grass and street. Spindly Tv antennas swayed dangerously.
I parked in back and went up the private entrance stairs to my apartment. The door wasn’t open more than an inch before something told me somebody was in there: the scent of expensive pipe tobacco.
I stood in the doorway.
“Don’t turn on the light,” he said.
“I don’t usually take orders from
burglars.”
He sighed. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t turn on the light.”
“And why would that be?”
“I don’t want Cliffie to know I’m here.”
“You call him Cliffie too?”
“Yeah. Behind his back I do.”
I went in. Kitchenette, as it’s called, bathroom, and bedroom on the right. The rest of the apartment is living room. He sat in the overstuffed chair across the room. I banged my knee on the coffee table.
“One good thing,” he said, “you don’t have to worry about hurting this furniture. It’s been hurt all it can be.”
“Part-time lawyer, part-time interior decorator. What an odd combination of jobs,”
I said.
“How do you know who I am?”
I took my coat off and draped it across the rocking chair I’d inherited from Grandfather.
“Number one, there aren’t that many major assholes in town. And, two, I recognized your voice from court.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“No,” I said, lighting a Lucky in the gloom. “What you’re supposed to be is afraid I may call Cliffie and have him book you for B and E.”
“I came to talk.”
“In the dark.”
“Yes. In the dark. Cliffie would never understand.”
I took a drag of my Lucky. “You want a beer?”
“I’m not much of a beer drinker. I work with my brains, not my hands.”
“Good. That just means more for me.”
When I opened the refrigerator door, the interior light shone on him. He was a dashing devil, David Squires, quite the country gentleman in his British tweeds and London riding boots. His expensive pipe tobacco smelled good.
“Please close that door. I told you I don’t want Cliffie to know I’m here.”
I closed the door. “Where’d you park?”
“Several blocks away. I took the
alleys over here.” I sat down and tapped the top of the Falstaff can with the church key. The beer opened with a whoosh, spattering foam on my hand.
“You that scared of him?”
“He and his father run this town. I know you and the Judge think she still has some power. But she doesn’t. Not the kind of power the Sykeses have, anyway.”
“You came over here for what reason?”
“To hire you.”
“Hire me? What the hell’re you talking about?”
“I want you to find out who killed my wife.”
“Cliffie’s the law in this town.”
“Cliffie’s an idiot.”
“That’s not a very nice thing for his lawyer to say.”
“Look, you prick, my wife’s been
murdered and I want to find out who killed her.
Do you think it was easy for me to come here?”
“I suppose not.”
“Then knock off the smart talk.”
I sighed. “The Judge’ll never go for this.”
“These are extraordinary circumstances.”
“So were all the times you gave your opinion of her in the newspaper.”
There’d been a couple of articles in the past few years about juris prudens
Black River Falls style. As the former District Attorney and now the town’s most prominent attorney, Squires had had a good deal to say about “incompetent judges.” He didn’t name names. He didn’t have to.
Everybody knew he meant Judge Whitney.
“Maybe you killed her, Squires.”
“Maybe I did. If you’re half as good as you seem to be, you’ll find that out and they’ll hang me.”
“There’re a lot of other private
investigators in the state. Good ones.”
“None who know the town the way you do. You know Chalmers, too.”
“Chalmers?” He was the ex-con I’d seen at the dance tonight. “What’s he got to do with anything?”
“I was the prosecutor who sent him up. His lawyer convinced him I held back evidence and had a grudge against
I parked in back and went up the private entrance stairs to my apartment. The door wasn’t open more than an inch before something told me somebody was in there: the scent of expensive pipe tobacco.
I stood in the doorway.
“Don’t turn on the light,” he said.
“I don’t usually take orders from
burglars.”
He sighed. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t turn on the light.”
“And why would that be?”
“I don’t want Cliffie to know I’m here.”
“You call him Cliffie too?”
“Yeah. Behind his back I do.”
I went in. Kitchenette, as it’s called, bathroom, and bedroom on the right. The rest of the apartment is living room. He sat in the overstuffed chair across the room. I banged my knee on the coffee table.
“One good thing,” he said, “you don’t have to worry about hurting this furniture. It’s been hurt all it can be.”
“Part-time lawyer, part-time interior decorator. What an odd combination of jobs,”
I said.
“How do you know who I am?”
I took my coat off and draped it across the rocking chair I’d inherited from Grandfather.
“Number one, there aren’t that many major assholes in town. And, two, I recognized your voice from court.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“No,” I said, lighting a Lucky in the gloom. “What you’re supposed to be is afraid I may call Cliffie and have him book you for B and E.”
“I came to talk.”
“In the dark.”
“Yes. In the dark. Cliffie would never understand.”
I took a drag of my Lucky. “You want a beer?”
“I’m not much of a beer drinker. I work with my brains, not my hands.”
“Good. That just means more for me.”
When I opened the refrigerator door, the interior light shone on him. He was a dashing devil, David Squires, quite the country gentleman in his British tweeds and London riding boots. His expensive pipe tobacco smelled good.
“Please close that door. I told you I don’t want Cliffie to know I’m here.”
I closed the door. “Where’d you park?”
“Several blocks away. I took the
alleys over here.” I sat down and tapped the top of the Falstaff can with the church key. The beer opened with a whoosh, spattering foam on my hand.
“You that scared of him?”
“He and his father run this town. I know you and the Judge think she still has some power. But she doesn’t. Not the kind of power the Sykeses have, anyway.”
“You came over here for what reason?”
“To hire you.”
“Hire me? What the hell’re you talking about?”
“I want you to find out who killed my wife.”
“Cliffie’s the law in this town.”
“Cliffie’s an idiot.”
“That’s not a very nice thing for his lawyer to say.”
“Look, you prick, my wife’s been
murdered and I want to find out who killed her.
Do you think it was easy for me to come here?”
“I suppose not.”
“Then knock off the smart talk.”
I sighed. “The Judge’ll never go for this.”
“These are extraordinary circumstances.”
“So were all the times you gave your opinion of her in the newspaper.”
There’d been a couple of articles in the past few years about juris prudens
Black River Falls style. As the former District Attorney and now the town’s most prominent attorney, Squires had had a good deal to say about “incompetent judges.” He didn’t name names. He didn’t have to.
Everybody knew he meant Judge Whitney.
“Maybe you killed her, Squires.”
“Maybe I did. If you’re half as good as you seem to be, you’ll find that out and they’ll hang me.”
“There’re a lot of other private
investigators in the state. Good ones.”
“None who know the town the way you do. You know Chalmers, too.”
“Chalmers?” He was the ex-con I’d seen at the dance tonight. “What’s he got to do with anything?”
“I was the prosecutor who sent him up. His lawyer convinced him I held back evidence and had a grudge against
Similar Books
