Read Online A Killer in the Wind by Andrew Klavan - Free Book Online

submarine he called the Champion Hero, a name that always got a lot of laughs. Plus he put in one of those old Bally pinball machines especially for us. It was called “Police Force,” and was all about these lion and tiger cops chasing down weasel and reptile bad guys. Everyone had a good time with that as well.
    The day after Deputy Dunn and I tracked down Frank Bagot at his sister’s house was a Thursday. Salvatore’s was crowded as the workday closed. The story about Bagot had been in the local daily, the Tyler Dispatch: “Sheriff’s Men Track Down Tenn Murder Suspect.” The story took up most of the front page. Sheriff Brady had given the official statement, but Dunn and I had both been interviewed. Dunn was interviewed on the local radio station too. There was even a brief report about the arrest on the TV news out of Danbury across the state line.
    So when I laid off work and walked into Salvatore’s that evening, the crowd there erupted in a big cheer. A lot of them stood up and everyone started applauding. I couldn’t help grinning as I made my way through a gauntlet of handshakes to the big round table by the storefront window that Salvatore reserved for police.
    Young Dunn was already there, having a beer. So was another young deputy, Rob Wilder. Grassi and Sternhagen, both BCI, were present and accounted for, with a red wine and a scotch respectively. And Anne Brady, who was the sheriff’s daughter and a part-time administrative assistant in the department, was there with a beer as well. Anne was hoping to be a deputy when she finished college and she liked to be thought of as one of the boys. We tended to oblige her.
    “Well, I ordered a Champion Hero and here it is,” said Sternhagen.
    “Well, don’t hold back then, go on and bite me,” I said.
    “That’s the plan.”
    I pulled out a chair and sat with them. “And you must be that Deputy Dunn I keep hearing so much about on the radio.”
    Dunn blushed from his crew cut to his Adam’s apple. “That’s me.”
    “Tell us again how you pumped that mad dog full of lead, cowboy,” Grassi teased him.
    The whole table laughed and Dunn blushed even redder, hanging his head so low he nearly went face-first into his beer.
    Grassi slapped him on the back. He was a dark little man, broad at the shoulder, bright white teeth when he smiled but always kind of sinister in the eyes, if you asked me. He had a penchant for checkered sports coats no one could talk him out of. We’d had a run-in once after I answered a call for a domestic dispute at his house. He’d given his wife a black eye and I told him right in front of her I’d run him in if he did it again, member of service or not. Wouldn’t have done much good, of course. Sheriff Brady was expert at losing paperwork like that when he had a mind to. But Grassi felt I’d humiliated him in front of his wife and he took it hard. We’d made it up since—we had to, working together as we did—but it was a brittle relationship at best.
    “Am I too late to make Champion Hero jokes?” That was Bethany, one of Salvatore’s waitresses.
    I looked up over my shoulder at her. She smiled her heart-stirring smile. “No, go on. I always love those,” I told her. “They make me laugh and laugh.”
    “Now Bethany, you know what they say about hero sex,” said Grassi, pointing at me. “You might want to get in on a good thing here.”
    Bethany rolled her eyes. Grassi always took this sort of thing right up to the edge of too far. “What can I get you, tough guy?” she asked me.
    “A Sam Adams would be great, Beth, thank you,” I said.
    I was still looking up at her as she wrote it down on her pad. She lifted her eyes to me. They were big, green eyes that were deep with tenderness and need. She knew they went right through me. I had told her often enough.
    “I’ll get that beer for you,” she said, and went back to the bar.
    “So you talk to him?” said Sternhagen. Sternhagen was a nice enough guy.