We walk away from here and we both forget what happened. Or you can go whine to your buddies or the law about how you got taken. If you bring the law, it will be your word against mine. And the whole world will know you can be had. Bring your friends and I'll make you regret it. I'll make sure you never play hockey again. It doesn't matter to me. I'll play it whatever way you want."

There was a part of him that wanted to come after me. The part that I had rubbed out against that brick wall. The arrogant immortality he had enjoyed living. I had taken that away from him. I had replaced it with the knowledge that the world could be a pretty nasty place outside of the rules and protections of society. He could go back to hockey but it wouldn't be the same now. He would either have that specter of pain hovering in the back of his mind or he would bury it brutally. Push and punish himself and the rest of the players because he knew he didn't really have what it takes for true toughness. He could be beat.

"That's all you wanted?" He asked cautiously.

"From you."

"I don't ever see you again?" A trace of belligerence shaded his voice but it was forced.

"Unless I find out you lied. If you had something to do with her death I'll be back."

"I didn't, man. I didn't even see her leave and I spent the night with my friends."

"Then I doubt we'll ever see each other again."

He waited, weighing his options. I knew which way he would go but he had to convince himself. I waited quietly, staring into his eyes. Finally he lowered his and nodded. I turned and walked out of the alley. I walked until I recognized the Uptown Liquor store sign. They were about to close so I bought a bottle of bourbon and headed for my cave. I had gotten some information I needed to shuffle around. A little about Carol and a little about me. I hoped the bourbon would help.

# Chapter 6

Roger had part of it right. A hangover will definitely go a long way to reinforcing reasons not to do something. When I woke up my head pounded, my stomach roiled and my mouth felt like something wet and dirty had slept in it. I felt like hell. It took a major effort to roll out and head for the bathroom. I pissed out the remains of a night of recriminations and remorse, swallowed a handful of aspirin and climbed in to the shower. By the time I was beginning to feel like I would survive, my stomach was making serious noises. I wasn't hungry but I knew if I didn't get some food in me the aspirin would start trying to eat its way back out. I dressed and headed down to the restaurant. I started with a big glass of milk to quiet things down then worked my way through a huge breakfast. By the time I was done I knew I would make it. For a while anyway. I put my jacket on and headed for the Catholic Center to see if Father Stan was around.

Before the whiskey had hazed me into the nasty land of self pity I had decided I needed to find out who the mystery man was at the theater. I could either talk to Manley or see if Stan still had connections with the university. Something told me I would find out more if I kept it unofficial. Stan was in his office when I got there and had some time before a noon lunch meeting. He took in the lack of color on my face and the red eyes with a rueful shake of his head and offered me a cup of coffee. When I declined he motioned for me to sit and went to get one for himself before sitting down.

"You look like hell, Lane. Bad night?"

"Mixed bag. I had some thinking to do and some not thinking. I guess I got them both."

"With a little help from Jack?"

"Please."

"You need to talk?"

I shook my head.

"Not yet. It's a little raw yet. But I do need a couple of things."

"Name them."

"I need some wheels. Do you know where I can rent a car for long term?"

He reached in to his desk drawer and took out a key ring.

"You can use mine."

"You need your car. I can rent one."

"This one is my toy. It's a '66 Nova I've been working on. Its primer gray right now. I plan on getting it painted in the spring but you're welcome to use it. What else?"

"Do you still have contacts at the U?"

"A few. What do you need? You looking to come back to school?"

"No. I want to find out who the ushers were at the Fine Arts Center the night Carol died. I need to talk with them."

He thought about it for a minute then leaned forward.

"You've got a funny look in your eyes, Lane. And a pretty strange request. What's the matter, don't you think the police can handle this? Or do you think you can do better?"

I fidgeted in my chair and wished the last of the bourbon haze would clear. I didn't know if my uncertainty was alcohol depression or what.

"I just want to be sure. I want to know what happened that night for my own peace of mind. I want to know about Carol. The police have their own priorities and other cases to work on. I've got time and money to spend so I figure I'll take a look at what she had been doing since we started talking again. There's a big hole where she used to live, Stan and I want to fill it. I don't have to find her killer but if I find something that will help the police, I'll pass it on. That part is their job. Mine is to find Carol. Stan, I loved her once. At least, I think I did. I owe her something for that. And I owe me something too. Besides, if she hadn't come here looking for me, she might still be alive."

"Or maybe she would have been hit by a truck crossing the street in Whitewater. Or slipped in her bathtub. Or any number of other things. Don't do that to yourself, Lane. It's guilt, old friend. Guilt for something you didn't do. Something you couldn't have any control over."

He stood up and began to pace the room.

"I know a little something about this, Lane. It's something we all do to ourselves when we're faced with an inexplicable loss. In your case, it's even worse. You already had a pretty bad case of the guilts for running off and leaving. And now Carol is gone and you don't have any way of making up for what you feel was your fault. It's a nasty trap, Lane. One that can haul you down and hurt you if you let it."

"So what do I do?"

"Normally, I would suggest counseling. Talking it out with a professional who can help you put some distance between you and your guilt. But I know you too well. You won't do that so I'll just have to settle for giving you some advice and a reminder that there is help available."

I thought about the pain of the anger and the loss and what I had felt when I ground Freddy against that wall. Stan was hitting closer than he realized.

"I may take you up on the counseling. Right now, I'll settle for the advice."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise and smiled.

"You do that, Lane. The advice is, you don't have to do this alone. There are people who care and can help. If you let them. The other is, let it go. You can't change what is or was. Maybe you could have done things differently. Or been here on time so she wouldn't have been out with some one else. Or not left in the first place. But none of that matters. You didn't do any of them. Just as she didn't do their counter parts. What you did do was try to reach out and start something with the people you had both become. Fate stepped in and smacked you both. That is life. I'd probably get in trouble for telling you this but I think its true. Whether you look at it as God's inscrutable plan or blind fate or random chance, the end result is the same. We don't know why things happen the way they do. Maybe we can't know. But we do have the ability to accept. You can't bring her back. All you can do is lay her to rest. Make your peace with what has happened and move on."

It was my turn to pace. There was a lot of truth in what he said. Things my intellect told me made good sense. There was also the black ravening thing that lived off the anger that said I couldn't turn the other cheek. Not just yet.

"What you say makes sense, Padre. At least to my head. I'll keep it in mind."

"I guess I can't ask for more than that. Do your hunting, Lane. It will probably help to find her a little bit. Just don't let it consume you. In the mean time, I'll see if I can get those names for you. Any reason why you want to know?"

I shrugged. I couldn't meet his eyes. I didn't want to take the chance he would see what I had done.

"Maybe they saw something or remember something."

I could see he didn't want to accept it. There was a question, an accusation hanging just behind his eyes but he decided to let it ride.

"The funeral is tomorrow. Are you going?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I can."

"How about dinner tonight? Rosa is looking forward to cooking for someone who eats. Come by the rectory about 6:30?"

"Alright. I'll see you tonight."

"What are you going to do this afternoon?"

"Don't know for sure. Maybe take a ride."

#  Chapter 7

I had caught Helen Krueger just as she was getting ready to come over to the funeral home. Carol's Aunt Mona had been her only family and she was getting on in years. Helen was going to help with the arrangements. Carol's parents had died in a car accident shortly after she had graduated and Carol had been an only child. I didn't imagine the funeral would be a big affair, mostly friends and co-workers. It would probably be as good a place as any to get to know more about what the past few years of her life had been like. I just didn't know if I could handle it. Helen had said she would be willing to talk with me once the preliminaries had been taken care of if I cared to come out. I headed for Middleton, taking my time and trying to convince myself that it really wasn't that big of a deal.

I've always felt uncomfortable in funeral homes. Maybe it was an unwillingness to deal with the finality of death. Or an inability to share my own feelings of loss. I had seen my share of death and dying under circumstances much nastier than the antiseptic confines of your basic funeral home. I knew first hand what a body looked like. That portion of it I had a handle on. What I couldn't handle was the somber propriety that hovered under the cloying sweet florals. I couldn't take the quiet sorrowful talk about someone who had been alive and vital. I leaned more towards the Irish traditions of wakes. A farewell party that celebrated a life cut short, a change in the path not a cessation. Death only ended contact, not memories. It didn't negate what a person had been only changed what they could have been. Helen had said there would be no viewing. The damage had been too great. That would help. I preferred to work from memory or pictures. Popular thought had it that we need to see the body to know that the person is gone. It gave us a closure on the chapter that had been. It just gave me the willys. I knew they were gone, could feel the anguish of never being able to see Carol or talk with her again. I didn't need a carcass to hammer that one home. I needed something more pleasant, more positive to reaffirm that what she was still lived in me. I needed to know she had been happy. That she had been the kind of person she wanted to be. Our all too short conversations had brought her to life for me again in ways I hadn't thought possible. I really regretted cutting those calls short now. Saving money just didn't seem like a good enough reason for losing those opportunities. Not anymore.

I pulled in to the lot at the Franzen Funeral Home and parked next to an old Pontiac Bonneville. There were only a few cars as the visitation didn't begin until 6. It was a dreary overcast day with the temperatures hovering in the low twenties. Not exactly cheery but traditionally appropriate. I went in the front door and waited for my glasses to defog. The smell of bayberry hung heavily in the air. The foyer was empty except for the sign that marqueed the current attractions. Carol was in the Aspen Room from 6-9pm. I wondered if she was on opener or a headliner. I was glad when a door at the side of the foyer opened. I hadn't really wanted to follow that thought.

An older man in a dark suit was helping Aunt Mona, his perfectly coiffed silver hair bent forward as he talked softly. Aunt Mona was crying quietly and nodding at his words. Behind them was a tall brunette, her long dark hair pulled back and bound at her neck. There was more than a hint of Indian in the shape of her cheekbones and dark eyes. It was a striking face, the lines and planes of it sharper than what was typically called pretty. There was character there as well as a sharp probing intelligence in the black eyes that met mine over the hunched forms in the doorway. Her voice hadn't prepared me for the intensity of her. It had been almost girlish, soft and higher pitched than I would have expected from this woman. She nodded to me. I stepped forward and cleared my throat. Mona looked up, her puffy eyes squinting as she tried to place me. When she did it began the waterworks again and she came to me for a hug.

She was smaller, frailer than I remembered. There was still the smell of vanilla about her that brought back memories of the last time we had seen each other. I hadn't made it back from Florida for Carol's parents funeral but I had spent Thanksgiving with Mona and Carol that fall. It had been the last time I had seen either of them. It had been an awkward time. I knew Carol had wanted me to be there but the wanderlust had been running high in me. I had felt trapped in an existence I knew I didn't want yet I had no clear idea of what I did want. I just knew I had to get out. A week before Christmas I had packed everything I owned into my old Ford Fairlane and said good bye. Florida was my first target and I had a job lined up crewing on a charter boat. It wasn't much but it was a start. Carol had tried to talk me in to staying but there was nothing she could offer that wouldn't be part of the trap. Maybe a part of her had recognized that. It had been an awkward good bye.

"You've changed, Lane." Mona said as she looked me over and settled on my face.

"It's been a while, Aunt Mona."

She smiled and patted my cheek.

"Thank you for that Lane, but you're all grown up now. I think I can be just Mona now."

"Maybe."

"Carol was looking forward to seeing you again."

"I was looking forward to it too. I just didn't make it back in time."

The tears were running down her cheeks as she took my hands.

"Don't, Lane. I know that would be easy to fall in to but it isn't your fault. No one could have known this would happen. Not here. Not like this. It was a horrible accident no one could have foreseen."

"I don't think it was an accident, Mona. Unexpected but not an accident."

She put a hand on my cheek and searched my face, a sad smile on her withered lips. She had been a beauty once, it still showed in the classic bone structure and bright eyes.

"She was looking forward to seeing you again, Lane. She said it sounded like you had settled down. Or at least you were ready to consider it. I think she might have been a bit too optimistic."

She patted my cheek gently, her tears making silent tracks down her cheeks.

"You're going to have to let her go, boy. Don't hurt yourself over this."

I couldn't take it. She had seen too much and those damned eyes of hers were cutting right past the walls I had built. I gathered her in to my arms and hugged her fiercely. We had never been all that close but right now there was no one else in the world that knew what Carol and I had been. She returned the hug with every bit of intensity, patting my back as we both cried for a lost love. Finally I was able to lean back and look at her again.

"Mona, I can't promise you. There are things I have to know."

"Just know that she thought she still loved you and she wanted to find out if that was true. The rest isn't important."

"It is to me."

"You've changed, Lane. You were always a wild one, too ready to go chasing dreams. Now, I don't know what it is exactly. " She searched my eyes again, trying to find her answer but the icy anger was up, holding my face a blank mask. "You'll find him. I can see that. But, Lane? Please stop and think about it. You can't bring her back. All you can do is hurt yourself."

"I don't intend to get hurt, Mona. I just want to know."

She patted my cheek again and this time it had a little snap in it, just like her blue eyes.

"Don't you try to kid Aunt Mona, Lane. I've known you too long. Just be careful."

She walked away towards the Aspen Room like the QEII sailing from her home dock. I knew she was a widow, her husband had been a cop in Milwaukee for almost thirty years. She had moved back to central Wisconsin after his death and the death of her sister to be around for her niece. I had never really thought much about that until those sharp blue eyes had reached into me and seen something. Just what it had been I don't know but I knew I wasn't going to fool that lady. My wondering was interrupted by a voice at my shoulder.

"I take it you've known Mona for a while?"

"Since high school. She's a very special lady."

I turned to face Helen Krueger and was surprised that her eyes were on a level with my own. At six foot two there aren't many ladies who can do that. They were dark intense eyes that held more than a hint of question.

"You were Carol's room mate?"

"I moved in with her when I left my husband a little over a year ago. We had been working together in Whitewater and she offered me a place to stay when I finally realized I had to get out of my marriage."

"I know this isn't the best time to talk but there are some things I'd like to ask you. It can wait until later if you'd rather."

She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.

"I'm curious about you. Carol was so excited about seeing you again. It was all she talked about this past month. I tried to get her to slow down a bit but she wasn't buying at all. I told her if you ran once before , you would probably do it again."

"You don't have much give in you, do you?"

"Let's just say I had a rough teacher."

There was a clear challenge in her words, her stance, everything about her said prove to me I'm wrong. Show me you're worth the effort. Under different circumstances I would have felt the challenge more directly and maybe responded but something was missing here. There was no connection, even though the lady was attractive. But she was someone who had been close to Carol and I needed to connect with her on some level.

"Ok, I guess I'll have to give you that one. How do you want to do this?"

"Let me check with Mona. I saw a place just down the street where we could talk. Do you think this will take long?"

"I don't think so. At least, not for this round."

She had started to turn away but turned back sharply.

"You think this is going to happen again?"

I shrugged and gave her my best disarming look.

"Helen, I don't even know for sure what it is I'm doing. I just want to get to know what Carol had been like."

She gave me that piercing look of scrutiny before she made a decision and went off to find Mona. She was back in a few minutes. She motioned me to follow her as she took her coat off the rack by the door and headed outside. I hurried a bit to catch up with her long legged stride as she headed across the parking lot.

"So what do you want to know?"

"What was she doing with her life? I know she was working on getting her degree but what else was she doing? We talked a little on the phone at Thanksgiving but we didn't get to go into any real depth. Was she happy? Did she have a lot of friends? What did she do for fun? Helen, I guess I can't be more specific without something to go on."

"Salve for a guilty conscience?"

I bit back the angry retort. She was deliberately baiting me but I didn't know why. And there was quite a bit of that in my reason.

"Somewhat. Mostly I just want to know her again. Someone took that chance away."

We reached the diner she had mentioned and she stopped as she reached for the door handle.

"All right. I'll tell you what I can. But it isn't your charm that's getting you this. Part of it is she really did think she loved you. The other is you're honest enough to admit at least part of it is guilt."

She opened the door and marched in without looking back. She headed for a booth in the back without waiting for the hostess. I debated on offering to help her with her coat but decided the lady would take offense so I tossed mine onto the bench and sat down as she did. The waitress came over with the coffee pot and cups and left quietly when we told her that would be enough for the moment.

"Was she happy? Reasonably so. She was going to graduate in the spring and she had a line on a job here in Madison that would have been pretty nice. She enjoyed what she was doing. Her social life was pretty limited because she was really throwing herself into her studies. We went out maybe one night a week, sometimes twice if there was a good concert or something like that. Carol was dating a guy when I moved in but it didn't last long. He was a bit pushy and wanted her to give up her degree and move out to California with him. Carol ended it about a month after I became her room mate. After that I don't think she seriously dated anyone. In fact she seldom saw the same guy twice. She just studied and we stayed at home."

"You said she was excited after she heard from me."

She made a small face, a hint of distaste showing in the set of her mouth.

"Too much so. She had some fairy tale dream that you would coming riding back in to her life like some white knight and rescue her from the doldrums of her life. I tried to get her to listen to reason and not set herself up for a big letdown. She didn't listen. I think I heard more stories about you in the last three weeks than I had ever heard her tell about anyone or anything in her past."

"I take it you didn't believe them?"

"No one could be that perfect. I was absolutely amazed that she was able to ignore the fact that you ran out on her, left her to go gallivanting around the world without so much as a letter. Eight years and then, all of a sudden you pop back in and want things to be just like they were. As if she had been waiting for you with nothing better to do with her life. I say that takes a lot of gall."

"Helen, if you talked with her and knew her, then you also know it wasn't like that. I didn't expect her to be waiting for me and I knew she had every reason to tell me to go to hell. She didn't."

"She should have."

I sipped at my coffee to buy myself some time. Her intensity was tickling a thought, her attitude reminding me of things that would probably get my face slapped. Or worse, shut her down completely.

"But she didn't. She made plans to meet me. And she was pretty excited about it. So was I, Helen. Scared and wondering but definitely looking forward to it."

"It wouldn't have lasted. She had too idealized an image of you. No one could live up to that."

"Maybe not. Maybe there was enough reality there for us to work through that part. I know I have been wondering if my memories were for real. Or if she was even the same woman I had known. I know there was a big piece that was still there. We did get that far on the phone."

"And you think you would have stuck around long enough to find out."

Her tone used her sarcasm like a club. There was so much anger in her I knew I had to take a chance. She was so closed that I knew I wouldn't get anything really useful from her unless I could get past it.

"Helen, you were in love with her, weren't you."

It was there. The bright flare in her eyes. If I had thought her angry before, this was a whole new ball game.

"You know so damn much. Mr. Perfect. Well, you can just go to hell."

She slid out of the booth and reached for her coat. She tried to put it on but missed the arm hole she was so mad. I watched as she looked for the thing, thrusting her coat around, the whole time fighting tears. I finally stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. She turned towards me, red eyed and ready to fight.

"Helen, it's ok." She tried to say something but it was lost in the burst of sobbing. I pulled her into my arms and held her loosely while she cried. It was a horrible grief laden sobbing that racked her entire body. The others in the restaurant stared but I ignored them, trying to shield her from their sight with my body. After about five minutes the worst of it seemed to be past and she was down to quiet tears. I held her back and dug a bandana out of my hip pocket for her. She took it shyly, not able to meet my look. When she had cleaned up the worst of it, she excused herself in a quiet, tight voice and headed for the bathroom.

I sat back down and waved the waitress over for some fresh coffee.

"Your friend ok?"

"She will be. Her room mate died a few days ago and the funeral is tomorrow."

"Ah. That can be tough."

Ten minutes, she came back, shoulders hunched and very much subdued. She had done a pretty good job of repairing the damage but nothing could hide the red swelling of eyes that had poured out that kind of grief. In a way, I envied her that kind of release but then she had been much closer to the loss. She sat down and handed me my bandana, damp and wrung out.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload like that."

"No need to apologize. I was probably out of line with that question."

I wasn't prepared for the naked hurt in her eyes when she looked at me.

"No, you weren't. You were pretty much on the mark. I was in love with her."

"But she didn't return it."

She started to answer then bowed her head with a shake.

"She might have someday but I think it was more loneliness than love."

"And are you sure it was love? Or maybe there's some hurt and anger involved?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

I reached over and put my hand on her wrist. She looked up at me her eyes threatening to cut loose again.

"Either way, it's ok."

"She was right about you."

"In what way? I'm a runner, remember?"

"She knew that. She said you were like two people. Part of you was afraid of committing, afraid of giving that last little bit. The other part was a sensitive guy who needed to give. It was maddening for her. The way you would go from tender and caring to cold and distant as soon as you felt you were being trapped. I think she would have liked what you've become."

"Don't kid yourself, Helen. Yeah, I don't like to see any one or any thing hurting but I still have the fear. It's not as strong as it was but it's still there."

She cocked her head to the side.

"You may be right. I'm not a threat to you or your freedom so you can afford to sit here and help. If I tried to make this more personal, you would pull back, wouldn't you?"

"Probably. So let's keep it out of that area."

"You don't do much for a woman's ego."

She tried to reach into me with her eyes, the wan look on her face touched with a small sad smile.

"Sorry, Helen, but I can't afford to go there right now."

"So where can you afford to go?"

"Carol. I'm trying to piece together the last couple of weeks so I can put my own ghosts to rest."

"I think it's more than that, Lane. I heard you talking with Mona. You want to find who did it."

It was my turn to fidget and feel uncomfortable. I could feel the black pall of my anger hovering just behind the front lines, waiting to flare.

"There is something to that. It should make the questions easier since I don't have to beat around the bush. You've talked with the police already?"

"Some. When they brought the news and again yesterday a nice officer from Madison came over. I told him the same things I told you. She wasn't seeing anyone."

"Helen, this one might seem a bit out in left field but what was your ex like?"

The quiet friendship that had been showing dropped instantly. Her guards came up with amazing speed and force.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Could he have been jealous? Was he the type?"

She relaxed a bit.

"No, I don't think so. Besides, he is out in the Seattle area and has been since we split. He got a job offer out there and I didn't want to go."

"That was the reason for your divorce?"

She hesitated and glanced out the window before answering.

"Mostly. We had been growing apart for some time. It was just the final straw."

I didn't know why she was lying but she was doing a pretty good job of it. There was more to her divorce but I didn't think I would be able to get it right now. She obviously didn't want to talk about it. It would give me an excuse to call her again, an excuse I found myself looking forward to.

She looked at her watch and then at me.

"I've got to get back. The viewing starts in a bit and I don't want Mona to be alone. Are you staying?"

I shook my head.

"I've never been much for that part of the process and I doubt if there would be anyone other than Mona I would know. I've been gone too long and it would be better if it stayed that way."

We got out of the booth. I dropped a couple of bucks on the table and helped her with her coat. This time there wasn't any fight. As we got back to the funeral home parking lot she stopped and turned to face me.

"Thank you for not freaking out about Carol and I. It really wasn't much of anything. Mostly in my head. I think she really did love you."

"I'm glad she had someone like you around. The rest is history. Or between you two and none of my business."

"Will I see you again?"

"Probably. I may have some more questions."

She thumped me on the chest just hard enough to get my attention.

"She was right. You can be a bastard."

#  Chapter 8

Maybe it wasn't iguana but Rosa had made some magic with the snapper and shrimp dish she had prepared. Stan and I sat at the dining room table surveying the remains of what had been one of the most fabulous meals I had ever eaten. I had stopped at the hotel for a quick shower and change and made it to the rectory with five minutes to spare on the dinner invite. Rosa was a middle aged woman, a widow from Nicaragua who had come to the states on refugee status the previous year. Stan had been on sabbatical down there at the time and had gotten to know her and her husband during his humanitarian work in country. It was obvious she was devoted to the padre and thought of him as a wayward child who needed to be taken care of. She was also thrilled when she found I spoke Spanish. It was mostly kitchen Spanish, the conjugations a bit on the freelance side but we could make ourselves understood.

She was in the process of clearing away the desert plates, a caramel flan that had melted in the mouth when Stan decided to pop his question.

"What would you say to a party tonight, Lane?"

"A party?"

"Unless you would rather not." He caught the look I gave him and shook his head. "I think I will have to bow to Lew's judgment on this one. I guess I've been out of the field too long."

"Just a different field, Stan. Where's this shindig?"

"Out off of Fish Hatchery Road. It's a holiday thing being put on by Irene Troughton. She's a librarian with the U."

He laughed at my grimace.

"Reserve that for when you meet her. She's not your typical librarian. All of her friends call her Troutie and she's what you might call eccentric. She's a bit of a history buff and loves to have her fun dressing in mufti for what ever period has her attention at the time. I believe she's in to the Roaring Twenties right now. But she won't be the only female at the party."

"Sounds interesting. Lead on McDuff."

Stan drove us out Fish Hatchery past the Beltline and out into the edges of nowhere. Just as we were about to fall of the face of the populated earth, he pulled in to a condominium complex. It was new and a bit fancy for what I figured would be a librarian's salary. We were met at the door by a young couple who took our coats and directed us to the library on the second floor. It was one of the places with the half floors and big open staircase from the main living room on the main floor winding around a cathedral type ceiling to the floors above. There were an amazing number of plants and paintings decorating the place. I was no expert on art but something told me the paintings weren't knock offs and prints. Not with the walnut wainscoting on the staircase. Stan preceded me up the stairs, humming a Gregorian chant and grinning like an idiot. Just as we reached the library, he turned to me with a serious look.

"Did I mention, she's rather well off?"

"I think you forgot that part."

"Ah. Well, she is."

My response was prevented by a voice from the library door as one of the occupants recognized the padre. He waved us in to a huge library/den that was wall to wall people. Or rather bookshelf to bookshelf. Stan was greeted by every third person and introduced me but I soon became overwhelmed by the numbers and just smiled and said hi. We finally made our way to the bar where I managed to get a very good bourbon and water. We moved off to the side and found our way through a door into what was probably a spare bedroom. Tacked over the lintel of the door was a sprig of mistletoe and a young lady who couldn't have been more than 19 bestowed a quick peck on the padre's cheek and then proceeded to do her best to seduce me with my own sample. I pried myself loose and followed Stan into the room keeping a sharp eye out for the green and white flash that seemed to be everywhere. The other exit to the room was lined with the stuff and guarded by a pair of ladies who were taking their job very seriously. I was deciding on making my way back through the less well guarded portal when I heard a bray of laughter from the guarded room that I thought I recognized from years ago. I tapped Stan on the arm and headed us in that direction.

The ladies were holding the men in line, making sure they extracted their toll from all who chose to enter. A regular Scylla and Charybdis but I was already plotting a way through. There was a group of young athletic types waiting in line, their letter sweaters adorned with ribbons and medals. I waited until the pair began their toll taking and grabbed Stan's arm and slipped around the side while they were busy with the first two. The third guy tapped one of the guardians on the arm as she finished and pointed in our direction. We raised our glasses to the ladies as they squealed in frustration at being thwarted and then turned our attention to the room.

It was more a sitting room than a bedroom with a trundle bed on the side masquerading as a couch. There were also a couple of love seats, amply occupied, as was just about every square inch of the room. I heard the familiar bark of laughter from the far corner of the room and recognized a familiar back as I made my way through the press of bodies. I was still several steps away when I heard a voice from the past speaking with the same arrogant ease I had forgotten was his gift. Only this time, I didn't care for the subject.

"...knew her from high school. I can't say I was surprised when I heard she had been killed. You know the kind. Always waving the tantalizing bit of bait to draw your attention then snatching it away when she figured the hook was set. One guy took it so hard when she jerked the line that he left the country and hasn't come back yet. I'd like to know where he is so I could tell him she finally got hers."

It all came slamming back as the black fire of anger flared at his words. I felt Stan's hand on my arm but it was an arm that belonged to some one else. My face creased in a tight crazy grin as I reached the spot behind his back. I shrugged free of Stan's grip just as the other noticed the looks on his audience's faces and turned to meet me.

It was the same guy I had known in high school that turned to face me with his friendly watery eyes. He automatically offered me his hand and his best smile. I took it gripping his soft hand in my calloused one. I was a bit surprised at the strength hidden under the moist pale skin.

"I don't believe we've met but you seem familiar. My names Herbert Price."

He was smiling up at me, his slightly bulging eyes confident and warm in a face that had added some padding over the years. It was basically the same face I had seen every day on the walk to school my freshman year.

"Hello, Herb. Nice to see you again."

For a heartbeat, the color drained from his face and over sized ears. His smile wavered and the handshake missed a beat as he realized who I was. Then the color came flooding back as he pumped my hand enthusiastically.

"Lane, you old dog you."

He turned to the group he had been talking to then back to me.

"Lane, you aren't going to believe it, but I was just talking about you. In fact, I was wondering where you've been all these years."

I stood smiling at them all but my attention was focused on Herbert. A few mumbled hellos and one timid soul just walked away. I watched Herbert as he grinned and waited like an anxious dog for an answer.

"Somebody said you were tuna fishing on the coast. Is that where you got that tan?"

Sweat appeared in large beads on his high forehead and put a sheen on his upper lip. The group continued to dissolve slowly giving us room like an old West bar when the gunslinger comes in the front door. I couldn't tell if Stan was still behind me but it didn't really matter. I was totally focused on Herbert.

"You said you had something you wanted to tell me, Herb."

He blanched white and his eyes darted around the room.

"What was it?"

His hand went cold in mine and he tried to pull it free but I clamped down on it watching him flinch at the pressure. The corners of his mouth sank as he realized what I was referring to. My jaw was beginning to ache from keeping the smile in place so I let it fall. Herbert swallowed heavily and stepped back, trying to pull his hand loose again.

"So this is the wily Ulysses who snuck past my trap."

At first the new voice didn't register but it was followed by a slim blonde woman in purple satin. She stepped between us and subtly disengaged our hands.

"Herbert never told me he knew anyone like you."

She turned to where Herbert stood trembling and scolded him. I couldn't distinguish the words but the voice fascinated me. It was a whiskey rough, low pitched alto that cracked and squeaked every now and then. She turned back and guided me towards the door, pressing close against my side. We received some puzzled looks but she quieted questions with idle chatter. Once we cleared the room, no one seemed aware of what had just happened. Scylla and Charybdis parted and let us through without a word. My toffee haired Circe paused for a moment to talk with someone but I was having trouble focusing my attention beyond the anger that held me. My heart was pounding against my ribs in some off beat jazz rhythm and my insides knotted and released at a still different pace. She opened a door at the end of the hall and led us through.

I felt my dinner start to churn and swallowed hard. My entire body began to shake uncontrollably. I made a dash across the room into a small bathroom on the other side, banging my shoulder on the door jamb. My belly emptied out and heaved dry for a few seconds before the seizure passed. I got up, splashed some water on my face and rinsed my mouth out. The shaking had dropped to a minor tremble so I headed back to rejoin my host.

The room I had crossed was a study with a huge old desk and deeply padded chair. The woman was sitting on the edge of the desk, a cigarette hanging from her lip. There was a tray with a bottle of Remy Martin and a snifter on it on the table next to the chair. She watched me without moving, not giving me any clue as to her thoughts about what had just happened.

"I owe you a thank you. And an apology."

She nodded towards the brandy.

"That's for you, if you like. No one will bother you in here. I've got to get back out to the party."

She slid off the desk , the purple satin of her gown clinging to her hips and showing a brief flash of garter and thigh. The dark rich color contrasted sharply with her pale complexion. Her hair was done in tight curls and bound with a scarf giving her a flapper look. Her eyes were large and deep set, a pale blue color that was accentuated by the deep iridescent indigo of her eye shadow. She watched me without expression for a moment then stubbed out her cigarette.

""When you feel up to it, come out and join the party."

"Aren't you afraid I'll..."

"No." She cut me off curtly, turned and left.

# Chapter 9

I sat down in the overstuffed chair and poured myself some brandy. My hands were still a bit shaky and my stomach hurt but I was relaxing. I sipped the cognac, sat back in the leather comfort and tried to finish the job of unwinding the knots seeing Herbert had wound. There was a quiet knock on the door and Stan stuck his head in.

"Troutie said she had left you here. Are you ok?"

"Come on in, Padre. I can use the company."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been dragged through a knothole. I take it the lady in purple is Troutie?"

Stan came over and poured himself some brandy.

"I told you she was different."

"Seems like a librarian to me. Of course, I didn't exactly impress her with that little show I put on."

I took a drink to cover the shiver that coursed through me.

"Just what was that, Lane?"

"A bad night on the range, old buddy. That guy went to my old alma mater. We were pretty decent friends too, until our senior year." I tried a grin but the face muscles were too tight so I let it drop as a bad idea.

Stan pulled up a chair and kicked his feet up on the ottoman.

"So, what happened then? I assume it has something to do with your little show out there."

"Oh yeah. We were good friends at the start of the year. Herb was a bright eyed idealist. He couldn't see anything as being basic or simple. Maybe that's why we got on so well. He complicated and I simplified. Then a month or so into the first semester, he started to change. He'd be late for school, dozed in class, things that he had never done before. Hell, Stan, he was a high honor student in the top ten of our class. When his grades started to slip, I began to look for the reason. He told me to bug off and mind my own business but I couldn't do that. We had been too good of friends for too long. A man possessed wouldn't have acted any stranger than Herb was."

"I started following him on a Friday night after he finished playing a football game. Herb liked the girls and the girls would be at the dance so I waited out in the parking lot where I could watch the doors the guys would be coming out and the entrance to the dance. I almost missed it. He came out with a group and then slipped away. I had to run like hell to get to the corner of the field house so I wouldn't lose him. I stopped at the corner and peeked around to see if he had spotted me. I'd seen it done a hundred times in the movies. It was a good thing I had because if I had gone barreling around that corner I might have missed the whole thing."

"Stan, he was back behind one of the supports and he had a girl back there in the shadows with him. I couldn't figure out why they were hiding like they were until they came out into the light. She had just started at our school about a month before. Heck, I even had her in one of my classes. Rumor had it she was kind of easy because she dressed a lot flashier than the rest of the girls. And she had come from a big city."

Stan poured himself some cognac and splashed some in my snifter.

"Let me guess, it was Carol."

"Bingo. She had Herb wrapped up so tight he didn't know which way was up. So, being a gallant fool I did what I could to pry him loose. I was just glad he hadn't gotten into drugs or something. That would have been a bit tougher to deal with but a girl? That was something I knew about. On Monday I started working on Carol. She sat next to me in Genetics and she really was pretty lonely. Stan, she switched horses so fast she didn't even get her boots wet. She was something else but even suspecting it when I went in to it, I still fell for her. She was never so good looking that I was mesmerized by that. She just had a way of demanding your best and it almost worked. Three months after graduation we were still together and there were some who were expecting a date any time. Carol was one of them."

I drank from my snifter and looked up at the ceiling, remembering that summer.

"Herb got over it pretty much but we were never the same in the friend department. I burned a bridge there and lost his trust. I'm surprised he didn't try to get back with her after I left but I guess he was off at college by then."

I set my empty glass on the tray. I was going to need to eat something before I even thought about any more to drink.

"When I heard him talking about her tonight, it just brought it all back. Carol scared me off because she wanted forever and I wanted...hell, I don't know what I wanted. I just knew it wasn't marriage. I'm beginning to think I didn't really love her. Not in the forever kind of way. Yes, I wanted her, even liked her as a friend and a person. But love? I wonder. I think my hitting the road was my subconscious telling me things I didn't want to face. Any of this make sense to you, Stan?"

"Vaguely. I think it's more important that it's starting to make sense to you."

I looked over at the padre, John the Baptist lounging back in his chair, just taking it all in. I had never told anyone about this, never even really thought of it from this direction before. It was a new angle that I supposed I should be thankful to Herbert for opening. There was always the possibility it was the brandy but it didn't really matter.

"Getting closer to home, Stan. Maybe this will really work."

"Are you still interested in that info on the ushers you asked me to get?"

I leaned back in the chair. Did I want to keep on it? I hadn't found anything of any substance and everyone I had talked with had said to let it go. Leave it to the police. Lt. Manley was a competent cop with more experience and more resources than I had. So what that Carol had seen someone she knew earlier in the evening. She probably knew a lot of people. Manley knew she had been at the theater and was probably working to track it down already. It wasn't that unusual that the person hadn't come forward. It had been a chance meeting in a social situation, no reason to get involved in a murder investigation. Nothing out of the ordinary. My imagination and guilty conscience had ganged up and given me a need to balance the scales. Sorry, conscience, they are balanced.

"No, Stan. You can give it to the police if you think they should know it but I don't want it. You were right. I have to let the cops do their job and get on with my life."

"I would like to think they are already on it. I'm glad to hear you're letting it go, Lane. It isn't yours to do."

"I agree."

"Shall we rejoin the party?"

"You go ahead. I'll be along in a few minutes."

After he had left I went back in to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. The tan covered a slight grayish cast to my skin and my eyes were red with the remains of fatigue luggage under them. I splashed some cold water on my face, ran a comb through my hair and headed back to join the revelry.

"She tried to sue us for losing that fish and ended up paying for the work done on my arm and the damage to Eller's boat. I'll give her credit for holding that hammerhead as long as she did but Carl should have forgotten how many times he'd seen her on the screen and cut that thing loose earlier. A shark is bad enough but sixteen foot plus of fighting death is too much for most, especially first timers. El was so busy watching her he missed it when the shark made his run at us. I'll never forget the look on her face when that line went slack. She was furious, screaming at Carl so loudly that he couldn't figure out what had happened. He got it pretty quick when the wire leader went into the prop."

Everyone laughed and nudged their neighbor. I was in the spotlight, dragging up old sea stories to keep them entertained and I found myself enjoying it. The group had changed from time to time but there was a surprising number of people who stayed or came back for more. I was something they hadn't counted on with my dark tan and sea bag full of tales. There was one ragamuffin redhead who had taken up residence on the floor next to my stool early in the evening and had listened with an intensity that bordered on worship. She had been bringing me coffee and munchies all along and scooting closer every time she sat down.

I'd found Stan chatting with a few people he knew and joined in the conversation when I had first come back. A couple of the guys were vets and we traded some stories but none of us wanted to get in to it too deeply so we had moved on to more entertaining topics. One of the guys, Bob Michaels, was a brush pilot up in Alaska back in Madison for the holidays. He started the whole thing with a story about how one of his charters had managed to get them stranded way out in the wilds by managing to get lost in the middle of the tundra. It set the pace with the rest of us digging out stories of our own experiences. That had been a couple of hours earlier. Now it was past the witching hour and I was beginning to feel the need for a warm bed. The coffee helped but it was only forestalling the inevitable.

"People, it's getting late and I'm fading fast. I think I need to find my ride and find my bunk for the night."

There were a few sounds of disappointment, not the least coming from my red headed fan club but I shrugged and headed out to find Stan. As I made my way through the townhouse I noticed I wasn't the only one heading for home. The crowd had thinned considerably. There were a few smaller groups of four and five people and a big cluster around the bar but the mad press of bodies was gone. I wandered through the second floor looking for Stan or my host and then headed down to the main floor. There was a small group by the fireplace in the big living room and one of them suggested I try the kitchen so I headed in the indicated direction. It was empty. The caterers had done a good job of cleaning things up and left a pot of coffee going so I helped myself and looked around. It was a nice functional kitchen that any chef would have drooled over. There was a huge gas range, restaurant quality with griddle plate and monster stainless steel hood. Pots and pans hung from hooks around the edge. In the center was an island with butcher block top, double sink and a suspended rack with various exotic utensils dangling in easy reach. I noticed a large plaque with an engraved message by the oversized stainless refrigerator and headed over to read it. Normal is just a cycle on your washing machine. I was chuckling to myself when I heard a whiskey roughed voice behind me.

"I'm glad to see you've recovered. Stan said you would."

She stood just inside the door, looking just as fresh as she had earlier. The satin dress was gorgeous, the hair still in perfectly ordered curls, the bright red lipstick looking freshly done and those pale blue eyes just as penetrating.

"I haven't thanked you for pulling me off Herbert earlier. Thanks. Things just got a bit too intense but I think I have them worked out now."

She leaned her head to the side and looked at me with a strange question.

"Did you love her?"

I tensed up. I hadn't expected her to know even that much about me.

"Where did you find out about that?"

She gave me a dry grin.

"I asked a few of the people you scared silly with that horrid grin what could have set you off. They told me what Herbert had been talking about just before it happened. Are you going to answer my question?"

We glared at each other in quiet challenge. I gave in first.

"I guess I owe you that much. Yes, in a way, I did. Enough to take a violent dislike to an old friend."

"You and Herbert are friends?"

"We were once. I haven't seen him in about nine years."

"What made you stop?"

"I left town. This is my first time back."

"Are you always this belligerent?"

"Just on certain subjects. Could we change it?"

She put her hands on her hips and glared at me through narrowed eyes. Her voice was becoming raspier by the moment.

"What do you think I'm going to do? Run out and give all the dreary details of your life to the local paper? You come in to my party and just about attack an invited guest and you think I should just smile and ignore it? Mister, you have an inflated ego. Personally I couldn't care less if you had killed him but not in my home."

I had a nasty reply ready when Stan stuck his head in the door. He almost pulled it right back out but I headed him off.

"I've been looking for you. About time to head out?"

"Well, actually a bunch of us are heading over to Bennies for breakfast. We've got a good discussion going and we want to let Troutie wrap this soirée up. I wanted to see if you wanted to join us."

"I'm about whipped, Stan. I need some sleep."

He dug in his pocket and tossed me his keys.

"Bring it around tomorrow. I'll get a lift from one of the guys. Troutie, it was a great party. Thanks. Now I'll let you two get back to whatever."

He gave me a wink and closed the door.

I tossed the keys in my palm and looked at my host. She was waiting with dark patience for my response but I really didn't want to respond.

"I think I'd better go."

I headed for the foyer. I found my jacket and had one arm in a sleeve when she came to the door. I couldn't read the expression on her face but the overall feeling was that the lady wasn't pleased with me.

"Coward."

I finished shrugging into the jacket and left without responding. Outside there was a warm wind blowing across the lot. Stan's car started right off but I sat behind the wheel staring at the door. I had a feeling what would happen if I went back in but I still wanted to do it. Kind of like a dog looking for something smelly to roll in. With a curse I rammed the car into gear and headed for town.

# Chapter 10

The police station was almost deserted when I walked in. A drunk was slumped against the desk as a blue coat filled out a form above him. The desk officer looked up at me as I came over.

"What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if Lt. Manley might be on tonight. I'd like to talk with him."

"Anything important?" He asked hitching his chair forward to give me a better look.

"Not really. I was in the area and thought I'd check. Otherwise it can wait until tomorrow."

He sucked on his teeth and rolled his tongue through his cheek. He was a middle aged man with graying hair and the start of a secretarial spread from too many hours in a chair but there was a quiet efficiency to his manner. It showed in the neatness of his uniform and the shine to his brass and leather.

"The Lieutenant got called in on a robbery earlier. Some punk kid tried a 7-11, shot the clerk and took off about three seconds in front of the first squad car. They chased him out towards McFarland and he smashed in to another car just outside of town. He got himself into someone's house and the Lt. was trying to talk him out. He just called about fifteen minutes ago and said he was on his way with the putz. I don't know that he'll be too talkative but you can wait if you want."

"Thanks. I'll be in the cafeteria."

I was getting my second cup when Manley came in so I poured another and brought it over. He grunted his thanks and sat down and stared at the table. His clothing was rumpled, his hair a bit mussed and it was obvious he was tired.

"Bad one?"

He nodded without looking up. He sipped at his coffee and cursed when he burned his tongue.

"A man, his wife and their two kids died in the wreck. The clerk at the 7-11 and one of my cops are over at Madison General getting .38 slugs dug out of them and I haven't heard how that's going. And the little shit is screaming about police brutality and his rights."

He shook a Camel loose from a half smashed pack and hung it in his mouth. His face was dirty and badly in need of a shave. His tie was sloppily tied over an open wrinkled collar. His green cop eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot as they looked up at mine.

"What did you want to talk about? You find something?"

I shrugged.

"Couple of things, maybe. Helen Krueger. Does she have an alibi for that night?"

"I don't think we asked really. Why?"

"Just curious. I was wondering what she was doing that night."

It was his turn to shrug.

"I can check the file. You got some reason to wonder?"

"Just curious is all. I'm more wondering about something else. I've got a name and maybe an idea. You remember a guy named Mark Krueger?"

"Krueger. The room mate?" His mind clicked over to Carol's case with practiced ease. My respect for him went up a notch. "How's he tie in?"

"Helen Krueger's ex. I don't know if he ties in at all but I get the feeling there's something she was hiding about him. Something about the divorce, I don't know what."

"So why should that matter? If I remember right he's out on the coast."

"You've checked?"

He watched me for a long minute then shook his head.

"I don't know. We probably did a quick check. You think there might be something there?"

I squirmed a bit.

"Carol wouldn't have gotten in to a car with a stranger. And maybe this Krueger had some strange ideas about Carol and Helen. I don't know but I thought I'd pass it on."

The darkness around his eye lightened a touch and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"Garrison, I had a feeling you were going to make me look bad on this one. I'll get my people looking in to it tomorrow. I pretty much wrote him off as too far out of it. It's not much but I think it's worth looking into. You going to keep digging?"

"That's the other thing I wanted to tell you. As far as I'm concerned, this is finished. I'll leave the police work to the pro's."

"This look that good to you?"

"It has possibilities. You can dig out the rest. Manley, I got in to this because I felt I owed something to Carol."

"And now you figure you've squared the bill."

"Something like that." I felt the scorn in his quiet tone and it made me feel even worse. "You told me yourself that this wasn't a game for amateurs.. You'll find the killer."

"Just like we found this guy tonight. I didn't tell you this was his third job. He got away with the first two because we couldn't find enough to tie him in solid. The few witnesses we had couldn't give us a decent description. Or wouldn't. So instead of being able to find him we had to wait for him to try again and now I've got four dead and two in the hospital. Garrison, it's the same story here. We can do all the investigating in the world but the odds on us finding something before he hits again are pretty low. We don't even have an eye witness. All we have is forensics and it just ain't enough. I need everything I can get because I would really like to put him down before he gets another one."

He glared at me belligerently, his beefy hands on the table. Slowly the anger left him and he sank back into his chair.

"Sorry, it's not your fault. I get worked up too easily. You've done more than most. Who knows, maybe this Krueger thing will pan out. Thanks for that much."

I got up uneasily.

"I'll see you around."

He waved a hand at me, already dismissing me from his thoughts so I left.

It was going on three thirty when I found myself driving back out Fish Hatchery Road. I had been thinking about what Manley had said and it wasn't sitting too well. Maybe I didn't owe Carol. Maybe I hadn't loved her in the way I had thought. But did that mean I should just walk away? The reasons I had started out with for wanting to find her killer may have been off but by how much? Did I maybe owe it to the next victim to do what I could? Pictures of Claire and Helen and Troutie flashed across my mind. Their screams were too plaintive and the blood too real so I pushed them back. The odds on someone I knew being the next, even if there was a next, were too high. But then, they'd been pretty astronomical for Carol too.

Just what did I owe where? Who said I was some kind of knight on a white charger slaying evil beasts and dragons? There were lots of other guys who would just love the chance to win the maiden fair from under a scaly paw. I was just a construction bum. I built things. Let the others do the dragon slaying.

I turned in to the parking lot at Troutie's without consciously thinking of it. I parked in the spot closest to the door and sat staring at the ornate dark door. A light went out in the living room as I watched so I got out and went to the door. I hesitated at the knocker, feeling foolish. I had no business being here at this time of the morning. My hand came up, lifted the knocker and let it drop.

She opened the door a crack and looked out past the chain. The door closed and I heard the chain drop then opened again. She had changed in to a bulky dark blue robe that contrasted nicely with her eyes and the scarf was gone from her hair.

"Yes?'

"Maybe it needs publishing but I don't think it will sell."

She watched me without expression then stepped aside to open the door the rest of the way.

"Let me be the judge of that."

She led me in to the living room where the fire was dying slowly in the hearth but still gave off a warm glow. There were a couple of large plush pillows on the floor.

"I like to sit and watch the fire when I'm down. How about you?"

"Sounds good."

She indicated I should choose my cushion and went to put another log on the fire. Kneeling in the gold light the first new flames were casting she seemed an ivory statue. But the ivory breathed. The flickering light danced on her moist lips and in her pale eyes. She came over and curled up on the cushion opposite me. There was no readable expression in those eyes as she turned her attention towards me. I felt more than a bit foolish. This woman had seen me totally lose it and then challenged me over it. Called me a coward and meant it. A total stranger. But she had also brought me back from the edge of a very nasty place. Without knowing why I reached over and touched the tight blonde curls on the side of her head. She looked at me quizzically.

"What was that for?"

"Just wanted to see if they were real."

"They are. My hair is naturally curly. Are you?"

"Real? Sometimes I wonder. Times like this I tend to doubt it."

"Why's that?'

"Just what in the hell am I doing here?"

It was the first real smile I had seen from her. It was a quiet warm thing that put a soft light in her eyes.

"Looking to get your life published?"

"Hardly."

"Maybe just looking for someone to talk to."

I looked away from her while I still could and watched the flames slowly climb around the fresh log.

"It has something to do with what happened tonight. With you're leaving home and Herbert and that woman."

I nodded. I started to talk. Slowly at first, in short bursts, staring in to the fire the whole time. She sat quietly and gently prompted me when I reached an impasse. It all came out. From my friendship with Herb, how I had left, why I had come back. Right up to my meeting with Manley earlier. She interrupted infrequently and then only with gentle questions that pointed me back at the subject at hand. Part way through I got up and paced the room. I couldn't sit still with her so close. She put another log on the fire at one point but stayed on her cushion the rest of the time. I ended up standing in front of the French doors to the patio watching the sky begin to pale in the east.

"So now you have it all. Think it will sell?"

"You are a very unique man."

I flinched at the nearness of her voice. She was standing right behind me, having come up so quietly I hadn't noticed. I kept my attention focused on the dawn.

"What do you think you should do now?"

I shrugged. A deer came out of the woods on the far edge of the property and stopped to test the morning air.

"Nothing. Go back to my job, I guess."

"Lane, when are you going to stop lying to yourself?"

I almost turned, a sharp denial on my lips but something stopped me. Maybe it was the nearness of her subtle floral perfume. Or maybe the truth in her question.

"You were on to something when you decided to quit. Why don't you follow up on it?"

"What good would it do to find out who she talked to? It was probably someone from her Sophomore Lit class. And it's not my job. I'm no cop."

"Lane, Lane, Lane. You've got to back up. You're in too close and the clinch is killing you. Back off and get some breathing room. If you keep up like this you'll end up on the ropes and losing it."

I did turn then, letting the anger flare.

"Ok, so what do you suggest?"

"For one, smart ass, I'd do some checking to see if Carol tried to get in touch with you the day she died. Then I'd follow up on the ushers at the play. There's been nothing in the paper on that part of it. Check with your friend to see if they did check that out. Find out who the guy was and who the woman in the blonde wig was."

She was back, arms akimbo and eyes flashing, her nose right in my face.

"And maybe quit feeling so damned sorry for yourself."

The anger was roaring in my ears but it wasn't the black fire that had been threatening to consume me. It was a cherry red heat fired by a need to do what I should be doing.

"So maybe you're right. Maybe I have been a putz. I guess I'd better do something about it."

"Maybe you'd better."

I stepped around her, my mind racing ahead on the path Troutie had pointed out. I picked my jacket off the back of the couch and headed for the door.

"Thanks for listening."

She stayed by the window, her arms folded tight around her.

"Stay out of the clinches, Lane. Stay loose."

I almost ran down the icy steps, losing my balance for moment before I slowed to a safer pace. My car keys were in my pocket so I stopped by the car door and dug them out. I was facing the east as the rim of the sun broke over the trees and hit me right in the eyes with a flashbulb flare. I paused in my frantic search for keys as I remembered the last glimpse of Troutie's face just before I had bolted. Those sad eyes in her tired face and two tiny glistening tracks on her cheeks that caught the fire's dying light. I quit reaching for the keys and watched the sun rise instead. I retraced my steps to the front door and lifted the knocker again. It took her longer to reach the door this time.

"Yes?" Her voice came through the thick wood with just a trace of a sniffle. I didn't answer. The lock clicked and the door opened slowly. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks wet. She sniffed loudly and wiped at the dampness.

"I think I missed the bell. Could you maybe direct me to my corner?"

She tried to smile but her mouth was quivering too much as she reached for me.

# Chapter 11

I woke up suddenly, totally disoriented. The early morning happenings slowly sifted back to me as I felt warm air blow softly against the side of my neck and the warm pneumatics of woman pressed against my side. Troutie lay snuggled against my side, her leg across mine and her face nestled in the crook of my neck. Then the phone rang again. I gently shook her awake and handed her the receiver.

"Hullo?" She asked sleepily. ""sferyou." She mumbled dropping the phone and going back to sleep. I picked up the handset and managed to get it to my ear.

"Garrison."

"Lane? It's Stan. Did I wake you?"

"No, I had to get up to answer the phone anyway. What time is it?"

"Eleven thirty."

"So what's on your mind you had to get me up in the middle of the night?"

He laughed.

"I was wondering what happened to you. And my car."

"Shit. I forgot about that. Sorry, buddy."

"No problem. Are you going to be heading in to town soon?"

"I can be. You need it?"

"After lunch is ok. In fact, that's why I called. Lew called and said he's got some messages for you. He wanted you to come over for lunch."

Another bit of lapsed memory. I had told a few people they could reach me through Lew and forgotten to mention it to him. Or check with him. It looked like I had some fences to mend.

"How about I meet you there in about an hour?"

"I'll let Lew know. See you then."

I hung up the phone and contemplated ways of slipping out without disturbing Troutie. I couldn't think of any good ones so I tried getting her body's attention. After a few minutes, she moaned in her sleep and rolled her head so she could prop open a sleepy eye and look at me.

"Morning."

"Beast." She hissed.

"The thanks I get." I said moving my hand a little lower and closer to home. She moaned low in her throat and arched against me. Twenty minutes later I sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning my shirt. Troutie watched me with eyes that really wanted to close again.

"Back for another round?"

"Hopefully the last one."

"Listen for the bell this time."

I reached back and stroked a soft round hip and gave her a kiss.

"You just keep the corner warm. I'll call you later."

I stopped by the hotel for a shower and a quick change of clothes and made it to Lew's with two minutes to spare. Stan was back in our booth and Lew was behind the bar getting beer. I walked over to give him a hand.

"Next time you decide to use me for an answering service, let me know. I got rates for shit like that."

I laughed and picked up the bottles.

"Sorry, Lew. I didn't figure there would be anybody who wanted to talk to me."

"Oh no. Nobody would want to talk to you. Not even the cops."

I raised an eyebrow as we headed for the booth.

"Manley called. I take it you two reached some kind of agreement?"

We slid in to the booth and the padre looked up at the name.

"Isn't that the cop who you said worked the Tenadore case, Lew?"

"The same. He's leaving messages for the puppy here."

Stan looked at me sharply.

"I thought you said you were out of it, Lane? You've changed. Sometimes it worries me."

I sighed and smiled at him.

"Relax, Padre. If you'd ever met Manley, you'd understand why he's calling me. So, Lew, what did he have to say?"

"No go. He said your boy is doing time on a morals rap in Tacoma. Been there since August."

Krueger in prison. Motive, means but no opportunity. I felt a little sick as I realized I was back at ground zero. But at least I had some new directions to try.

"Lew, did you have any other messages for me?"

"Some lady named Claire. She left a number."

I filed that one away for later.

"How about before I got to town? Say like Sunday?"

"Now who in the hell would be calling for you before you even got here? I didn't even know you were coming to town.'

"Stan, how about you?"

"I was out of town Sunday. Maybe Rosa heard from someone. But why would they call me?"

"Because Carol knew you and I were friends and if I was coming to Madison, you would be one of the first people I would be in contact with."

"You think she might have called Sunday?"

"I don't know. It's possible."

"Well, it will be a day or so before I can find out. Rosa went to visit friends in Chicago. She won't be back until day after tomorrow."

"Ask her when she gets back. I'd appreciate it."

Stan sat quietly while the waitress brought our food then fixed me with a knowing look.

"So, you're back at it again."

"I'm afraid so, Stan. I can't let it drop but I think I have a better handle on it now."

"So, I suppose you want the names of the ushers from that night?"

"If you still have them."

"There's a Junior who's been singing in the guitar mass group who has been in the ticket office for over a year now. Her name is Karen Judge. She was also working that night. I have her phone number, if you want it."

"Sure. I'd like to talk to her.

We settled in to eating our lunch and talking about more general things. I could tell Stan wasn't very pleased with my choice but he was keeping it to himself. He did give me the numbers for Karen Judge and the ticket office. While we were eating I decided I'd better check with the home office. I had given Carol Regent's number as a way to get in touch with me but I hadn't checked back to see if she had tried. I had called her place several times on Sunday to try and let her know I was going to be a day late but I hadn't gotten any answer. Not terribly surprising. There was some work yet to do on this one. Maybe I could come up with something for Manley after all.

I tried the number of the ticket office after lunch and found out Karen was coming on at 3 so I headed over to the University. I walked in at 3:15 and found the counter manned by a young woman about 5'9" with long straight brown hair and a full farm girl figure. She smiled as I came up showing me a set of remarkably white teeth that seemed to glow against the darkness of her skin.

"Karen Judge?" I asked leaning forward and putting my hands palm down on the counter. She came forward and rested her forearms on the counter between my hands.

"Prince Charming?"

I shook my head.

"His brother, Debonair."

We both laughed.

"What can I do for you?"

"I heard you were working the aisles on the 16th. Is that right?"

Her dark brown eyes narrowed.

"You're the second person to ask me that."

"Second?"

"Mary Hunter asked me yesterday. What's going on?"

I nodded.

"That was probably from the same source. A friend of mine was trying to find someone who had been in the theater for last Saturday's performance. Have the police been around asking?"

She straightened up and shook her head slightly, her eyes cooling off quickly.

"There was a woman in the wrong seat that night. I'd like to talk with you about her."

"I remember her. She was about your age, dark blonde hair. She was with Freddie Hartman."

"Actually I'm more interested in the little altercation at intermission."

"Why?"

I debated on trying to come up with some plausible reason but decided the shock factor and honesty might be more productive.

"Because she died that night and I'm trying to find out what she did before that."

Her eyes went wide and she tensed.

"The one they found out on the Point?"

I nodded.

"Wow. But I don't see how I can help."

"Do you remember anything about the guy she was talking to at intermission? Anything at all?"

She frowned and shook her head. Her hair did a shimmering dance around her shoulders as she did.

"He was wearing a red and white letter jacket. That's about all."

Great, I thought. Madison's school colors. It narrowed the field too damn little.

"What about the woman he was with? Were they together?"

She hesitated, her eyes going blank as she went back and then she smiled.

"Yes, they were. She was in her late thirties and wearing one of those cheap dynel wigs. It was a flashy platinum blonde that didn't go that well with her skin tone or choice of make up. I remember she smiled very nastily at me when they were leaving. He was on her far side and she had her hand through his arm. He was shorter than her by a bit and he walked strangely."

"Strangely? Could you be more specific?"

"Sorry, I really wasn't paying much attention to him. I just remember thinking it was odd. He was pretty nondescript."

I smiled at her.

"Well, it may be of some help. Thanks."

She hesitated a moment, studying me closely.

"Are you a cop?"

"No. Just an interested party."

"But you knew her."

"A long time ago. There is one other thing you might be able to help me with. Would it be possible to find out who bought those tickets?"

She caught on immediately.

"Sure. Well, it might be possible. The seats were assigned that night so it's possible they were season tickets or paid for by check. Then I might be able to find out. If they paid cash, I'm afraid not. But it means getting at the master ticket list over in the main office. I can't do it today."

"I can make it worth your while." I said as I reached for my wallet. She flashed me a smile that I caught easily.

"I couldn't take your money."

"All right. How about dinner and drinks, your choice?"

"I have pretty expensive tastes."

I smiled.

"I think I can handle it. How long do you think it will take you?"

"I can't do it today and I have a make up exam tomorrow. I may be able to get it by tomorrow night but Friday would be more certain."

I wrote down the number for the Villa Roma and handed it to her.

"When you know, call and leave me a message at this number. We may have to wait until after Christmas for the night out. Is that a problem?"

"We'll see. I don't have any real plans."

I decided it was time to get out of there. The lady had tiger written all over her and I wasn't sure I didn't have goat written on me somewhere. I smiled and headed for the door.

"We'll see what we can work out. I'll see you later."

# Chapter 12

The old Nova purred along the twisted snake they called Highway 12 between Madison and Whitewater. Stan had done a pretty good job on the old 283. Somewhere's he had found a fuel injection kit for the thing and added dual point ignition to give the old beast some serious snap. The headers fed the dual glass pack muffler system with a throaty roar that rumbled nicely through the cold winter afternoon. It had been a challenge keeping the speed down going through Cambridge and Fort Atkinson because the old Chevy really wanted to stretch it's legs and go.

The road wound through the farm lands, in places splitting the farm house and the old tobacco drying barns. Rolling hills and tight curves the Nova took at a gallop. I was glad the blacktop was dry and clear because any snow would have made this trip a screaming hell. There was too much power under the hood to keep the back skins quiet and a little bit of slick on the road would have sent me into a mad skid. But it was a pretty drive even in the dead of winter with everything white and buried. I remembered what it was like when the fields were green. A totally different scene but every bit as memorable. The sign for Whitewater came up about the same time as the lowered speed limit as I rounded a curve. The Nova fought the bit but backed off to a reasonable speed as I rolled into town. Carol and Helen's apartment was on the main drag right across from the University. I knew I should have called but I hadn't wanted Helen to come up with a reason for putting this meeting off. And I figured she would have done just that, given the chance. There were things I had the feeling she didn't want to talk about but that needed to be faced. Maybe painful. I was reluctant to push it but something was riding me, telling me they had to be pushed. I wheeled into the parking lot and headed into the apartment building. The apartment was on the first floor at the back so I followed some other tenants in and went down to knock on the door.

I heard a muffled just a minute, some noises inside the place and then the door opened. She was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, her hair tied under a bandanna when she looked up. It was pretty obvious she was expecting some one else.

"Lane. What are you doing here?"

"Sorry I didn't call but I had a few more things I needed to ask you about. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No, not really. I'm just cleaning."

"I could come back later?"

She glanced over her shoulder, then mine and down the hall.

"No. Come on in."

I followed her inside. She took a few steps into the apartment, saw the cardboard boxes scattered around then turned back.

"I'm packing Carol's things."

I nodded.

"I know it's quick but it just hurts too much to see them."

"I guess I can understand that."

"Can I get you anything?"

I shook my head.

"I don't want to put you out. I just had a couple things I wanted to talk with you about. If you can spare a few minutes."

"I guess. Come sit down?"

We sat on opposite ends of the couch and I could feel the tension in the room. She kept glancing at the boxes and back at me.

"What was it you wanted to ask?"

"The other day I got the feeling you didn't want to talk about your ex. I guess it got me curious."

The temperature in the room dropped seriously as she stiffened and regarded me through narrowed eyes.

"About what?"

"About that. Carol wouldn't have gone of with a stranger. Not the Carol I knew. She was in a town where there weren't that many people she would have know well enough to accept a ride from. Did she know your ex?"

Helen stared at me for a moment then rose abruptly and walked over to the French doors.

"Yes, she knew Mark by sight but she wouldn't have accepted a ride from him. Even if he were around." She said coldly. She turned back, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "I think you had better go."

I couldn't tell where the heavy frost was coming from but I stood up to leave.

"Helen, I'm sorry. I don't know what I've done here but I'm only trying to figure out what happened."

I headed for the door but her words stopped me.

"So you aren't here to find out about the big jealous butch girlfriend? Who was home alone that night?"

I turned back and was shocked at the anger in her face.

"No. I was just wondering if it was possible..."

"Oh please, stop it. The police were here this morning. Wondering where I was that night. Asking if I was jealous because Carol had found a real boyfriend. That big macho asshole. So damn condescending and sleazy, wanting to show me what a real man was like. And you don't know anything about it." She took a couple a of steps towards me. "I trusted you. How could you do this?"

I raised my hands.

"Whoa. I didn't say anything to anyone about you and Carol."

"No one else knew, you bastard. Get the hell out of my house."

I turned to leave and had the door open before the icy anger in my overcame the shock. I turned back and closed the door.

"GET OUT!" she screamed.

"Not until I've had my say. You want to jump to conclusions, go right ahead but I will be damned if you get to bitch at me because you don't like where you land."

"You didn't tell the police anything. They just figured it out all by themselves."

"As strange as that may seem, yeah, they might have. They are up against a dead end and grabbing at anything that might make sense. You are a big lady who hasn't exactly been real subtle about how mad you are about Carol's death. If you ran your mouth with the police like you did with me, yeah even a dumb cop might get the idea you were jealous. And, sweetie, jealousy ranks right up there in the top three motives for murder."

I turned and grabbed the door knob but couldn't resist a parting shot.

"You know, you might want to be a little less angry with me because I happen to be someone who doesn't believe you had anything to do with her death. Even if you do make a damn pretty suspect."

I slammed the door behind me and stalked down the hall. I heard the door open and Helen call my name but I kept going. It was the please that made me stop. Slowly I turned. She was standing outside the door, all six foot, broad shouldered and hipped, managing to look as forlorn as a Saigon gutter snipe. I walked back and stopped, looking into her tear flooded brown eyes.

"What am I going to do?"

I started to make with a snappy remark and ended up sighing and folding her into my arms.

"I don't know. Yet."

She put the coffee pot on the table after she had finished pouring us each a cup. She curled up in the chair and left me alone on the far end of the couch. Her eyes were red rimmed from crying and I was feeling more angry and lost than ever.

"So what did you want to know about Mark?"

"I'm not sure. I just got the feeling there was something about him or your divorce that wasn't right. Something you were afraid of telling me about, something that may have some bearing on this."

"There are a lot of things I don't like to talk with anyone about when it comes to Mark. Even Carol didn't know everything."

"I can respect that. But there is something there."

She put her cup down and sat staring at her hands.

"Mark is a very brilliant man. He graduated from college with his business degree at 19. He's an absolute genius with numbers. And he was a very sensitive man. Probably too sensitive. I tried to understand him but what I felt mostly for him was pity. He tried so hard to be a good husband but there was something missing."

"You pitied your husband?"

She looked up, stricken.

"Yes. He was so insecure. And his mind. He had such a difficult time dealing with reality. I overlooked his magazines and books but..."

She sobbed and buried her face in her hands. I waited for the storm to pass, drinking coffee and feeling extraneous. Finally she got things under control.

"I came home one day and found him...with the neighbor's collie bitch...in our bedroom."

It was an image I could have done without. And I was sure it was burned indelibly into her memory. One would consider that fairly aberrant behavior and grounds for divorce. But somehow I didn't think it had made the court records.

'And you haven't told anyone about it."

"I couldn't."

It was my turn to pace. I ended up looking out the same French doors at the snowy parking lot.

"Did he ever exhibit any signs of violent behavior?"

"He hated violence. Making love was almost too violent for him."

She came over and stood behind me, her presence well within my radar but not quite touching.

"If you could tell me, is this part of why...?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

I stared out at the dumpster in the parking lot. It was a lot to take in. I could tell my silence was making her nervous but it couldn't be helped.

"I'll talk to the cops in Madison. See if I can get them off your back."

"Lane?"

I turned and pulled her into my arms. I knew she needed some kind of reassurance but I had no idea of what kind to give her. I held her for a minute then leaned back and kissed her forehead.

"I don't know what to tell you. It wasn't your fault? It was his problem? Shit, I don't know."

"It feels a little better. Now that some one else knows."

"And it stops here. I know you didn't have anything to do with Carol's death and I'll have the cops check on him. Somehow, it doesn't fit."

"But that officer who was here this morning. He said the way she died, that it could have been..."

"A woman using the club like some kind of symbol. Or an impotent man. Yeah, it could have. That's why they're checking on Mark. But it wasn't you."

"How can you be so sure?"

I shrugged.

"Don't know. I just know that I am. I can't guarantee I can convince the boys in blue but I'll do my best. Or find out who really did it."

#  Chapter 13

The trip back to Madison wasn't nearly as much fun as the ride out. I pushed the Nova to the limit with only a portion of my mind on my driving. The rest was worrying at the information Helen had given me. I was glad I had asked Manley to check a little closer on her ex but I couldn't help doubting that it was relevant. That little grouping had all of the ear marks of being able to turn nasty but it just didn't feel right. Any more than Helen having killed Carol in a jealous rage. Sure, she had a temper that was strong and she made no attempt to conceal the fact. To me, that just didn't add up to explosion. Helen was constantly venting her anger and frustration, not storing it up for a monster explosion of violence.

I parked the Nova behind the Catholic Center and headed back towards State Street. The wind was blowing strong off the lake and cutting through my unlined leather jacket. I had been right when I had told Claire I would be feeling the cold again. I hurried down the frozen sidewalk, trying to remember where I could go to get out of the cold and make a few calls. Up ahead I saw Lake street and remembered the Kollege Klub. It was a block towards Lake Mendota on the corner of Lake and Layton in the basement of a big old building that had been converted to apartments. I trotted around the corner and down the stairs, almost slipping several times on the packed snow and ice. I was definitely going to need a warmer coat. And a hat, gloves, scarf and god only knew what else if I was going to hang around much longer.

Inside I headed for the chairs by the fireplace. The waitress took my order for an Irish coffee and was back with it before I had my jacket off. It was too early for any real kind of crowd so I sipped my coffee and basked in the heat to take the chill off. There was a pay phone down in the corner at the far end of the bar so I took my drink and went to call the home office. Shelly answered and after a minute of exchanged greetings she said she didn't know of any messages but she would check for me. I was listening to hold music when a familiar figure in an orange ski jacket came in the front door. He headed directly to the bar and ordered a drink. His stare alternated between the back bar mirror and the polished bar top in front of him. He took his drink down in two quick knocks and signaled for another one. As he raised his second glass, he spilled part of it because of the shaking in his hand. I heard the sound of his curse as he slammed the drink down. It looked to me like he was keyed to a tight wind. I remembered the scare I had thrown in to him at Troutie's party the night before and it came to me he might be worried about what my intentions were. He had left the party before I had returned and it was just possible he was wondering if I was going to come looking for him.

If that were the case, I couldn't see letting him go on thinking it. It hadn't ever occurred to me to go after him, other than the initial rush of anger at his words. I was about to hang up and head over to talk with him when the phone behind the bar rang. Herbert started visibly and then looked nervously towards the bartender. In the reflected light from the back bar I could see the sweat standing out in huge beads on his forehead. The bartender asked if there was a Price in the place and brought the phone over when Herbert raised his hand. He put the phone to his ear and listened for less than a minute without saying a word, then handed it back. He tossed a couple of wrinkled bills from his pants pocket on the bar, shrugged into his ski coat and headed for the door. I heard Shelly just coming back on the line as I hung the phone up and went to get my own coat. I left my money on the table and headed out into the fading day.

I spotted his bright orange coat headed down Lake towards the Mall. He was making good time so I trotted to close the gap a bit. He crossed Johnston St. and angled left to cross an open rail yard. I hung back as far as I dared until he disappeared around the corner of a brick wall surrounding an industrial products firm then ran to catch up. I tried to keep in his tracks but there wasn't enough length to his walking stride and the space in between was too wide. The snow crunched loudly under my feet as I ran. I pulled up at the corner of the wall and put my back against it, my breath coming out in huge white plumes in the cold December air.

I remembered the last time I had run to catch Herbert and shivered. A strange queasiness grabbed at my stomach as I leaned around the corner half expecting to find him standing there in the failing light with Carol in his arms. My breath escaped in a rush as I realized the street was empty. Herb was no where in sight. Had he spotted me? I doubted it but I pulled my collar up against the cutting wind and headed down the street in a stiff legged trot, hoping I looked like an ordinary guy trying to get home and out of the cold. The supply place, the only one close enough that Herb could have entered, was closed by a strike. I kept following the street as it turned left. Ahead on the right was an old train station. Except for a couple of snow covered cars, it looked deserted. On the left was the old Washington St. Hotel. It had been quite a place in it's day but it had sank into the seedy look, it's trim in need of a coat of paint and it's brick walls stained black from the soot of a couple of hundred trains. There was a small bar in the back of the hotel, it's sign glowing a washed out yellow in the window. Herbert was nowhere to be seen.

I cursed myself a little and decided to go in to the bar to warm up. He could have gone in to the station or the hotel but more likely he had grabbed a cab from the line I saw under the canopy at the far end of the station. If he had, there was no way I would be able to find him. I reached up to open the front door to the bar and stopped cold. Herbert stood inside talking to someone sitting in one of the small booths at the side of the bar. I stepped to the side away from the light. Herbert was so absorbed in his conversation, he hadn't noticed me and was still talking. He was mad. I could see him gesturing angrily with his arms and the tone of his voice just carried to me. A hand came out of the booth and touched his chest. For a moment he stood glaring into the booth before he moved to the side and slid onto the opposite bench and out of view.

The night had settled over the city and it seemed the darkness had sucked the last bit of warmth out of the air. I stamped my feet and hoped whoever it was in there was in a hurry to be somewhere else. My toes were going numb and the cold was cutting through my jeans and chilling my legs. I got the impression that the mystery guest was a woman. Part of it was the creepy sensation of déjà vu back at the corner but mostly it was from the quieting hand on Herb's chest. It wasn't the kind of a gesture a man would use. At least not the men I knew. I wondered for a minute if Herbert had somehow gotten himself involved with a homosexual. It had been a long time since I had seen him and stranger things had happened. And it might explain his anger and the meeting here in such an out of the way place. Somehow it just didn't feel right. The hand had looked feminine. But the distance was about thirty five feet and it didn't look like washing windows was high on the bartender's to do list. My musings were interrupted when Herbert jumped out of the booth and headed for the door. I had just a glimpse of a dark haired woman following him as I ducked back away from the door and looked for someplace to hide.

She caught up with him on the sidewalk, catching by the arm and turning him towards her. She was about Herb's height, 5'8" with short mousy brown hair. As she talked with him she took a furry pillbox hat from inside her coat and pulled it over her hair. Herbert was fighting to keep his voice down. I could feel it from my spot at the corner of the building. The woman either couldn't see it or didn't care. Finally Herbert turned and stormed off back in the direction he had come. I heard the woman laugh as he moved off into the night. She turned and crossed the street, getting in to a recent model Chevrolet parked by the station. On a hunch I walked over to one of the waiting cabs. I picked the one closest to the end and got in. The wizened old man behind the wheel obviously had no use for the weather as he had the inside of the cab just under pizza oven temperature. He had an old trapper's hat perched on is head, the ear flaps half bent and flapping as he turned and grinned at me.

"Where to, bub?"

The dark green Impala passed behind us and pulled up to the stop sign on Washington St.

"Follow that green Chevy. Stay with it and there's a little something in it for you."

His grin widened showing tobacco stained teeth and he cackled a harsh laugh as he slapped the gear shift into reverse.

"Hot damn. Just like on TV!"

He swung the old Checker out and nosed into the traffic on Washington with practiced ease. He zigzagged like a big yellow eel until he was just two cars behind his quarry.

"I seen you watching that bar." He glanced at me in the mirror. "You one of them private cops?"

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the Chevy.

"Damn, wait til the guys hear about this. Hey, mister, what's your name?"

""Hammer." I answered snidely but it went right over the little gnome's head. He laughed and pulled around another car so that there was only one car in between us at the light on Park.

"What she do?"

"I don't know yet. That's why I don't want to lose her. I need to know where she's headed."

She turned north on Park and the crazy old coot slipped through a hole a Fiat would have scraped fenders on and slid back in behind her, laughing and bouncing in his seat the whole time. She turned west on University and headed towards Middleton with my half wit Andretti hot on her tail.

"Watch this one."

He slid into the left lane and pulled quickly past her. We were in a decent flow of traffic on the trail edge of the evening rush hour. At the next light we were a car ahead of her. When the light changed he slowed down until our front wheel was about even with her rear wheel, putting us right in her blind spot. I looked down and saw her license. I took a scrap of paper from my pocket and wrote it down quickly.

"Nice trick, old timer. Where'd you learn it?"

He laughed and slapped his leg as he let the cab slip back a few lengths to settle in behind the Chevy.

"Mister Hammer, you spend as much time as I have in a cab and you come up with all kinds of things to keep yourself from going stir crazy. I got me a million little tricks all ready in case I ever get a call for them. Hell, nobody pays much attention to a cab. They expect us to drive crazy."

The Chev's blinker came on and it turned onto Wells. We followed as she drove down and then turned on 7th St. I knew if she did many more turns my buddy would have to get creative so she wouldn't get suspicious. We lucked out when her blinker went on in mid block and she slowed to turn into a driveway. The cabbie crowded her back bumper, eager to get past her so he get unload a fare and get back to town. Her head lights shown across the house number long enough for me to memorize it and write it down next to the plate number. As soon as she was out of the way we surged forward on down the block. A couple of blocks further I spotted a boy with a canvas bag over his shoulder as he trudged along his paper route.

"Hey, pull over by that kid."

The oldster threw me a questioning glance but wheeled the cab to the curb. I told him to sit tight and got out. The kid was watching me carefully as I stepped on to the sidewalk.

"I'd just like to ask you a couple of questions, son."

He licked his lips and looked around at the house lights on either side. He looked scared because he knew there wasn't anywhere he could go if I meant trouble. I put on my best smile as I knelt on the icy concrete and held out a five dollar bill. He appeared to be a normal enough boy, 12 or so, with the obligatory stocking cap pulled down over his ears and the bulky winter boots to keep his feet warm.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." He said carefully but his eyes were glued on the bill in my hand.

"Just two quick questions and this is yours."

"What kinda questions?"

I laughed. He was going to make a good businessman someday. Maybe he already was.

"I'm trying to locate some one and I could use a name to go with an address. 2112 7th. Do you deliver papers there?"

"Yessir. That's Mrs. Johnston. She's a widow. Her husband got killed a long time ago. He was in the Air Force."

"Does Mrs. Johnston live alone there?"

He shook his head.

"No sir, her daughter Lisa lives with her."

"How old is she?"

He thought about it a moment then gave me a helpless look.

"I'm not real sure. She looks kind of young but she's not in school anymore."

"What do you mean, she looks young?"

He made a sour face at me then turned away to hide his blush.

"She's built like grown up but her face is like a kid's." He glanced at me and then looked at the walk. "Once when I went to collect she came to the door with just her robe on and ... Well, she didn't have it tied tight. I wasn't looking, mister, really I wasn't but she got all mad and told me to keep my dirty eyes off her. I tried to leave but she made me come in the house. She was gonna call the paper and tell them I was bothering her."

By the end, the words were tumbling out in a rush. He kicked at the paper bag at his feet.

"Did she call?"

"Huh uh. She just yelled at me for a few minutes and the she said she was going to teach me a lesson so I wouldn't go peeking anymore."

I could guess where this was going. This was probably as much as he had ever told anybody and then only because I was a stranger. But I figured he was at his limit.

"So she opened up her house coat, didn't she?"

His eyes were huge and white in his face. I could see he was close to tears.

"And you ran?"

Another nod.

I put the five away and got out a ten. I stuck in the hand clenched on the carrying strap. He looked at me with a mixture of pain and embarrassment.

"Why'd she do that, mister?"

"People do strange things for kicks, kid. I wouldn't worry about it too much though. Just stay away from there when she's around. It's nothing for you to be scared of or worry about. She won't turn you in."

I stood up and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Heck, in a couple of years you'll be wishing for something like that to happen."

He shook his head emphatically.

"No way."

I laughed and got back in to the cab. He still hadn't looked at the bill in his hand as we pulled away in a U turn and headed back the way we had come.

"Was the kid any help?"

"Maybe more than I expected. Where's the nearest bar?"

"Back towards town about a mile is a pretty good one. You want to hit it?"

"Yeah. I could use a drink and a phone."

# Chapter 14

We pulled in to the lot of what had started out life as a home and had been converted into a tavern at some point. He radioed in that he was breaking for supper and we headed inside. As I got out I checked the license for his name. The picture was years out of date, faded and cracked but the grin was still there. It said his name was Aloysius T. Kubisiak. Standing up he seemed even smaller but there was a cocky bantam rooster strut to him. The bar he had chosen was a homey place. Minimum chrome, lots of wood and leather and the lighting came from hundreds of neon beer signs. The bar itself was battered and scarred with a brass foot rail. No two stools were the same. The same was true of the tables and chairs. The back bar was lined with medium range booze and bar snacks. Above the mirror were cute signs about credit and free drinks and at the end of the bar was a big hand towel with 'For Cryers' embroidered on it in large red letters.

Aloysius hung his coat up on a rack that was about half filled with coats. I hung mine next to his and followed him to the two stools at the far end of the bar. He turned to me as he sat down, the grin splitting his homely seamed face.

"This here's my second home, Mr. Hammer. I come in every night when I get off. Old Aggie serves the best chili in town. The burgers are damn good too."

"Sounds good. I could use some chow myself. Where do I find the phone?"

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"There's a pay phone on the wall back there by the head."

I slid off the stool and asked him to order me some chili and a tap beer. The phone was hanging on the wall between the bathrooms, the phone book hanging from a chain next to it. I put my money in and dialed the police station. The officer who answered told me Lt. Manley had left for the day. He wouldn't give me Manley's home phone so I asked if someone could call the Lt. and ask him to call me back. He took my name and number and said he would do what he could. I hung up and went in to use the bathroom. When I came back out, the phone was ringing.

"Is that you, Garrison?"

"Sorry to bother you at home Lt. but I could use some information."

He was quiet for a long minute.

"I thought you were hanging up your gum shoes. What gives?'

"Your little talk gave me a bad case of conscience."

"That'll be the day. But I can't say I not happy to hear it. What do you need?'

"I'm looking for some information on a woman. Johnston is her last name." I gave him the address and plate number. "The car's a dark green Impala, two years old. There's also a daughter named Lisa. The husband was Air Force and he died a while back."

He was quiet for a moment while he wrote the information down.

"How soon do you need this?"

"As soon as you can get it. How long do you think it will take?"

"I'll call it in when we get done so I should have the basics yet tonight. Details by tomorrow noon."

"Sounds good." I looked at my watch. 5:15. "I'll be at this number for about an hour. After that, I'm not sure. Could I call back later?"

"Yeah but don't call here. I've got a party to go to. Call the station and ask for Gavelli. I'll give this to him to run. This tied in with the Morrissey thing?"

"That's what I need to find out."

I hung up the phone feeling bad about the lie but I needed to know just what kind of hold this woman had on Herb. All things considered, it wouldn't hurt to see if I could help him out. I walked back to my stool and sat down. Aloysius was in a heated discussion with two men on his far side. He turned to me as I picked up my beer.

"These guys don't believe you had me follow that woman all the way out from town. Tell'em I'm working for ya, Mr. Hammer. Tell'em."

The two looked over at me expectantly. I glanced at them without turning my head. I held my glass in front of me, my elbow on the bar.

"Why bother, Al? They don't want to believe you, it's their tough shit."

The little man was dumbfounded for a moment but he recovered quickly. He picked up his beer, turning his shoulder to the men and nodded.

"Yer right, Mr. H. Ta hell with'em."

Before anymore could be said an enormously heavy woman came waddling out of the kitchen and placed a tray with two huge white bowls of chili in front of us. She barely fit behind the bar but she moved well. There was probably a lot more muscle to her size than first glance suggested. She looked at me with cool shrewd eyes.

"You're Al's private eye fella."

"He tells me you make some hot chili." I said as matter of factly as I could. She shrugged her round shoulders.

"There's a towel at the end of the bar if you need it."

Al snorted a laugh.

"Aggie, he won't need no towel."

"We'll see."

I knew I had to eat the whole bowl of chili now. It was a point of honor. The cabbie's good humor and cocky manner were something I admired. These were simple folk who took their pleasure from the more basic things in life. They could still believe in heroes, men like Mike Hammer and Sam Spade, the tough guy loners who took life head on, no holds barred. I was sure Al had filled them in on our ride, telling them things about me Manley would probably have a stroke over. If he ever found out. So, I had to not only eat the chili, which wouldn't be too difficult judging from the wonderful aroma, but I had to do it with style.

I dipped up a big spoonful and tried it. The burn was so fast I couldn't stop my eyes from watering. They all watched me closely expecting me to lunge for my beer. What they didn't know was I had cut my milk teeth on the hot sauces of Mexico and Southeast Asia. I had acquired a taste for the fiery foods in Viet Nam and kept feeding it after my discharge. Aggie's chili was hot and delicious, some of the best I'd ever had. But it wasn't the spiciest by a long shot. I smacked my lips a couple of times like I was thinking things over, then tried another spoonful. I reached for the Tabasco sauce splashed a generous couple of shakes on the chili. Every eye in the place went wider. I tried it again and nodded my satisfaction.

"Al was right, Aggie. This is some damn good chili."

She just stared unbelievingly. Al slapped the bar and laughed.

"I told you guys, din't I?"

At six o'clock Al and I went out and got in the cab. Aggie had walked us to the door and told me to come back anytime. Everyone in the bar had called a good bye.

I sat in the back seat as Al got us headed back in to town. He was singing an old Polish ditty to himself. I had to smile. By bringing me in he had become as big of a celebrity as I had and it was clear he was enjoying it. It showed every time he interrupted his song to chuckle. He dropped me at the Villa Roma, pocketing the extra twenty with a wink.

"You ever need a cab, tell the dispatcher you want Al. I'll take you anywheres you want to go, anytime, Mr. Hammer.

I went in and headed for the bar. Lew wasn't in sight but I figured he was around somewhere. I went down to the waitress station at the far end of the bar and reached over to grab the phone. The bartender spotted the move and came down.

"That phone isn't for customers. There's a pay phone in the entry."

"He isn't exactly a customer, Scott. Customers spend money."

I looked over my shoulder. Lew had come out of the kitchen and it gave me a shock to see him dressed in white shirt and apron, just as old Tony had always dressed. The resemblance was eerie. He waved the bartender back to work and ducked under the drop bar. He took a pair of beers from the cooler and handed me one.

"You've been a busy boy."

"How's that?"

"Some cop named Gavelli called and a babe named Shelly from your office wants to talk to you."

"Did Gavelli leave a number?"

He pulled a note off the small board next to the phone and handed it to me. I thanked him and dialed. He answered on the second ring.

"Sgt. Gavelli."

"Sgt., this is Lane Garrison. Do you have something for me?"

"Yeah. I ran that plate number you gave to the Lt. Registered to a Betty Johnston, same address you had. I ran a check on her and her daughter. They both came up clean. No record, no tickets, nothing. First name is Betty, age 41, widow of Frank Johnston who was killed 9 years ago at Travis Air Force base when a cargo flight inbound from Viet Nam broke a landing gear and went in to some buildings. She works for the state Department of Revenue and has been there five years."

"What about the daughter?"

"Age 19. Graduated from Middleton High School and is presently a working in the Financial aids office at the U."

"Anything else?"

"Not that I can get at tonight. I should be able to get some more in the morning. Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Check her financial status. See if she's got more going out than shows coming in."

He said they would get on it first thing in the morning and that the Lt. wanted to talk to me then. I told him I would be in touch. I got out the phone book and looked up Troutie's number. She was probably wondering what had happened to me. She answered on the second ring.

"It's about time, Garrison. I was beginning to think I was going to have to find my own dinner."

I couldn't help laughing.

"Then you may not like the sound of what I have to say."

"It had better not be anything about not seeing me tonight."

"That will be your call. I have something I need to do that shouldn't take too long. You're welcome to ride along and we can have a late dinner after?"

She hesitated for a moment.

"Does it have to do with Carol?"

"No, this is something completely different. Are you interested?"

"Not really but I want to see you so come and get me."

"I'll be there in twenty."

"Make it a half hour."

# Chapter 15

Troutie was just putting on the finishing touches when I knocked on her door twenty minutes later. Her hair looked like old gold spun into fine tight springs and she wore a shade of dark eye shadow that highlighted the paleness of her eyes. The peasant blouse and skirt clung in the right places to remind me that the librarian did indeed have a fine figure. More like a dancer than a book minder. She accepted my compliment on the overall effect but I could feel the under current of tension. There was something on her mind, something she wasn't happy about and it was pointed right at me.

We didn't talk much in the car as I hit the Beltline and headed west. I took University Ave through downtown Middleton and headed towards Madison. Troutie gave me a questioning look when I turned on to Mayflower and did a u turn so I could park near the corner of Franklin. I turned off the lights but left the car running for the heat.

"Do I get to know what you're doing?"

"Playing a hunch. If I'm right, that Chevy should be heading out soon." I said indicating the Johnston house down the block.

"Why?"

"It takes bait to set a trap and the bait has to be out where it will attract the right prey."

She gave me a dark look then shook her head and slid over to snuggle against my side. We had been there half an hour and I was about ready to give it up for the night and find us some dinner when the outside light went on and mom and daughter came out. They got in the car and backed out heading in the opposite direction. Troutie started to say something but I shushed her and followed, leaving my headlights off until we got to University. I saw them turn towards Madison a block down and swung out to follow. They headed straight downtown. At the corner of Johnston and Fish they pulled over and Lisa got out. Her mother drove away and turned to go back home. Lisa headed for State St. I pulled in next to a hydrant.

"Troutie, I have to follow her for a bit. Can you park the car over at the Catholic Center?"

"I can. Why should I? So you can chase some little tart while I starve?"

"I'll explain it all in just a little while. I need to get some more information to confirm my theory first. Meet me at Paisan's in a bit?"

"This had better be good, mister."

I leaned across the seat and kissed her.

"It should be. I'll be as quick as I can."

She was heading down the street like a gal with a mission. I couldn't say that I blamed her. It was getting pretty chilly and I wasn't wearing a short skirt. She headed directly for the Pub. I went in to the Dragon's Den across the street and found a spot by the front window so I could watch the Pub's front door. Ten minutes later she was back outside and turned towards Lake St. I followed from the other side of the street. She headed straight for the Kollege Klub. I gave her a few minutes then followed her in.

She had taken a stool at the bar with empty seats on either side and had some pastel colored drink in front of her. I took a stool with an empty between us and ordered a scotch. I could feel her check me out with a side long glance, taking in the wool slacks and Swiss ski sweater. I had chosen them because I figured it would be what an older college student with money might wear. I thanked the bartender and sipped my drink before I turned to scan the room. I took my time, sizing up the possibilities before I let my attention come back to Lisa. She had a nice profile with a saucy tilt to the end of her nose and her pale blonde hair glistened in the dim bar light. She acted as if she was unaware of my attention at first then turned her head slightly to give me a shy smile.

The effect was dazzling. She was model beautiful. Even white teeth flashed briefly behind pouty red lips. Big brown eyes gave me a half lidded invitation meant to be both shy and provocative. If I hadn't been expecting something like it, it probably would have worked. As it was I kept my expression interested and looked her over slowly. The sweater she wore masked her upper body but nothing could hide the lush swell of her hips and the smooth fullness of her thigh in the jersey skirt that clung like a lover's caress. Her clothes were nice, upper range of the shopping lists without being too pretentious. Something a freshman girl from a moneyed family would wear. The whole image was innocent and impressionable, a girl out on her own for the first time, timid and shy and covering it with a touch of boldness. It was calculated yet not obviously so.

I looked back at her face and caught a very effective blush. I picked up my scotch and moved over to the stool next to her.

"Well, hello, sweet one. May I join you?"

She smiled and glanced away.

"Ok."

"You must be new in town. I haven't seen you before."

"Oh no." She said making a small moue of her perfect full lips. "I just finished my first semester and Daddy sent me a little extra so I could have some fun before I fly home for Christmas."

I flashed her a smile.

"Sounds great. How did your semester go?"

"I did alright. I get to come back. I just love it here. Daddy wants me to stay home for as much of the break as I can but no way. I'm coming back the day after New Years."

She sipped her drink coyly, watching me over the rim of the glass. It appeared to be some kind of slow gin concoction. I looked away to pick up my glass and caught her appraising look out of the corner of my eye. When I turned back she was smiling up at me.

"Where did you get that tan?"

"Steamboat. I finished my exams early and headed out there last week for some skiing. Pop wanted me to come home for the holiday so here I am. But I'm heading back right after Christmas. Do you ski?"

I moved forward, getting inside the little defense zone we all set up around us for living space. She reacted well, withdrawing just enough to indicate reluctance yet staying in range. She looked up at me with a nice bit of innocent wide eyes but the glint in them wasn't fueled by my charm.

"No, I've never learned how."

I leaned in a little closer and put a hand on her knee.

"Would you like to?"

"I...I don't know." She said softly.

"It's just a few good friends, the slopes and the sun..." I was close against her side now, talking softly as my fingers stroked persuasively on the inside of her thigh, just above the knee.

"But I don't even know you."

I laughed softly and brought my other hand up to her shoulder and neck. I watched the lights grow in her eyes. To a casual observer there wasn't much to see. Just a guy chatting it up with a pretty girl at the bar. Anyone looking closer would see the fire in her eyes and feel the steam that was starting to radiate from us both.

"Can you think of a better way to get to know each other?"

I stroked her cheek lightly and squeezed her thigh. She gave a gasping start, her pale cheeks flushing pink. She was good. This pretty little snake enjoyed her job. But it was still a job. She took a deep breath and pulled a forlorn look out of her bag of tricks.

"But what do I tell Daddy?"

I kept the chill I felt at those words hidden. "That you want to come back the 28th. We can leave for Steamboat the next day and be out in Colorado so we can ring in the New Year. Just you and me."

"But you said there'd be some other friends too."

I moved my hand up a few inches and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"There will be but we won't need them to ring in the new, will we?'

I punctuated the question with a light kiss and nibble on her ear. She trembled deeply and sighed. Her hand went to my forearm and she slid it up under my sleeve, her fingernails tracing quick lines of fire on my skin. I pulled back and looked in to her eyes, staying well inside the intimate zone.

"My name is Mike. Mike Lee."

"Cindy Crofts, Mike." She whispered heavily.

"What say we blow this joint?"

She nodded, her head almost too heavy for her neck to hold steady. I paid the bill and helped her in to her coat. I headed up State St. and stopped in front of the Brat Haus.

"Wait right here, Cindy. I was supposed to meet some friends here and I want to tell them I won't be joining them tonight."

I traced her jaw lightly with my fingertip.

"Be right back."

She smiled.

"Hurry back."

It sent a chill through me to see her so confident. I went in the front door, down the bar and angled over to the back entrance. A quick check to see if she suspected anything and was watching the back and I was heading down the street towards the mall. Three minutes later I was sitting across from an angry Troutie in a back booth at Paisan's.

She was of course, fit to be tied. She barely looked up at me when I sat down and when she did her eyes were snapping suspicious fire. The waitress came and took our orders and disappeared.

"Jealousy doesn't become you, Irene." I finally said when my stein of dark beer arrived.

"Jeal..." She started angrily, her head coming up, her eyes the color of a static electricity spark. She realized I had deliberately provoked her but still kept her anger up front.

"Just what was it you were doing? Don't try to tell me that little chippie killed Carol."

"No. But it is entirely possible she is bleeding Herb Price white."

I waited while it sank in and the blue white flame of her temper subsided.

"What do you mean?"

I explained how I had accidentally stumbled on Herb's meeting with the elder Johnston and what I had been piecing together since.

"Betty and Lisa Johnston are running a cute version of one of the oldest cons in the book. Little Lisa cruises the bars looking for likely victims. Rich kids who think they are God's gift to women and when she finds one she feeds him this tale about being an innocent freshman who is just adoring her new found freedom in Madison. The stud spots a naïve waif and puts the moves on. Lisa does a cute and convincing struggle with her conscience and the next thing you know they're in bed. She probably does the whole teary, guilt bit and sucks the chump into believing it was inevitable and she's fallen for him. Once the hook has been set, they could work it from a few different directions, depending on the mark."

I could see she wasn't quite believing me but I had her attention.

"Go on."

"Depends on how hungry they are. They could wait a month or so and turn up with a pregnancy report. That one could be dicey because the guy might get noble or actually think he's in love enough to offer to marry her. I would lean towards the other one. I guess it would depend on what Mom and Lisa could find out about the guy."

"And the other one is?"

"Indignant mom surprises the couple in the act and goes into an act about calling the cops because the brute is having his way with her minor daughter. Statutory rape is a nasty crime. Even if it never makes it past the charge stage, having those charges published in the paper can ruin a man very nicely. So maybe a deal is eventually offered. Money up front and they forget the whole thing. It would have to be handled well but after seeing Lisa in action I get the feeling they've had practice."

"Blackmail?"

"That would be my guess."

Our dinners arrived and we started to eat. I could see Troutie was giving my scenario some serious thought. About half way through she looked at me quizzically.

"How would they know if the man would pay? Or how much?"

"Betty works for the state IRS. She would have access to the financial information on a mark once they had a name. And Lisa works for Financial Aid at the University so she could check them out if they were students. Once they had that kind of info they could do a bit of digging on how likely the mark would be to pay up."

"But you said Lisa is of age?"

"And going by the name of Cindy Crofts. I would be willing to bet there is a real Cindy somewhere who is under age. It's not all that hard to forge some documents or get access to other identities to make that part work. They won't be able to get away with it much longer. Lisa is getting too mature looking so they'll either have to get out of it or change the scam."

"They probably don't hit them too hard. There is the stigma involved in being charged with child rape but it's not a definite that the mark will fold. But it is a nice racket when it works. The victims won't go to the cops. Not with the possibility of a rape charge over their heads. Most would pay the money and keep quiet."

"But wouldn't someone catch on sooner or later? Get them before the charge could be used?"

"Like I did? The odds against that are pretty long. Lisa is damned pretty and very good at keeping a sucker so wound up he wouldn't look for the hook. Plus there are a lot of places she could use as hunting ground. By moving around she would lower the chances of running in to an old score. Of course, even if she did, it wouldn't matter much. Not with momma holding the rape thing over his head. Even if he suspected he had been taken, I doubt if many men would want to take the time to go after them on the blackmail side of it. That would still mean admitting they had been a fool. Not to mention being very hard to prove. I'm sure they don't take personal checks. Also, Troutie, what do you think you would do if you were a guy and some one came up to you and told you the hot little number you were lusting after was a minor?"

She thought a moment.

"Leave her alone, I suppose. Why?"

"So Lisa loses a chance and moves on to find a new victim. More likely she would go back after the squealer and let him know that there would be a new installment on his bill."

She looked at me as the horrible simplicity of it sank in.

"And with a rotating crop of students, changing every semester, they would have fresh meat almost constantly. Not to mention the local and visiting businessmen."

I nodded.

"And with their resources, they could afford to be choosy about who they hit. Pick those most likely to pay pretty quickly. It was just blind chance I stumbled on to it."

She gave me a penetrating look.

"How much do you think they've made?"

I had been wondering about that. My guess was this had been going on for some time. I found it hard to imagine a mother using her daughter for something like this but it was happening. Had they started when Lisa was a minor? Probably. Judging from the practiced cash register looks I had gotten from Lisa, she was an old hand at picking marks who could pay. It would be hard to put a number to it. College students weren't notoriously wealthy as a rule. Tapping daddy put an element of chance into the mix that I doubted they would want to try. So a quick tap, maybe a grand or two. That was probably where they started. I had the feeling they had refined the technique over time. Even at two thousand a pop, they would have to work quite a few scams a semester to make it worth their while. Plus, the more they ran, the higher their chances of getting caught.

"I guess that would depend on their level of greed. I would guess this market could support a take somewhere between $20,000 and $100,000 a year. Depends on how hard they work it and how good they've gotten at picking marks. You saw their house. Nice and affordable on Betty's salary and the pension she's probably getting. They've been pretty good at keeping the extra cash flow hidden. Maybe they're looking at retiring when they get the kitty built up far enough. My guess would be they have been at this at least two years and possibly as many as four or five. That would depend on how nasty a piece of work mom really is."

We finished our meal in silence although I could see Troutie had some questions she wanted to ask. My grinder was delicious and judging from the gusto Troutie exercised over her pasta, I figured it tasted as good as it smelled. I sat back and sipped at my stein of beer while Troutie finished her dinner. She ordered a Brandy Alexander for an after dinner drink and we settled back after the table had been cleared. Something was obviously bothering her but she didn't know how to say it. Finally she decided to just go for it.

"Lane, how do you know so much about this? You said you were a construction worker."

"Maybe I lied."

She scowled at me.

"Not even funny. How do you know about this? About scams and marks and all of that?"

"When I was working charters in Florida I saw an older guy do a real pretty header over the fender of a car. It was pure poetry to watch. The driver was a customer of my boss, a regular who treated us right. When it looked like the guy was going to put a bite on our customer, I stepped in and convinced the scam artist that his choice of mark was less than a good idea. He was reasonable about it, especially when I said we could call in the law. I saw him later at one of the local bars and we got to talking. Turns out he was a professional con man known as the Gimp. He hung around Sarasota for a few months running some small time cons, mostly insurance stuff. We got to be pretty good friends. He taught me a lot about how scams work, the different kinds, what to watch out for, how to pick a mark. He thought I had a future in the game."

That one got a smile out of her.

"He may have had something there. You do have a pretty good line of patter."

She stirred her drink.

"You said you put the hustle on that blonde at the KK to see if you were right but you didn't say how you got away."

"No, I didn't." I answered matter of factly. Her eyes narrowed and her fingers tapped out a rolling tattoo on the table top. I looked at her as innocently as I could but a trace of the humor peeked out through the upturned corner of my mouth.

"Ok, I just escorted her hot little body to the front of the Brat Haus, told her to wait a minute while I went in and made some dreary apologies to some dreary people who were waiting for me inside and ducked out the back door."

"You didn't!"

"Afraid so."

We looked at each other and then burst out laughing. Troutie laughed so hard she picked up a stitch in her side. We both had tears rolling down our faces as the paroxysm finally faded and we managed to regain a small semblance of normality. People were staring at our little outburst so Troutie smiled and waved at a few of the more obvious ones. Most got the idea and went back to their meals.

"I can just imagine the little harlot standing out there. How long do you think it took for her to look inside?"

"I really don't know." I said. "She was so damn sure I'd be back she wouldn't want to spoil it by being too anxious. I'd say fifteen minutes minimum."

"What do you plan to do with this now that you know about it?"

I put the money out for the bill while I thought it over.

"I guess I'll talk with Herbert first. Then it will be his call as to whether we take it to the police. I'll let Manley known about it so if Herb doesn't want to pursue it they can still do something about it. After that, it's all theirs."

I helped Troutie into her coat and we walked out under the annoyed and relieved looks of the other patrons. Outside we walked over to the lot where she had parked. There was a chill breeze out of the north but overall it was a beautiful cloudless night.

"I have a very lonely bottle of Martels waiting by the fireplace. Can you hear it calling?"

I listened to the night, watching the stars for a moment and then looked back into those haunting eyes. There was something there that said this one could be a keeper. I kissed her on the arch of her nose and she came into my arms without a word. We stood just holding each other for a while. I knew there were things I should do, messages to check on and such but at that precise moment I knew they could wait until morning.

"Are you still going to keep looking into Carol's death?" She said quietly into my chest.

"I have to. But it doesn't have the priority it used to have. There are a couple of things I want to check out and that should take care of it."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow."

# Chapter 16

Troutie dropped me off at the hotel on her way in to work. She was going to work until 2 and then we were going to do some last minute shopping before we headed out to her place for a quiet Christmas Eve dinner. She had no family to be with. Her parents had married late in life and Troutie had been their only child. Her father had died five years ago and her mother had followed within a year. She had been planning on a solitary holiday eve and so it worked out well for both of us.

I took my time in the shower thinking about the plans and what I knew about Herbert's situation. There were a few gifts to buy for the Padre and Lew and something for Troutie but I was damned if I knew what. And there was the whole blackmail bit. Part of me wanted to wait until after Christmas but I had a hunch, judging from Betty Johnston's attitude at their meeting, that things were coming to a head. After I shaved, I put on a pair of jeans and looked through the phone book for Herb's number. I dialed it and listened to it ring.

Come on, buddy, pick up. Let's get this thing taken care of.

"Hello?"

"Herbert? This is Lane. Have you got a minute?"

"Lane! Hey, I'm sorry I shot my mouth off the other night. I..."

"Herb," I cut him off before he dug too deep. "If it's ok with you, I'd just as soon write that whole bit off. And I would like to apologize for flipping out on you like that. What say we just forget it?"

He paused a moment.

"Sure. It's been too long."

"Great. What I'm calling about is you."

"Me?"

"Herb, I was in the Kollege Klub yesterday when you got that phone call."

He was quiet a moment.

"And?" He asked warily.

"And, I'm afraid I followed you over to the Hotel Washington. I saw your meeting with Betty Johnston. Herb, I know what she has on you and I'm here to tell you it's bogus. I did a little checking and I know what kind of game she's running on you."

His voice came through heavy on the hearty confusion.

"Lane, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Herb, I'm telling you that you don't have to worry. Or pay. The girl is her daughter but she is 19. Not jail bait. She doesn't have a thing on you."

He was quiet for a long time as he thought about what I had said.

"You're sure, Lane?

I laughed.

"Dead certain. I had them checked out. I figured they were using the statutory rape bit on you."

"Shit. She told me that unless I paid her $1,500 she would have me charged with raping her daughter." He sighed heavily into the phone. "I've been trying to come up with the cash but it's just too much right now. I've been worried sick she would go to the police. Lane, if word of this got out I would lose my job. The governor's office doesn't like to have anyone associated with them to get involved in shit like this."

"Can't say as I blame them but it's not an issue here. What did she say about the payment?"

"She gave me until the first to come up with it."

"Well, you can forget that part. How'd they tag you?"

""I met Cindy out at the Shuffle Inn the day after Thanksgiving and her mother called me a week later."

"Keep your money, old buddy. They don't dare go to the cops. But we can. With what I've found out and your testimony we should be able to put them away for quite a while."

"You haven't gone to the police yet?"

"No. I figured that would be your call. And that it could wait until after Christmas."

He was quiet again.

"Lane, I don't know if I can do that."

"Understandable but they have to be shut down. What say we get together in a couple of days and talk about it? Then if you still don't want to get involved I can still take what I have to the cops and let them start their own investigation."

"Do you think they'll get them?"

"No sweat. How about I call you the day after tomorrow and we can talk about it over lunch or something? Maybe even catch up on old times?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

I punched the bar and dialed the Villa Roma. Lew answered.

"Hey, Lane. You coming around today?"

"Maybe later. I've got some things to do. Any messages?"

"One from a Karen Judge. She says for you to meet her at Ella's. She's got something for you. And Manley called. He's got some more info for you. He sounded a little pissed."

"I need to talk with him soon."

"You'd better. He's not the kind of guy you want on your ass. Hey, you got plans for tonight?"

"I'm afraid so. Why"

"Nothing much. I usually do a dinner here for the help and some friends who don't have anywhere else to be. Thought you might want to join us."

"Let me see what I can do. My plans are kind of flexible. Did Karen say when I was supposed to meet her?"

"Yeah. In about fifteen minutes. Best get your ass rolling."

"Thanks, Lew. I'll let you know about tonight. Got to run."

Ella's Deli on State was doing a great early lunch business. Madison has a fairly strong Jewish community and the kosher deli part of the business did well with them. The college crowd patronized it as a great soup and bagel stop. The old linoleum floor needed replacing and the wallpaper was fading but it just added to flavor of being a traditional mom and pop deli. I was met at the door by a short chubby man in an apron.

"A table for one?" he asked with a slight Yiddish lilt to his voice.

"I'm supposed to meet some one here."

A tired looking waitress came over from the back of the restaurant.

"A girl in the back says for you to join her. You want to follow me?"

Karen was sitting at a table against the back wall working on a plate of cheese blintzes. I asked the waitress to bring me a cup of coffee and sat down across from her. Karen finished a bite and smiled at me.

"I know I shouldn't eat these things but I can't help myself. They make me look so darn fat."

I smiled back.

"You could have fooled me, Karen. Looks to me like any fat you might have is distributed in all the right places."

She did something with her dark eyes that I couldn't nail down but felt all the way down to my toes. For the first time I noticed her skin was darker than most, almost the same as mine. With the black eyes it made me think of some of the women of Latin blood I had known and seen.

"Keep talking like that and I'll kidnap you if I have to."

I chuckled uneasily. Most other women I wouldn't have taken the comment seriously but the look in her eyes told me she just might be capable of doing just what she said. I wasn't used to the idea of being considered prey but this lady was definitely predator.

"I got your message that you found something for me."

She managed to frown while keeping the laughing glint in her eyes.

"I had to lie to poor Walter so he would let me in to the files. I think he has a crush on me." She smiled devilishly. "I hated to do it to the poor little guy. He's kind of nerdy and doesn't get out much."

I couldn't help but feel sorry for poor little Walter myself. He'd have about as much chance with this woman as a staked out goat had with a tiger.

"The two tickets you asked about were bought together by a H. Price."

I looked at her sharply, moving forward in my chair.

"H. Price? You're positive?"

"Pretty sure. I had to go back to the theater to make sure on the seat numbers"

I sipped my coffee as I thought of the new twist her information had put on the whole thing. She realized the name she'd given me had meant something.

"Is that a problem?"

I smiled weakly but gave it up as a lost cause.

"Karen, the guy you saw in the theater, did he have reddish hair and big ears?"

"Yes, he did."

"And you said he walked kind of different?"

Her expression brightened but she still wasn't sure if her information had helped.

"Yes. Kind of rolling. You know who it was?"

"Regrettably so."

"Why regrettably?"

"He's an old friend of Carol's. And mine. And it seems he still has a bad habit of going out with women he probably shouldn't be seen in public with."

"So it doesn't help?" She asked not bothering to hide the disappointment in her voice.

"Not much. But payment will still be made. You got me what I asked for. It's not your fault it doesn't help. How about we do our dinner the 28th?"

"It sounds too far away." She frowned and shrugged her shoulders in resignation. The shrug set off a chain reaction down her sweatered torso that was probably noticed by every man in range. "But I guess I can't complain, can I?"

She got up and stretched like a big cat. Her sweater snuck up over her waist giving me a view of a flat, well muscled belly. I got up and helped her in to her coat. She held her long dark hair out and let it fall as I eased the shoulders of her coat into place sending a wave of perfume past my head. She leaned back against me for a moment and looked up over her shoulder.

"Walk me home?"

"No way in hell, woman." I answered putting a little space between us. She laughed low in her throat then turned to leave. She gave me another one of those looks just as she was getting out of ear shot.

"I'm in the book."

I headed off down State St. trying to put Karen's news into the picture. Carol had been killed by some maniac, motive unknown. Herbert Price was being blackmailed by a mother/daughter team. They had talked on the night she died, a chance meeting at a public gathering. Herb hadn't owned up to the conversation because he either didn't see it as being pertinent or he had been at the play with some one he would rather not have it be known he was with. I filed that question away for my meeting with Herbert. It might be interesting to know who the mystery lady was but it didn't bring me any closer to finding Carol's killer. I put the whole mess into a box labeled 'Do Not Open Til After Xmas' and stored it back on the shelves in the back of my head and turned my attention to the display in the window of a record shop. Presents for the present.

The spirit of Christmas floated through the dusk air dancing with the first big fluffy snowflakes that heralded the coming of more. Troutie leaned against me as we walked slowly through the open air Metro Mall doing our last minute shopping before heading over to the Villa Roma for dinner. We had started shopping at one and had spent a very pleasant afternoon haunting the shops of downtown Madison in search of the elusive perfect last minute gift.

Troutie had found a beautiful set of wooden mugs for Father Stan that I complimented with a couple of cases of mixed imported beers from Riley's Liquor. I had also gotten a scarf for Mona with considerable input from my companion. If nothing else, I had learned I had only marginal understanding of taste when it came to women's accessories. I had also picked up a faux tiger skin which had raised questions and blonde eyebrows but I kept quiet as to the intended recipient. Troutie threatened me with several very inventive forms of torture but I managed to laugh and keep my mouth shut. I had also picked out a hard bound collection of Catton's Civil War books for Lew.

We were trying to decide if there was anything or anyone we had forgotten. Our plans for the evening included dinner with Lew and company, followed by midnight mass presided over by Stan, then a quiet night out at Troutie's condo. All in all, it sounded like a perfect Christmas Eve. We were in front of a sporting equipment store when Troutie pointed out a pair of track shoes in the window.

"Maybe I should get you a pair of those for Christmas."

I hugged her closer and she looked up at me. A big snowflake sifted down and landed on her nose. Many more were filling the air around us.

"Do you think I need them?" I asked kiddingly.

"I don't know." Her tone was very soft and serious.

I could feel what was in her words and on her mind but I didn't think this was the time or the place to start such a discussion so I kissed her on the tip of her nose and went for the light bantering tone.

"Buy a pair and if they don't work you can always have them bronzed."

She punched me playfully and turned back to the display.

"Did you ever find out who the guy in the letter jacket was that talked to Carol at the theater?"

I started to remind her we had agreed not to talk about that subject until after Christmas but something in her words caught the edge of a thought and brought it out for me to look at. I went back into the musty boxes in the attic of my mind and hunted for the one her question had reminded me of. I found it, dust free and recently opened, sitting right in front. Inside I could see the cream colored brick of my old alma mater's field house and in front of that, two people in a close embrace. They were at a ¾ profile showing me a toffee haired girl in a blue ski jacket and a red headed guy in a red and white letter jacket, both of a height.

Troutie asked me something but I was rummaging deeper in the box for an older memory. I found a picture of an awkward Junior with a funny walk and a burning desire to belong. A kid who was willing to put up with the hours of torture it took to be a cross country runner. Someone with a determination that verged on obsession. He saw the acceptance and admiration that went with lettering in a sport so he worked harder than most to get one. Every night, no matter the weather, he would run miles. Through rain and snow, slush and bitter cold, to get himself into the kind of shape needed to make the track team. At first he was laughed at for his rolling gait but his determination quieted the scoffers. And at the big year end awards assembly, he responded to his call, beaming from ear to ear.

After that, he wore his letter on his red and white letter jacket with pride. And he wore that coat everywhere.

"Troutie?" I asked, my throat dry and my tongue feeling like it was coated in lead. "Did you ever see Herb Price wear a red and white letter jacket?"

"Constantly. He wears one everywhere. We were after him to invest in a dress coat because it was embarrassing to see him wearing it with a suit."

"He's been wearing an orange ski jacket lately."

She shrugged and continued to look at me strangely.

"Maybe someone gave it to him for Christmas. Why?"

"Did you see him on Monday?"

"I'm not sure. It was either Monday or Tuesday."

"And he was wearing the ski coat." I said, more a statement than a question. I shook my head, a cold snake of anger gnawing at my insides.

"Yes. Lane, what is it?"

"He was wearing the letter jacket the night Carol died."

The snake reared and struck at my heart. The cold anger spread through my chest and out my limbs and I started to shake. Troutie stepped back and looked at me in growing horror. My teeth ground together, my jaw muscles flaring at the pressure. I felt my nails cut into my palms and my knuckles ached under the pressure. Then the anger turned to fear as I remembered my phone call earlier in the day. I turned to Troutie so suddenly she jumped back and squeaked in surprise.

"Troutie, I want you to go get your car and drive over to the police station as fast as you can. Park in the street if you have to but get inside the station as quickly as you can. Find a Lt. Manley. If he isn't there talk to a cop named Gavelli. Tell them to get a car out to the Johnston house right now. And then tell Manley to meet me out at Picnic Point."

"Why, Lane? What is it?"

I grabbed her by the arms and gave her a shake.

"Just do as I say. I'll explain later. And don't not leave the station until I get there. Understood?"

"No! But I'll do it. Please, Lane, come with me."

"I can't. I've got to check something."

"Then be careful. Please?"

"I will. You too. Now get going and don't stop for anything."

She ran off towards the parking lot and I headed the other way for University Ave. It was just a few blocks up the street to wear the Padre's Nova was parked. I had just reached the sidewalk and saw there was no way I'd make any time with the crowd so I stepped off the curb into the street. I had only taken a couple of steps when I heard a car horn and heard a voice come through the falling snow.

# Chapter 17

"Mr. Hammer!"

Up ahead and on the far side of the street was a flop eared cap waving over a cab. I changed direction and started to weave my way through the cars waiting for the light to change. When it did the cars started forward forcing me to dance down the center line to avoid being hit. Al had his cab moving slowly and was cheering me on. I ducked between a car and a pick up truck, earning me a horn blast and some cursing in my wake. Traffic was picking up speed so I put my hands on the hood of an approaching TR6 and vaulted over it and landed on the pavement by Al's front wheel. As he slid past I opened the back door and dove in. Al cackled a laugh and started picking up speed, damn near closing the door on my legs.

"Nice moves, Mr. H. Where to?"

I managed to get turned in the seat and leaned over the back of the front seat.

"Get me as close to Picnic Point as fast as you can, Al." I said as soon as I had enough breath. Al began to stop for the light on Park as it turned yellow.

"I said move, Al."

He glanced at me in question but one look at my face and he responded with a grim nod and squealing tires. The old cab swung around the corner just a few feet in front of the oncoming car. Al accelerated down Park, weaving for the left lane and put the cab into a beautiful drifting turn into what looked like an alley. Behind us there was a crash and blaring horns as Al pushed the old Checker through a hairpin turn and up the hill. Without pause or hesitation he hurtled over the crest and shot down the far side. We raced through two stop signs behind his horn honking and clipped a big snow bank as we turned north.

I looked out the back window hoping to see flashing red lights on our tail but the old adage about cops being around was holding true. Under different circumstances I would have been impressed with the driving as Al pushed the old bucket like a Formula 1, his eyes narrowed and old gnarled hands handling the wheel with negligent ease. We roared through the intersection of Marsh Lane and Walnut, the rear fishtailing through the turn. I thought he was going to lose it as we swung on to University Bay Drive but he recovered beautifully without losing much headway. He pulled into a parking area that appeared out of the white curtain of snow and pulled to a stop.

"Close as I can get with the cab, Mr. Hammer. That there trail over there will take you out to the point. You want I should wait?"

I jumped out and hesitated while I thought about it. Someone was bound to have reported our wild ride and I didn't want Al mixed up in this anymore than he already was.

"No, Al. Make it."

"But..." He started.

"No buts, Al. Haul ass before this place is crawling with cops. They should be screaming in anytime and you don't need to be here.."

I took a fifty from my wallet and tossed it in the window. He glanced at it then at me. He picked it up with a shrug.

"You're the boss."

He put the cab in reverse and backed out. He waved as he drove off towards town.

The snow was really coming down now. The Christmas Eve air was warm making the big flakes stick to everything they touched. My hair collected them quickly where they melted and ran down my neck and face in chill rivulets. Before I was halfway to the Point my head was wet, my hair plastered to my head, making me wish I had gotten some kind of hat. I ran through the white maelstrom, my breath burning in my throat. I slipped once but managed to catch myself. I knew I should slow down but I couldn't make myself do it. Visibility was closing down in the darkness and swirling snow. I could barely see twenty yards now. Finally I came to the spot where they had found Carol. The new fall was just beginning to hide the freshly dug up and trampled older snow. I knew the police had gone over every inch of the killing ground so I continued on to the end of the spit of land known as Picnic Point. I stopped where the land ended and Lake Mendota took over. In the distance I could barely make out the lights of downtown. The Student union building was twinkling with multi-colored lights and made for the best landmark. I headed out onto the ice keeping them just to my left as a guide. I wished I had thought to come out here earlier with better light. It would have been much easier hunting then but I hadn't known what to hunt for then.

About seventy five yards out I spotted a depression. It wasn't obvious. Just a small area of churned snow that was quickly disappearing under the heavy new cover. I started brushing aside the new fall with my bare hands. Gloves had been another purchase I had missed making. It was difficult finding the right amount of snow to clear but I quickly found and cleared an area where it looked like someone had tried to make a snow angel. Or just laid down in the snow. Or maybe been laid down. Cursing myself for not having brought a flashlight, I kept clearing. My search was rewarded when I found a piece of cloth imbedded in the frozen packed snow. It was the end of a scarf and I could make out a dark stain on the piece that was clear of the ice. Odds were it was Carol's. I hadn't checked to see what she had been wearing that night and something told me it was something the police hadn't really checked too closely either. I turned my attention towards downtown and scanned the snow for tracks. They were there. Barely more than impressions but at the right spacing. Shorter in stride due to the burden but the same wide separation, toed out placement I had tried to run in the just the day before. My insides felt cold and dead. Manley had been right when he had said amateurs should stay out of the business. But his reasons had been wrong.

I headed back for shore, following my tracks before they disappeared in the new snow. Stumbling on cold feet as I climbed the bank I headed back the way I had come. Visibility was down to about ten feet in the gray swirl of heavy snow. The temperature was hanging right about freezing. I felt much colder. The huge flakes still melted on contact with my head and the shoulders and back of my shirt were soaked from the run off. The snow covered everything in a blanket of quiet broken only by the crunchy squeak of my boots and the soft hiss of the snowfall. I walked along feeling colder with every step as I realized the extent of my foolishness. My phone call had given Price all of the warning he'd needed to run.

I stopped as a new question rose from the morass of recrimination that was growing around the information I had gathered. Why would my knowing about his being blackmailed cause Herb to run? To hide stupidity? Was he afraid by knowing about his being caught with a supposedly under aged girl I would somehow link him to Carol's death? There was a big gap there. Why would knowing about the Johnston's trigger any kind of response other than shame at being so stupid?

Then I remembered what had been the final link. Herb at the play in his letter jacket, just hours before Carol's death. At a theater production with some platinum wigged floozy much too old for him. Another memory, this one mine, came floating out of the pack. An older woman pulling a silver fox fur hat over her mousy brown hair while she talked so imperiously with Herb on a cold street under neon bar lights. That scene had bothered me then and now I knew why. Betty Johnston had been Herb's date that night. She had been the woman Herb hadn't wanted to be seen with. Not because she was married or he was ashamed to be seen dating such an obviously older woman. Hell, she hadn't been that much older and she was still a pretty woman. No, there was another reason. Herb had been in on the badger game all along. He wasn't an innocent victim.

I had been playing in a game just for laughs while everyone else was serious. Deadly serious. How Price had been involved in the blackmail scheme didn't really matter now. The three of them had been picking up extra cash by sweating it out of green college kids and frightened businessmen. Maybe Betty had decided it was time to cut down on the number of players. Or maybe she just wanted a bigger slice of the pie. She had called Herb to their little meeting and informed him there was going to be some changes in the arrangement. That was why Herb had been so angry.

All along I figured the woman to be leading my poor friend around by the short hairs. Now I could see it had probably been the other way around. Maybe Herb had picked up on the scam and turned the tables by threatening to turn the Johnston woman in for using her daughter in such a nasty way. It was just possible he had been one of their targets back when Lisa really was a minor and Herb had threatened to go to the police and bust their pretty little game all to hell. And when he had them, he just stepped in and began to reap his own share with the reverse blackmail. I could just imagine the shock the ladies would have had come day after tomorrow when the cops knocked on their door with their warrants and questions. I almost managed a chuckle when I remembered their shock would be coming sooner. Like in a matter of minutes when Manley's boys came knocking on their door and interrupting their Christmas Eve.

Suddenly I froze in my tracks. The thought of Manley and the police made me realize something was wrong. The night was silent except for the hiss of the falling snow. Silent.

Dead silent night.

There was no wail of sirens in the distance. Troutie should have reached the police station long ago and even if she hadn't been able to get Manley or Gavelli right away, she should have gotten through to them by now. Manley should have set things in motion quickly once he heard her story. I tried to fight down the gut wrenching fear that was clawing to life but there was no stopping it. I felt weak and swayed on cold wooden legs. Manly would have acted by now but only if he had gotten my message. The silence could only mean one thing. Troutie hadn't gotten through to him. I had been underestimating Herb Price every step of the way and now I had the sinking feeling I had made a fatal mistake. Herbert had probably been tailing me ever since my call. I had even given him the idea. He had probably been watching us when I had gotten my little epiphany. Been watching as I had run for a cab while Troutie headed for her car and...

The thought of Troutie in the hands of Carol's killer hit me like a 2x4 across the stomach. My frozen knees buckled and I dropped to the snow, saving my life.

The gray curtain parted with a bright orange roar and a giant fist slammed into my left shoulder spinning me off the path. Instinct took over, galvanizing me into action. I spun with the force of the blow and rolled through the snow, trying to put as much distance between me and the shooter as I could manage. I hit a fallen log and managed to scramble over it just as a second blast cut the night above me.

I lay half buried in the snow not even daring to breath. For a long count the night was silent again. I didn't feel any pain, just a stinging burn in my left shoulder. When I put my hand up to check it out it came away wet and black. From the extent of the injury and the deep throated roar of the blast, I knew he was using a shotgun. Probably a pretty tightly choked one from the closeness of the pattern. No skill needed with a shotgun. Just point and shoot.

"Garrison? Are you there?"

The nearness of his voice made me jump in my skin. He was standing on the path where I had fallen.

"I know I hit you, Lane. I couldn't have missed at this range."

I couldn't see him through the snow and bushes but that also meant he couldn't see me. I wormed my way along the log, stopping to listen for a moment when I reached the end, then headed in a crouched run in the direction of the road. The way my head was pounding, I wasn't sure but I figured any distance was a good thing right now. A huge tree loomed out of the snow and darkness so I moved to get it's bulk between me and Herbert's gun. Over the pounding of my heart I could just hear Price pushing through the brush screen I had rolled through to get to the log. It made me feel better when I heard him curse when he found I was gone.

"You're bleeding, Garrison." He called hoarsely. "Give it up. You can't get away. Come on out and I promise I'll make it quick."

I slid my back down the rough trunk and pressed a handful of snow against the worst part of my shoulder wound. I hissed through clenched teeth at the burn but the cold deadened the pain quickly. The inside of my jacket was sticky and wet to the waist and what was left of the sleeve hung in bloody tatters.

"Last chance, Lane. Give it up."

I pulled my scarf from around my neck and bound it as tightly as I could around the worst of it. The cold had slowed the bleeding to a sullen flow. I could hear the brush rustling from the direction I had come so I cupped my good hand to my mouth and called his name. He fired off in the direction I had yelled. There was no echo to the shot, the snow absorbing all of the sound. I tried it again.

"You've had it, Herb." I heard a muffled click then a second and a quick third. A semi-automatic shotgun with three shots. Probably a duck gun with full choke, which was why I was still alive. "I'm hit but it isn't that bad. I'm not going to die out here from it."

I heard brush whistle on nylon as he tried to move in. He had me unless I could find some way to stall him while I got clear. The muffled nature of the clicks while he loaded his gun gave me an idea. It was a long shot but I was hoping he had a good imagination and not a lot of knowledge about guns. My shoulder was beginning to ache and I knew the loss of blood and the cold would begin to have their effect on me. I dug in the brush at the base of the tree and found a small branch buried in the snow. It was fairly fresh and frozen hard. I cupped my hand the opposite direction and called to him.

"Listen, Herb."

I took the stick and snapped it in two half breaks. In the snow I hoped it sounded like a pistol being cocked. The movement out in the brush stopped.

"What was that?"

I tried a quick laugh. The effect was immediate.

"Don't try to fool me, Garrison. You don't have a gun." His voice cracked just a touch.

"Why not, Herb? I've been carrying one for the last five years. Never know what's going to come out of the brush on a jungle job."

"You're bluffing!"

"Shoot that cannon of yours again and find out. I can hit a snake at twenty yards with this thing."

While I let him think about it I pushed off from the tree into the snow, keeping the bulk of the trunk between me and his voice. It wouldn't take him long to realize I didn't have the .45 auto that was sitting in my suitcase at the hotel. What I had told him was true enough, I had just figured Manley and company wouldn't look kindly on me carrying an unlicensed hidden weapon. And that I would have used the gun after his third shot, if I had it. My shoulder was beginning to throb with each beat of my heart. The scarf was soaked with my blood. Blood that was dripping slowly from my numb fingertips into the snow. My knees gave out as I tried to scramble over a small hump and I rolled down the side of the small hill into a depression on the far side. It seemed that the snow was beginning to let up slightly. Visibility was on the increase. I had to get to help before Herbert realized his advantage and came to put a load of duck shot into my head. I staggered to my feet as I heard his voice come from behind me.

"Nice try, Lane. You almost had me believing you."

I started again, trying to keep clear of the brush so I could move more quickly and quietly. He could follow my tracks but he would have no idea of how far ahead of him I was.

"How does it feel, Lane?" He called only slightly closer than before. "Your luck is gone. Just like your women."

I stumbled but the plural of his last word sent a surge of heat through me. Women. Carol and Troutie. I swallowed the desperate anger that surged up my throat and moved on.

"I'm going to kill you, Lane. And you know what? I'm going to enjoy it. You've fouled up my life one too many times, you son of a bitch. You know it was me that killed Carol but I bet you don't know why. Do you?"

I kept going, looking for something I could use for a weapon. Someplace where I could ambush him. Anything. The black anger in me wanted to just head back at him but I knew that was suicidal. And I wanted him dead under my hands. The sound of his voice, the taunting tone fired me into new effort despite the loss of blood.

"I never forgave her for what she did to me in high school. I knew it was you who turned her away from me but she had to want to do it. You just helped and for that you're going to die but it was her choice. She was the one who betrayed me. I followed her that night just like I followed you tonight. She didn't see me anymore than you did."

His laugh drifted eerily up to me through the fast thinning snow putting a few more coals in my heart. My strength was dripping off my fingers in big fat drops but they were slowing as the scarf began to freeze into a grotesque cast.

"I asked her for a date that night and you know what she did? She just gave me this sad damn smile and said she couldn't." His voice got hoarse with emotion as he remembered that night. "She turned me down, Garrison just because you were coming back. I begged her to give me another chance but she just laughed at me. Laughed at me!"

I stumbled and fell full length into the snow. My outstretched hand came up against a branch and I pulled it from the snow. It was as big around as my arm and about as long. I used it for a support as I scrambled to my feet. The snow was fading quickly so I would have to find a spot for an ambush quickly if I was to have a chance.

"I slapped her, Garrison and she fell. She hit her head on the curb and I thought she was dead so I carried her out behind the Union. I had to set her down in the snow to catch my breath. I sat there in the snow and cried like a baby because the bitch had died and I had to figure out some way to hide her so I wouldn't get in trouble. She had fucked up my life enough. I wasn't about to take a fall because of an accident. I was standing over her trying to think when she kicked me in the balls. She tried to run but she was too dizzy or something. She kept falling down so I was able to catch her. I hit her again. And again. Christ it felt good to be able to beat the cold hearted bitch for ruining my life."

"When she passed out again I realized we had gotten further from the Union and nobody had heard or seen us so I picked her up and headed for the Point." He laughed again. "Second time you fell down, buddy. But don't quit now. I like this hunt. Just like I enjoyed beating her. For once I get to prove I'm a better man than you. I get to smash you. I'm going to enjoy that part. Listening to you beg. Beg me to let you live. Then beg me to kill you."

Just ahead I spotted what was the best chance for my plan. A huge old maple, at least five foot through the trunk, right next to the path. I stopped next to it, kicking up the snow and smearing blood in the snow. I rolled through the snow and almost wasn't able to get back up but the anger pushed me to my feet. Ten yards further the trail dipped and veered to the left behind another tree. I went past then circled as quickly through the brush back to the backside of the maple. I leaned against the tree, my branch cradled in my good arm as I tried to catch my breath before Herb found the maple. I heard his voice, approaching out of the snow and the dark.

"You always had to be the cool one, Garrison. You knew the women loved it. With you around I never had a chance. They always went for you, never for me. Well, no more big man. When I get through with you your own mother will puke when she identifies your body."

I peeked around the far side of the tree. I could just make him out as a dark mass in the darker gray background when he was thirty feet away. I closed my hand around the end of my club and hoped.

"I'll take your bodies and dump you in one of the gullies west of town on my way to Mexico. They say you were there for a while, Lane. Anybody I can say hi to for you?"

The nearness of his voice brought a cold sweat out on me all over again. I prayed I had enough strength left for one good swing. If the fire in my chest was any indication, it was there. I could hear his breathing on the far side of the tree as he stopped and inspected the stirred up snow on the other side. I picked up my club and got ready.

"You're tiring, Lane." He called loudly, his voice coming from near the ground. He had knelt to check the snow so I changed my aim and stepped around the trunk, swinging my club with everything I had. My heart sank as I saw he was rising but I couldn't shift my swing and have anything behind it. I followed through, changing my aim lower and taking him in the right knee as he tried to dodge back out of range. I felt his knee shatter as I followed through, rolling past him. I rolled up against a smaller tree on the far side of the path. My shoulder was screaming, the impact having broken the frozen cast. I tried to get my feet under me but I faded out of consciousness from the night's exertions. It wasn't a total black out. I could still hear Herbert's screaming through a strange wah wah filter as I fought to bring myself back. I could make him out rolling in the snow some fifteen feet away, holding his shattered knee. I had felt it go under my swing. I had torn my own knee up some on a job in Chile five years ago and I knew how painful that injury had been. I was amazed he was still conscious. I looked for the shotgun and I spotted it, stock towards me, just out of Herbert's reach where he'd dropped it. I had to crawl ten feet to get to it. My limbs were numb and chilled with no strength left. My torn shoulder throbbed with every heart beat. I pulled myself up on my right side and started to inch my way towards the gun. My body felt like tin soldier, cast and painted and laying on some child's game table. I inched along, pulling myself through the snow with my good arm, my legs pushing as best as they could. I had covered half the distance when the whole world swam away and left me in darkness.

# Chapter 18

How long I was out I couldn't tell. When I opened my eyes the night had brightened considerably with the passing of the storm. The night air was warm and heavy in the aftermath. My shoulder had stopped bleeding and the scarf was stiff and hard with half frozen blood. With a rush I remembered what I had been doing when I passed out. I looked around and spotted Herbert lying still in the whiteness, a thing coating of snow covering him. The shotgun still lay between us, barely visible in the snow. I started crawling again. My legs were a little more help but my strength was draining fast. I struggled to cover the last few feet and reach the gun before Herbert woke. My outstretched hand was a foot away when he stirred. He came awake faster than I would have believed possible and lunged for the barrel, pulling the gun to him just as my fingers touched the stock. He pulled back and glared through the pain the movement had kicked over with mad blue eyes. He grimaced as he struggled to pull himself together. The grimace turned to a snarl of hate and determination as he stared at me.

"I didn't think you had the strength or the balls to try something like that, Garrison. Didn't do you much good though, did it, tough guy?"

He pulled the shotgun to him and grasped the forearm in his left hand.

"I promised myself I'd see you crawling and begging for your life, Lane, and you aren't going to cheat me of that. My knees busted up pretty bad but I'll stand long enough to put at least one shot into that pretty boy face of yours. I've waited too damn long to pay you back for taking Carol away from me. She was just a game to you. You never cared about her. You just had to be a bastard because I loved her. Always taking things away from me."

My last burst of strength trying to get to the gun had drained off, seeped into the cold and the night. The cold and the loss of blood had taken their toll, leaving me spent and wondering what it was going to feel like when he pulled the trigger and I ceased to exist.

"Smart boy. You should have stayed away. Should have stayed out of my business. But it's no big deal, Lane. I've got a suitcase with over a quarter of a million in it stashed in a coin locker, a passport with a new name and a little place down in Costa Rica where I can go live like a king. Day after tomorrow I'll be in Mexico so even if they find you and manage to figure out what happened I'll be sitting pretty down there in a new life. But it won't matter to you, will it? You will be dead and out of my life forever."

I watched helplessly as he tried to get to his feet and fell to the ground when his leg gave out. He swung the gun butt around and dug it into the snow in between us so he could use the shotgun as a cane.

Sorry, Troutie, I thought as I wandered back into my memory attic. You shouldn't have had to die. You too, Carol. I kicked through the small stacks of boxes that were my past and was saddened to see how little was in them. A Spanish sunset rolled across my mind and Roger Dycke's bull bellow of laughter rang off the rafters of my head. From somewhere in the jumbled pile came little bits of conversations long forgotten and glimpses of faces and places I seen. Karen Judge danced barefoot through the dust to a flamenco beat, her bright dress wet with my blood. Troutie's whiskey rough voice recited lines from an old Kipling poem and Carol sobbed softly from the spilled cartons. I wanted to put them all back into their boxes but I couldn't move. I couldn't even tell them to be quiet and let me die in peace.

I struggled to bring my mind back to reality when I heard Herbert's pained grunt of triumph. Through a fog I could see he had gotten up on his good knee, his left hand on the muzzle of the gun, the other on the forearm. Sweat stood out on his face, his neck corded with the effort it was taking. I watched with morbid fascination as he tried to get up on his good leg his face locked in a grimace that locked back the pain in his knee. He moved like a man underwater, straining to where he could stand over me, stork legged, and put a round into my face.

I couldn't take it. There wasn't much left but I wasn't going to just lay like a lamb and wait for the slaughter. I swung my good arm out, trying to get hold of the butt of the stock of the gun. My fingers hit walnut but they refused to grasp. Instead it shifted the tenuous hold the stock had in the snow. It broke loose and skidded towards me. Then his hand slipped on the smooth varnished surface of the shotgun's forearm. His body started to fall forward with grotesque slowness. The full choke muzzle buried into the softness of his neck below the chin. His hand continued down the underbelly of the gun past the trigger guard and there was a far away muted boom. Herbert's eyes went wide as the gun discharged into his neck.

His head fell forward limply as his body continued to fall forward into the snow. I tried to cheer and tell everyone in my attic to look but someone slammed the shutters closed and darkness pulled me under before I could.

I woke up shivering in the snow. My mind was clear and the memories of my last few moments of consciousness were exceptionally vivid. The smell of cordite hung in the air partially covering the sick sweet coppery tang of blood. There was a sharp metallic taste in my mouth that no amount of swallowing could get rid of. I rolled my head to where I could see Price. He lay on his left side, his head hanging garishly loose, eyes astonished and dull. Black blood oozed from the hole around the gun barrel. I felt the bile rise in my throat and looked away. I lay on my back and stared up at the sky. Stars were beginning to peak through the fast receding cloud cover, twinkling brightly up there so high above the hustle and shove we poor animals lived in.

I closed my eyes and found someone had picked up my scattered memories, put them back in their boxes and stacked them neatly away. I shivered violently. If I was to survive I was going to need some help and soon. Price had probably driven out and parked where Al had dropped me off. My best guess told me it shouldn't be more than a hundred yards or so away. If I could get myself reoriented and pick the right direction. It was my best bet and it was looking too much like a sucker's bet. If I lay out in the snow and cold much longer I would definitely die. But I had one thing to do before I could make my run.

I crawled over to his body and began to go through his pockets. I would need a car and he had keys. His coat pocket was empty and a pat of his right side came up with no keys. I pushed against his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. The movement pulled the muzzle from his throat with a sucking sound. My stomach tried to rebel but I swallowed hard and checked his other pockets. His keys were in his left front pants pocket. I forced my numbed fingers to grab them and pulled them free. I put them in my jacket pocket and sat back to gather my strength and get my bearings. With the snowfall ended I could just make out the glow of the streetlight beyond the trees. At least I hoped that was what it was.

I crawled over to a tree and pulled myself to my feet. I could barely feel my legs and my head swam dangerously. The moon poked through the clouds and showed me the pathway some fifteen yards away in the direction I figured I had to go. I headed in that direction, staggering from tree to tree until I reached the path. Once there I only made a few steps before my legs gave out and I dropped to the ground. I managed to fall to my good side and lay panting in the snow. My left shoulder was throbbing with every heart beat but the bleeding hadn't started again. The scarf was now totally frozen, immobilizing my shoulder in a macabre cast. I knew if I didn't get moving they would find a Lanesicle in the middle of their nice park but it would be so easy to just lay back and let it all go. Carol was gone. And Troutie. And I hurt something fierce. No one could blame me for just giving in and giving up.

Except maybe that lady with the eyes like a static electric spark.

I rolled to my left and used my good arm to lever myself off the cold ground. It wasn't any more difficult than lifting a dump truck out of a mud hole. Somehow I made it to my feet. The world swam in and out of focus and the pain in my shoulder became a metronome that I could time my steps to. Beat, shuffle, beat, step. Everything else faded as I let the process become my world. Beat, shuffle, beat, step. Don't think, boy. Don't remember her laugh. Beat, shuffle, beat, step.

Suddenly my progress was stopped. I couldn't go forward anymore. I forced my eyes to focus again and stared down stupidly at the snow covered hood of a car. It took me a moment to realize I had made it. Though I had never seen it before, I knew this had to be Herb's car. I managed to get my hand up into my pocket and fished out the keys with numb fingers. I don't know how long it took me to work my way around to the driver's door, sliding along the cold metal. A week maybe. He hadn't locked it. I got the door open and collapsed into the driver's seat. It was cold and bright inside with the entire car covered with the new snow. As I sat and tried to catch my breath I knew I had to get the keys in the switch. I had to get the car started but my hand holding the keys refused to respond.

Suddenly lights played across the open door and I turned my head to squint into the glare of headlights. I heard a car door open.

"Mr. Hammer?"

I heard his boots crunching through the new snow as he came around the nose of the cab. I heard the little cabbie's harsh curse as he saw me and then he was kneeling beside me.

"Jeeezus H. Christ. Mr. Hammer, you ok?"

I tried a grin and was surprised my face still worked that much.

"Just fine Al. Needed a little break before I go play golf."

He laughed nervously and touched the frozen scarf.

"Got to get you to a doctor."

" You wouldn't happen to have something to drink? I'm parched."

"Yeah, sure." He reached into the voluminous pocket of his field jacket and pulled out a half pint of brandy. He spun the cap off and held it out to me.

"Need a little help, buddy. The hands don't seem to be answering up."

He held the bottle to my lips and trickled the warm amber into my mouth. It burned all the way down and started up the boilers in my stomach. After a minute or so I could hold the bottle and take another couple of long pulls. The brandy's fire ripped through my veins and beat down the worst of the frost and numbness.

"What are you doing here, Al?"

"I been listening to the police band. You said the cops would be coming out here so I was checking. When it didn't come across, I figured maybe I better come check."

"Good thing. It hasn't been a good night."

"We got to get you to the hospital, Mr. Hammer. You think you can make it to the cab?"

"With a little help from my friends. But we better get rolling. I don't think this reprieve is going to last long."

Al helped me to my feet and supported me on my good side. It was hard making things answer up and the liquor made my head swim but we managed to hit a stride together. I concentrated on keeping the legs working while Al kept me upright. Each step was forgotten as soon as the next was begun until Al leaned me against the fender and opened the back door. A blasting wave of heat came out and pulled me into the old Checker. I collapsed on the seat and tried to pull my legs in behind me. Al wrestled them in for me.

"You hang on, Mr. Hammer. It ain't far."

"Al, check the back seat of that car. There should be a bag or suitcase."

I lay back in the heat and in a moment he was back.

"Got it. What you want me to do with it?"

"Just hang on to it."

My last conscious thought was wondering about how long it would take the scarf to thaw and make a mess in the cab before the darkness rose up and pulled me into oblivion.

A pounding in the black void kept nagging at me until I pried my eyelids open and checked back in to the world. It took me a few minutes to get my eyes to focus and get my bearings straight. The room swam in and out of clarity, the dim light not helping me to find anything to anchor to. The pounding that had brought me back was centered on my shoulder. It felt like someone was trying to drive a dull cold chisel through the joint. And they were swinging the mallet in time with my heartbeat. I was lying under a sheet and thin blanket on a hard mattress with the head jacked up to about thirty degrees. There was an IV tree next to the bed with a tube feeding into my right arm.

A hospital room. I was alone in the room but there was a paperback upside down and open on the arm of a chair on the far side of the bed, a small lamp making a pool of light over the empty chair. I tried rolling to my right side and swung my legs around as I levered myself upright. My skin tingled and I felt a wave of dizziness as I let my legs dangle. It passed quickly, leaving the hammering in my shoulder. I waited a bit for the pain to subside then dropped my feet to the chilled tile floor. My legs trembled and threatened to fold but I locked my knees and stood holding the bed rail, hyperventilating a little to keep from passing out.

I felt a mile high and made from cotton balls with taffy for knees. My left shoulder and upper arm was bound against my side but the lower arm was free and I was slightly surprised to see the fingers respond when I told them to move. I told the legs to try a few steps and managed to shuffle over to the wall all of three feet away. I was standing with my face to the wall when I heard a door open and the room was flooded with light. I heard a startled gasp and turned my head as far as I could towards the sound. I started shifting around until the wall was pressed against the bare skin of my butt through the open back of my gown.

Helen was standing in the doorway.

"Hey. What do you think you are doing?"

"I wasn't expecting visitors." I said sheepishly. The old brain was sluggish and fuzzy around the edges as I leaned against the icy wall.

"You," she said as she quickly crossed to me and took me by the arm, "get back into bed. Are you out of your mind?"

"What day is it?"

She tried to pull me back to the bed but I leaned back. It was a token resistance. I had about as much strength as a babies sigh. She gave me an angry exasperated look but didn't pull me away from the wall.

"It's the 26th. Now will you please let me help you back to bed? Please."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stay clear of my wake. It's kind of embarrassing having my ass hanging out."

She stayed next to me and helped me make the pitiful two steps and turned me so I could collapse back onto the bed. I gasped as my shoulder banged into the mattress and Helen levered my legs back up under the blanket. She was working on getting me rearranged when the door opened and I heard a familiar voice.

"I told you I heard something in here." Lew's rough voice growled.

"Doesn't this place have any rules about visiting hours?"

Lew and Stan came in and a guy not much older than me in a white coat trailed in their wake. He came over to the bed and started doing all the usual crap doctors do when they get a chance. He held a little pocket flashlight up and shown it in my eyes. Then he took my wrist and started with the pulse.

"I take it you're feeling better, Mr. Garrison? Any problems?"

"Other than a lack of privacy?"

He put his stethoscope in his ears and listened to my chest.

"A common problem in these places. How does the shoulder feel?"

"Throbs."

"It will for a while. That's from the scoring of the joint by a few of the shotgun pellets. You kind of ground them in a bit. It will diminish in a few days but it will be around for a while. Any sharp pains? Difficulty breathing?"

I took a deep breath and did a quick inventory.

"No. Mostly just stiff and achy. And weak."

He finished his exam and unclipped the stethoscope. He watched my eyes closely.

"That's to be expected. You lost more blood than you had a right to and stay living. If you weren't in such good shape and incredibly lucky, you'd be in a reefer waiting for spring thaw."

I caught the sound of several sharp intakes of breath and I could feel three sets of eyes locked on me but I was concentrating on the doctor.

"No thanks, doc. I've had enough of cold for a while. What's the prognosis on me leaving."

He picked up my chart from the end of the bed and made a couple of quick notes. He scowled and shook his head.

"I should say I'll let you know next week but..." He looked up and locked eyes with me, "Did you have any problems getting up?"

"Other than drawing a crowd?"

He shook his head.

"I'll be honest with you Garrison. When that cab driver brought you in to the ER Christmas Eve I wouldn't have given anyone odds on you making it to lunch time. We had to use every trick we knew to get your core temperature back up. We heated the plasma we pumped into you. Blankets and hot packs. I used every kind of stimulant I figured you could handle. And the IV drips were heated too. You should have faded from low temp, but you didn't. You should have contracted pneumonia but you haven't. Yet. You shouldn't have been able to get out of that bed, but you did. You want to know when you can leave? How does right now sound?"

"Are you serious?"

He waved the group protest from the other side of the bed quiet.

"Dead serious." He answered flatly.

I heard his meaning.

"Maybe I won't push my luck. I think I'll accept your hospitality for a while."

"Good. I hate to see all my work go to waste. Plus if you check out of here I won't be able to keep the police and press from bothering you. Rest is what you need most right now and I would like to see you get it."

His mention of the gendarmes brought back memories of snow and cordite and things I wasn't ready to deal with yet. She was gone but I couldn't think about the finality of it. Forever is an awfully long time so I put those memories back in their box for later. I knew I had to get myself healed up and back on my feet. After that, well I'd just have to worry about that when I could.

"Has there been a Lt. Manley wanting to talk to me?"

"Those things can wait, Lane. You need rest."

I shook my head slowly. I was fading again so I looked over at Stan.

"I need to talk with him. Next time I come around. Let him know for me, would you?"

It got to be too hard to keep my eyes open so I didn't.

I drifted in and out of sleep, never quite sure of when I was. The watch passed and I sent everyone home. Helen balked but finally admitted she had things she had to do. Sometimes someone would be there when I woke up but usually not. It was good to see people. It had been too long since I had had anyone around but I could still only take so much hovering. I was glad I was feeling so weak and tired. It gave me an excuse to sleep, to find the oblivion of not being awake and thinking about what had happened. But it only worked for so long.

I knew Troutie was dead. And Herb. I was fairly sure Betty Johnston and Lisa were also. Even though he hadn't directly said anything about their fate I knew Herb had been far enough gone to have killed them to cover his trail. He hadn't much choice really. I had put him in a position where he would have to make sure they couldn't implicate him in either the blackmail scheme or Carol's death. I hoped he was planning on taking care of them after me but something in the way he talked of them that night said I was his final problem to solve on the way out of town. If not, they would be long gone by now.

The door opened and the nurse came in to check on me. She was a no nonsense type who handled me like a side of low grade beef. Not that she wasn't efficient, just not overly friendly. When she finished her routine she asked if I needed anything. Then she told me Ken Manley was waiting to see me, if I felt up to it. I told her to send him in. He came in a minute later and stood at the end of the bed, looking just as rumpled and harried as the last time I had seen him.

"The doctor says you'll live."

"Looks like it." He was stiff, defensive and I wasn't sure why.

"You were right Lt."

"About what in particular?"

"Amateurs."

He pulled his crushed pack of Camels out his pocket and managed to find one still in one piece and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. The cop ice was back in his eyes.

"Garrison, what happened wasn't all your fault. But maybe if you had been a bit more forthcoming with your info, some of it might have been avoided. I don't know what set Price off exactly but it was something you set up. What I can't figure out is why. You just didn't strike me as the vigilante type. Or that stupid."

If I had been in better shape I would have gone for him, right there, cop or not. As it was, the cold anger flared inside me.

"Go to hell, Manley."

I started swearing at him, calling him names in every language I knew. I dearly wanted to take it farther but I was too weak. When I finished he took his lighter out and lit his cigarette.

"Impressive." He took a long drag and blew the smoke at the ceiling. "I talked with your friends and with that Judge woman. I got enough to link Price to Carol the night she died. I don't know the details of it yet but I figure you can fill in most of them. If you had brought it to me before we could have built a decent case around it. Definitely enough for a conviction."

He leaned forward and I could see he had an anger as bad as mine just barely held in check.

"And now I have the Chief on my ass wanting to know what the hell is going on. I've got more dead bodies stacked around than the City Council is happy about and not enough information to tell anyone just what in the hell happened. Garrison, you either spill your guts or I will slap your ass in a jail cell until sometime in the next century."

"Go right ahead. The doc says I need the rest."

We glared at each other. A little voice in the back of my head whispered it was really a bad idea to antagonize the man but I wasn't listening. He could do exactly what he said but I just plain didn't give a damn. Herb had turned off a couple of very important lights in my world and I really didn't care what happened now. Ken continued to glare then shook his head and left without another word. I know he wanted to slam the door but the hydraulic closer wouldn't let him.

As I heard his footsteps fading down the hall I sank back into the pillows. Now that the adrenalin was fading, so was I. I could see the predicament he was in. And my own. I hadn't broken any laws but one person was dead for sure and I was certain there were two more. And with what I had found, the police probably would have been able to break the case. The feelings of loss and despair welled up in me and grabbed at my eyes.

Troutie.

She with the eyes like a static electric spark.

Gone.

"Garrison?"

I took a quick swipe at the wetness in my eyes and tried to focus on the door. I could barely make out Manley's burly form as he stepped tentatively into the room.

"Yeah.?'

"How come I can't scare you worth a damn?"

I tried to answer but my throat was closed. I coughed to clear it brushing at my eyes to clear them.

"Maybe because your heart isn't really in it, Ken"

He came over and I'll be damned if he didn't look sheepish enough to apologize.

"I got all the way to the car, cussing you out for being so bullheaded before I realized I couldn't even come close to the feeling you cussed me out with."

He paused and met my eyes.

"I didn't know her but I'm sorry she's gone. You know, don't you?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"If there's anything I can do..."

"Thanks, Ken but not right now. She's still too close. What about your boss? You said he was after your ass over this."

He waved his hand and shook his head.

"He's been after it before."

"Well, he's not going to get it on my account."

The cop light flared in his eyes

"What do you need?"

He pulled a pad from his pocket and looked around for a place to sit. I shifted my feet over and motioned him to use the end of the bed.

"I've got Price at the theater and we've searched his apartment. We've got traces of blood from the drain in the shower. And we know he got rid of his high school letter jacket that he was wearing that night. What I'm missing is a motive."

So I told him about our history. About the whole thing from senior year on. He asked a few questions and scribbled like mad in his book. When I finished he looked at me strangely. I could tell he wanted to ask me something more but wasn't sure how to do it.

"You're wondering if I set him up that night."

"Sorry, Garrison, but I have to know. It's something I think you might be capable of but it doesn't fit."

I stared at my hands, remembering that night.

"No, Ken. It wasn't a setup. If it had been, I would have had a gun with me. It was pure amateur bad luck. Troutie and I were shopping and I saw something that reminded me about Herb and his jacket. It all came together and I knew I had to check things out at the Point to see if it was possible. So I sent Troutie to you with orders to stay at the station until I came and got her. I grabbed a cab and headed out there. What I didn't realize was Herb was already on my trail."

"But why? Why would he be after you?"

"Remember those women I asked Gavelli to check out? The ones out in Middleton?"

His eyes went cold and he lowered the pad.

"What's the idea of using us for your running boys?"

"They're dead, aren't they?"

He nodded.

"Murder/suicide on Christmas Eve."

I shook my head.

"That was Herb's handiwork."

"Sweet baby Jesus. Why?"

I closed my eyes and lay back. I had been doing a lot of thinking about just how to put this part.

"Blackmail. The Johnston ladies were running a nice little blackmail game and they tied in with Herb."

"You're going to have to draw me a picture here. What kind of blackmail?"

"Statutory rape."

"But the daughter was of age."

I remembered that cute little snake and a grim smile lifted the corner of my mouth.

"She didn't look it. And she worked in the administration office of one of the high schools. They could get documentation that said she wasn't."

I opened my eyes and watched as Ken fitted the pieces together. There was a twinge of guilt in me that the pieces weren't all there but there was enough to make a nice picture.

"So with his job with the Governor's office, he couldn't afford to have anything like that come to light. So what set him off?"

I shrugged my good shoulder and regretted it immediately as the other side shifted and sent a wave of pain through me.

"I did, I guess. I stumbled onto the game and called to tell him he didn't have to worry. Said I knew a cop we could talk to after Christmas who might be able to help and keep it quiet."

Ken nodded and watched me with hooded eyes.

"And something had already snapped inside him after killing Carol. Maybe he just couldn't take the chance that wouldn't come out somewhere along the line."

I closed my eyes and nodded and hoped he would take it as grief. I felt him shift his weight on the end of the bed as we sat in silence. Troutie was out of her box again and I could almost feel her next to me in front of that shop window.

"Are you ok, Lane?"

I nodded again, not trusting my voice.

"I can call someone to be here with you."

"I don't think that's a call anyone can make, Ken."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. His green eyes were shadowed in the dim light of the room and for the first time I saw a part of the man he was. Maybe it was a trick of the light or my burning eyes but I would have sworn he was some kind of old medieval monk. A man of God, not a hard nosed cop. But maybe that was why he was as good a cop as he was.

"I'll be ok, Ken. It's going to be pretty rough for a while. I screwed things up pretty badly. But I'll make it. Do you have enough to get the Chief off your back?"

He nodded and stood up.

"I should. I can do the work to close this up." He paused and watched me carefully. "Is that everything?"

I kept my face still, used the pain of losing Troutie to hide anything else that might sneak out. And told myself there was no point in dragging the rest out.

"Isn't it enough?"

We locked eyes for a long count before he shook his head.

"So what are you going to do now?"

"I'm a construction bum, Ken. Once this shoulder heals I'll be heading back."

"You've got pretty good instincts. Ever consider changing lines?"

I shook my head.

"Guy can get hurt doing this."

He grinned and shook his head.

"Be careful, boy."

"I'm learning."

#  Chapter 19

The new year was knocking so I decided I'd had enough of hospital food. My shoulder was still sore but the rest of me was feeling too good to lay in bed any longer. Lew had checked me out of the hotel and brought my bag over a couple of days before so after breakfast I chucked the ventilated pajamas and got myself dressed. The wrap bandages binding my upper arm were a bit tricky and painful to get rid of but I managed. I was buttoning my flannel shirt, a Christmas present from Karen when there was a knock on the door.

Claire Bennings stuck her head in and looked surprised at seeing me up and dressed. She looked at the bandages on the bed and looked at me with narrowed eyes.

"Is this a good idea?"

"Best one I've had in a while."

"I don't suppose you've informed the hospital of this decision?"

"They'll figure it out soon enough." I finished tucking my shirt into my jeans. "What brings you around?"

"You were supposed to call. I figured you were a little busy so I decided to come over and see if you were just trying to avoid me or what."

I walked over to the chair and sat down to put my boots on. And to keep from falling down. My shoulder was pounding and I was feeling light headed. And in no mood for any kind of games.

"I'm not exactly up to repartee, Claire."

She came over and knelt in front of me and began to help with my boots. I started to protest but she pushed my hands away and quieted me with a look.

"I'm sorry. It was in pretty poor taste. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

I leaned back in the chair while she pulled my boot on and began lacing it. Her auburn hair glistened in the sun shining in the window.

"I'll live."

She finished the first and reached for the second. She looked up at me, her eyes shining.

"But will you be ok?"

I felt just a hint of the intensity, a teasing tickle, of the rapport from the cab ride but it quickly died. Little Al Kubisiak would be waiting downstairs in a bit, waiting to take me someplace where I could see what $125,000 of blood money looked like. I knew it wouldn't dampen the losses. The world would still be a little less than it had been. And I could go back to work, run away again and hope my personal Furies would let me find some peace. It wasn't my responsibility to make the world safe from the nasties who preyed on the unsuspecting. If people weren't bright enough to spot the jackals and barracudas and cover their own precious butts, it wasn't my fault. I would have enough money to buy enough tequila to keep myself in a nice constant haze. One where blue eyes couldn't accuse me, where the disapproving shake of a memoried toffee head wouldn't make me feel guilty.

And then again, maybe Ken had had something.

Maybe the hand having writ, had moved on but it didn't mean I couldn't read the writing on the wall.

I looked down at those eyes the color of old pennies and felt the teasing touch rise up again.

"I think I'll manage."

30-

