Read Online Beware the Solitary Drinker by Cornelius Lehane - Free Book Online

rigid. “…I tried to stop her. I feel like it’s my fault…I feel like it’s my fault she was murdered.”
    â€œHow could it be your fault?”
    â€œI told her not to come.”
    â€œYou told her not to come, and she came anyway.”
    â€œI had a premonition—”
    â€œPremonitions don’t mean anything,” I said—not something you should say to a visibly distraught, not-far-from-the-edge premonition believer.
    â€œNo,” she said, all too calmly. “Angelina and I were really close. We had premonitions about what might happen to one another. It happened enough times that we both believed them.”
    This businesslike and self-assured professional woman had come unstrung for the moment. I was embarrassed for her and turned away. I didn’t want to hear about premonitions. If there were such things, why didn’t Angelina have a premonition about going to the park with someone who was going to murder her?
    â€œI need to find out for myself what happened,” Janet said to my back. It seemed that once she got started explaining herself, she needed to keep going until she was sure I understood.
    So I understood: guilt and anger brought her here. She came to the city to wear out whatever guilt she had.
    â€œYou can wait just as well in Massachusetts and find out what happened to your sister. You don’t need to be here.”
    â€œI know I should be here….” Her eyes reddened, so she began walking away from me. After a few steps, she straightened her shoulders and turned around. “I have to find out what happened. I knew my sister better than anyone. I’d be able to help…I’d know things others wouldn’t know. I’d do anything to find her killer. Anything.” Her voice shook with anger; her eyes flashed with challenge.
    â€œWhy? What good will it do if you do find the killer? It won’t bring her back. Angelina will still be dead.”
    Janet Carter turned on me. “How can you say that? You don’t care about finding the killer? You wouldn’t rip him apart? You wouldn’t kill him with your own hands if you knew?…What kind of man are you?”
    I started walking.
    In a little while, she caught up with me. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel so horribly awful…I can’t bear it…I don’t know what to do.”
    â€œI’m sorry, too. I don’t know what you do with this kind of sadness. But I do know what you shouldn’t do, and that’s come down here and start rummaging around looking for someone who might be a killer. You’re not going to find whoever it is—and even supposing you’re able to, the odds are the murderer will find out about you long before you find him—or her—so you could get yourself murdered. The good offensive guy beats the defensive guy because the offensive guy knows where he’s going and the other guy doesn’t.”
    Janet, purposeful again, sized me up. “I’m not a fool. That analogy doesn’t make sense.” She glared at me. But, this time, something behind the glare reached out to me. It was as if she asked for help. The expression reminded me of Angelina; that was her expression too.
    â€œLet the cops handle it. This is the kind of case cops solve. If your sister was black and got murdered in Brooklyn, it might be a different story. But she’s young and white and pretty, and got killed in a neighborhood where people with money live, so the murder is a big deal for the papers. Then it becomes a big deal for the cops. They’ll find a murderer.”
    â€œGod, you’re so cynical—”
    Here was this attitude again: Ms. Success. She’d done okay in life, why couldn’t everyone? The cops not care about poor black people? Who’d believe such a thing? Angelina wasn’t like that. Angelina knew all along what was on the other side of the