her an okay.
She reached again into her belly pack, extracted a silver Zippo lighter, and handed it to me. One side of the lighter was engraved in two columns. At the upper left was “1-12-73.” Just under the date was the word Nevada , under that “R.I.,” which I took to be Rhode Island, then a space, then “M.J.W.” Three more sets of initials were stacked in a similar column to the right: “E.J.B.,” “J.P.McW.,” and “H.P.E.”
“How do you see it?” said Lewis.
I said, “Four men from Rhode Island went to Vegas or Reno a long time ago.”
“Assume it’s four dudes in Vegas,” said Liska. “What’s with Rhode Island?”
“Maybe all four of them grew up there,” I said. “They met by chance at a blackjack table and decided to commemorate the occasion.”
Liska shook his head. “Too nice a souvenir, especially if they bought one apiece.” He dropped it face up on the porcelain table. “A home state can’t be that goddamn important.”
“I was on a ship in the military,” I said. “Three hundred men aboard, but I knew which ones were from Ohio. You stood the midwatch, you bullshitted to kill time, and home states were important. Don’t ask me why. Maybe a base point for pointless conversation.”
“Okay, the military,” he said. “Vegas isn’t exactly a liberty port.”
“So they were Air Force. Maybe they worked at that secret air base in the desert out there, Area 351, or whatever it’s called. Maybe they were test pilots or UFO controllers.”
Lewis shook her head. “Your brain is running away from you.”
“You were in the service,” said Liska. “You ever take a vacation with two other guys?”
“No,” I said. “Except for a half-day train ride in Europe. Maybe it was the other way around. Four men from Nevada were assigned to a Navy ship out of Newport, Rhode Island.”
Liska turned to Lewis. “Detective, was the medical examiner going to perform back-to-back autopsies?”
Lewis checked her watch. “Forty minutes from now. I should go.”
“Can I make a suggestion?” I said.
Bobbi turned her head and stared at me. “You look awful, Alex. I suggest you go back to bed.”
It was not a good time to tell either of them about Tim. I stared back.
“Okay,” she said, “make a suggestion.”
“Ask Larry Riley to consider two perpetrators while he works. I know it’s not the examiner’s job, but…”
She looked for Liska’s reaction, as did I. Liska didn’t move.
“I’ll ask him,” she said.
Liska watched her walk to the county vehicle. I saw his eyes drift below her belt line, then to her face when she turned to get into her car.
Backing out of the lane, Lewis had to swerve her cruiser to allow another vehicle to pass. Johnny Griffin—my new tenant—in his rented van. He was head-to-toe khaki with wraparound sunglasses on a string and zinc oxide on his nose. Ready to fish all day. He looked up the lane, watched Lewis’s unmarked Crown Vic turn onto Fleming. When he opened the porch door, I introduced him to Sheriff Liska.
“Are we all friends,” said Johnny, “or do we have an issue here?”
Liska looked bored. “We need to discuss your misdemeanor lease of this residence. Four local ordinances will be trampled the instant you carry your suitcase into the house.”
Griffin blanched. “I’m out of here.”
I fought back quickly. “Hold on,” I said. “The sheriff used to be my deal killer, but I fired him yesterday. His job is out in the county. Right here, he’s just another slug on the porch.”
Griffin still looked confused. “So I stay or don’t stay?”
“I’ll help you carry in your gear,” I said.
I stepped outside to follow Griffin to his van. Just loud enough for me to hear, Liska said, “I’m a fucking slug.” He remained in a funk while Johnny and I unloaded duffels, two briefcases, bags of groceries, and boxes of business files. Liska’s sulk didn’t reassure Griffin, and I feared I might have to make a
She reached again into her belly pack, extracted a silver Zippo lighter, and handed it to me. One side of the lighter was engraved in two columns. At the upper left was “1-12-73.” Just under the date was the word Nevada , under that “R.I.,” which I took to be Rhode Island, then a space, then “M.J.W.” Three more sets of initials were stacked in a similar column to the right: “E.J.B.,” “J.P.McW.,” and “H.P.E.”
“How do you see it?” said Lewis.
I said, “Four men from Rhode Island went to Vegas or Reno a long time ago.”
“Assume it’s four dudes in Vegas,” said Liska. “What’s with Rhode Island?”
“Maybe all four of them grew up there,” I said. “They met by chance at a blackjack table and decided to commemorate the occasion.”
Liska shook his head. “Too nice a souvenir, especially if they bought one apiece.” He dropped it face up on the porcelain table. “A home state can’t be that goddamn important.”
“I was on a ship in the military,” I said. “Three hundred men aboard, but I knew which ones were from Ohio. You stood the midwatch, you bullshitted to kill time, and home states were important. Don’t ask me why. Maybe a base point for pointless conversation.”
“Okay, the military,” he said. “Vegas isn’t exactly a liberty port.”
“So they were Air Force. Maybe they worked at that secret air base in the desert out there, Area 351, or whatever it’s called. Maybe they were test pilots or UFO controllers.”
Lewis shook her head. “Your brain is running away from you.”
“You were in the service,” said Liska. “You ever take a vacation with two other guys?”
“No,” I said. “Except for a half-day train ride in Europe. Maybe it was the other way around. Four men from Nevada were assigned to a Navy ship out of Newport, Rhode Island.”
Liska turned to Lewis. “Detective, was the medical examiner going to perform back-to-back autopsies?”
Lewis checked her watch. “Forty minutes from now. I should go.”
“Can I make a suggestion?” I said.
Bobbi turned her head and stared at me. “You look awful, Alex. I suggest you go back to bed.”
It was not a good time to tell either of them about Tim. I stared back.
“Okay,” she said, “make a suggestion.”
“Ask Larry Riley to consider two perpetrators while he works. I know it’s not the examiner’s job, but…”
She looked for Liska’s reaction, as did I. Liska didn’t move.
“I’ll ask him,” she said.
Liska watched her walk to the county vehicle. I saw his eyes drift below her belt line, then to her face when she turned to get into her car.
Backing out of the lane, Lewis had to swerve her cruiser to allow another vehicle to pass. Johnny Griffin—my new tenant—in his rented van. He was head-to-toe khaki with wraparound sunglasses on a string and zinc oxide on his nose. Ready to fish all day. He looked up the lane, watched Lewis’s unmarked Crown Vic turn onto Fleming. When he opened the porch door, I introduced him to Sheriff Liska.
“Are we all friends,” said Johnny, “or do we have an issue here?”
Liska looked bored. “We need to discuss your misdemeanor lease of this residence. Four local ordinances will be trampled the instant you carry your suitcase into the house.”
Griffin blanched. “I’m out of here.”
I fought back quickly. “Hold on,” I said. “The sheriff used to be my deal killer, but I fired him yesterday. His job is out in the county. Right here, he’s just another slug on the porch.”
Griffin still looked confused. “So I stay or don’t stay?”
“I’ll help you carry in your gear,” I said.
I stepped outside to follow Griffin to his van. Just loud enough for me to hear, Liska said, “I’m a fucking slug.” He remained in a funk while Johnny and I unloaded duffels, two briefcases, bags of groceries, and boxes of business files. Liska’s sulk didn’t reassure Griffin, and I feared I might have to make a
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