Read Online Barrington Street Blues by Anne Emery - Free Book Online

not a well man.”
    â€œA long night of booze, smoke, and bad cards. I get the shakes just thinking about it. Maybe I’ll plead my guy guilty and go home for a snooze.”
    â€œYou might be doing him a favour.”
    â€œFor sure. So, what’s up?”
    â€œYou knew Dice Campbell, didn’t you?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, what do I mean? You knew the guy, right?”
    â€œDidn’t everybody?”
    â€œWell, didn’t you do some cases with him?”
    â€œYeah, a couple.”
    â€œYou guys did some partying together?”
    â€œEarly on.”
    â€œEarly on in what?”
    â€œI mean Dice’s parties got a little, well, I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”
    â€œYou’re not making any sense, Johnson. Maybe your client should throw himself on the mercy of the court before it’s too late.”
    â€œIt’s just that, yeah, Dice and I and some other people used to drink and party together once in a while but then I heard the parties got a little out of hand.”
    â€œAnd a blushing wallflower such as yourself would not want to be present for anything too
outré
.”
Or you wouldn’t want your wife to know you were there
. “But it’s not Dice’s party escapades I’m interested in.”
    I thought I could read relief in his thin, pallid face. “So, what’s all this about Campbell?”
    â€œDid he have a gun?”
    â€œWhoa! Where did that come from?”
    â€œJust, do you know whether he ever had a gun?”
    â€œHe did have a gun. Or I heard he did. Dicey all looped up, waving a gun around. I was just getting over the shakes and now I have to deal with an image like that.”
    â€œWhat kind of gun was it?”
    â€œHow the fuck would I know? Do I look like some kind of gun goon?”
    â€œYou do, actually, now that I think of it.”
    â€œWell, I’m not.”
    â€œBut you’d know a handgun from a long, pointy thing like a rifle or a shotgun.”
    â€œWhat I heard, it was a handgun. No idea what kind. Why this interest in Campbell and his weaponry?”
    â€œThe Leaman case. The weapon was an old German pistol, a Luger. Dice Campbell’s father had a Luger that he brought over from the war.”
    â€œI gotta go, Collins. You’re making even less sense than I am. Tramaine?” Johnson had spotted his client. “Get rid of that headgear and divest yourself of all that gold. Lose the pager. We’re claiming you’re
not
a drug dealer. Remember?
Not
a drug dealer.” Johnson waved me off and advanced on his client.
    So Dice Campbell had owned a gun. It may or may not have been his father’s Luger. Until I learned otherwise, I would proceed on the assumption that it was. That left me with a big coincidence: a murder-suicide effected by the same type of German handgun that had been owned by someone who had also, a few years back, committed suicide. Of course, Campbell had not used the gun to kill himself. Why not? I couldn’t recall any questions being raised about the lawyer’s death, and I had no reason to raise any now, but it did strike me as odd. And I wanted more information about Dice Campbell’s gun.
    â€ 
    Mavis Campbell was a real case. Until that Thursday afternoon I had known Dice Campbell’s widow only by reputation. Now I was sitting across from her in the bar of the Holiday Inn on RobieStreet. We were at one of the low tables along the bar’s enormous windows overlooking the Halifax Commons. She was obviously a regular; when I called her she said: “I assume you know where to find me when the five o’clock whistle blows.” She was already in place, with a double Scotch in front of her, when I arrived. I ordered a beer.
    â€œSo. Mavis. I’ll try to explain why you might be able to help with this murder-suicide. You didn’t want to meet in my office.”
    â€œDo