“I’ve got a plane to catch.”
She was gorgeous, and she’d probably be memorable for a couple of weeks on the Riviera or wherever, but there was too much of Jeremy in her. They’d enjoyed too many of the same things. I like my women straight.
We had a final nightcap. Her eyes still looked hurt. “We’ll meet again someday, Chet,” she said. “It will be—different then.”
“Maybe,” I said.
She left, and the bar stood still for a moment of homage.
I felt the loneliness that comes as the aftermath of a case. I called Suzanne. She was delighted to hear my voice. I perked up. My bags were already packed, so there was no need for me to spend my last night in Gstaad at the hotel.
In the morning Suzanne drove me to the little airport in Saanen. I caught a flight to Geneva and boarded the big TWA jet at Cointrin Airport for the flight to New York. They were showing one of those in-flight movies. It was And Quiet Flows the Don, the picture that had earned Ahmed Shiraz his Oscar.
I watched him for a couple of hours and a thousand miles. He had been damned good. I thought of the way he was now, with that twitch and that stutter.
Amos Littlejohn had his dying wish.
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Drumbeat Erica Page 16
