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

Fifties, lean, steel-haired with a weak sort of face. A good cop once, serving out his time now. “This Frank Bagot. He say anything to you?”
    “I recall he complained of his treatment at the hands of our local constabulary,” I said.
    “That Dunn,” said Grassi. “He’s a wild man, you let him loose.”
    “True that.”
    “You didn’t hard-hand a visitor to our county, did you, Champion?” said Sternhagen.
    “We had a free and frank exchange of views.”
    Bethany set my beer in front of me. I thanked her and took a good pull. It had been a long day: I was ready for it.
    “You ask him why he did it?” Sternhagen asked. “Strangle the girl, I mean.”
    “He didn’t strangle her. The Nashville boys say he punched her to death. He told us she liked the rough stuff.”
    Sternhagen laughed. “He didn’t.”
    “That was his reason.”
    “There’s criminal logic for you. ‘Gee, if you like a slap on the ass now and then, well, honey, you’re really gonna enjoy being beaten to death.’”
    “It was total crap too,” Dunn chimed in. “She was a local girl. People knew her.”
    “Yeah, and you’re an expert on that stuff, right, Dunn?” said Grassi. “That teacher you go out with, I heard she’s into all that.”
    “Shut up, Grassi,” Sternhagen said. “Jesus, man. Fuck’s wrong with you?”
    I was glad he said it so I didn’t have to. Dunn tried to look like he was taking it well, but I could see he wasn’t. He didn’t like jokes about Sally.
    Anne Brady chimed in as peacemaker, changing the subject. “Bastard’ll probably get himself a psychiatrist to declare him insane or something,” she said. “Like, yeah, he’s suffering from Evil Dirtbag Syndrome.”
    We managed to laugh and move on.
    “I remember when I was in uniform,” Sternhagen said. “I got a call once. Guy killed his wife. He says, ‘She drove me crazy.’ I said to him, ‘Well, why didn’t you divorce her?’ He says, ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that. She never would’ve forgiven me.’”
    We laughed, shook our heads.
    “Had one like that last year,” said young Deputy Wilder. He was a great big slab of a fellow with a strangely babyish face. “Said he couldn’t get a divorce cause he was Catholic. So he killed her.”
    “Yeah, I think the church allows that, don’t they?” Sternhagen laughed.
    Grassi smiled wryly into his wineglass. “Way these scumbags think,” he said, and took a swig. Which was rich coming from him, being just this side of a perp himself.
    Anyway, the storytelling went on from there and I had another beer. Then after a while, I noticed Bethany trailing out of sight into the corridor in back that led to the restrooms. I pushed away from the table.
    “Excuse me a moment,” I said. “Police business.”
    “Take a whiz for me while you’re at it,” said Grassi.
    I met Bethany in the dark of the hall. She was a good-looking woman in her thirties. She had long blonde hair, in a ponytail tonight. She had a terrific figure which did terrific things to her waitress uniform, a short black skirt and tight white top.
    “I’m off at nine,” she said—quickly, softly. “You coming by?” Her breath was warm on my face and her scent, even with the sweat of her working, was delicate and sweet.
    “You want to test this hero sex theory, huh?”
    Her bright smile flashed but she shook her head. “That Grassi. He’s such garbage.”
    I nodded. “Don’t let him get to you.”
    “I might let you get to me, though. You gonna come by?”
    “I don’t know how I could resist.”
    She seemed about to say something else but then she pressed her lips tight to keep it in. “Don’t even think about resisting,” was what she said instead.
    She went back out to the main floor. I went into the restroom for a moment or two, then came out and went back to the table to join the others.
    It was funny, strange, given what finally happened that night—given the way it all came back to get me like some hand in