A Good Kill

by John McMahon

  I sat on his porch with Purvis, and my bulldog stared at me. “Nothing to say about what I did?” I asked.

  But Purvis was silent. After all, he was a dog. What was I expecting?

  I heard a noise. Marvin had picked up the puppy from Animal Services.

  “Beau-Beau,” I said as he came out.

  “Let’s take a walk, guys.”

  I grabbed their leashes and told Marvin I’d be back in twenty minutes. As I strolled through Marvin’s neighborhood, I called up Remy. Asking her what she was doing.

  “There’s a get-together in an hour or so,” she said. “People that Gattling and I know. We do extreme mud runs and that sorta thing with them. You wanna join us?”

  “Are they millennial types?” I asked. “They wear hipster winter beanies in summer? Ironic T-shirts?”

  “Don’t forget the craft beer drinking,” she said. “Small-batch stuff. We sit around discussing the type of hops. Very few intense detective types, P.T. You’d probably hate it.”

  “Wow. You make that a pretty tempting invitation,” I said.

  Remy laughed.

  Then her voice changed. “P.T.,” she said. “I’m not sure if you heard. Or got any calls in the last hour from anyone downtown?”

  “No,” I said. “About what?”

  “Hartley hung himself in his cell.”

  “What?” I said, incredulous.

  “Two hours ago,” she said. “I asked if he had any visitors. They said you were there.”

  “Yeah, we talked,” I said. Now, trying to replay our short conversation in my head.

  “I guess, after you left, some lawyer named Granton came by,” Remy added. “Apparently he and Hartley talked for five minutes. Then Hartley went back to his cell. No one noticed ’til he was dead.”

  I was stunned and silent.

  “The DA said your phone just went to voicemail for the last couple hours.”

  “I went to see Monroe,” I said. “Not sure if you caught the news. He retired from office.”

  “Just like that?” Remy asked.

  “We might’ve talked first,” I said. “What did the DA want?”

  “I dunno,” Remy said. “She was mystified. Apparently she and Hartley had talked last night. He said he had something to trade. In exchange, he wanted five years in minimum security. She wanted to know what you two talked about. If her conversation with him came up.”

  “No,” I said. “It hadn’t.” But I understood now why Hartley had helped me. He was about to make a deal.

  That is, until someone influential heard about it. Perhaps threatened something that Hartley cared about. His family. Their fortune.

  We went silent for a moment, and I turned with the dogs back toward Marvin’s house.

  Vankle, who had paid for the accident that killed Lena and Jonas, was dead.

  Hartley, who had tried to cover it up and run me out of office in other ways, was dead.

  And Toby Monroe, who had known about it, was finally out of office.

  I hadn’t yet had a moment to process all this. To think about the justice I’d been searching for . . . for so long.

  And just maybe, if Jerome Bleeker got into the governor’s office, things in Georgia might be looking up.

  “So all the bad men we know are gone,” Remy said.

  “There’s always new bad men,” I said. “That we don’t know.”

  “True.”

  Remy’s voice changed then. “So . . . what do you say? You gonna join us?”

  I thought for a moment. I needed to start getting out there. Not every story in my life was going to mirror my past, for good or bad.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I’ll text you the address,” Remy said, and then hung up. I walked back into Marvin’s and let the dogs get at their water bowls.

  “You mind if I borrow your car?” I said to Marvin. “I feel like taking a drive. And not in a truck.”

  “If you can handle it.” He smiled slyly.

  The day before, Marvin had drawn thirty grand off his military pension. That, plus a trade-in of his old Charger got him a 2012 Porsche 911.

  Apparently he wasn’t joking when he said he always wanted to drive one.

  I fired the beast up and headed out.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First off, I would like to thank all the people who read The Good Detective and The Evil Men Do—my first two books—and those who wrote notes of encouragement via email or social media. To that end, I love to meet readers and get emails. So if you like the book (or have a note or suggestion), don’t be a stranger. Shoot me an email at McMahonJohn@att.net and you’ll be the first to know when the next one is coming out or read advance excerpts. Or just say hello.

  My friend and workshop coach Jerrilyn Farmer continues to be a source of inspiration and great criticism, and for this book, she gave me the title. If you’re playing the home game, my editor Mark Tavani and I have been doing an alternating “good” and “evil” thing with book titles. So this is where I would normally tell you to look out for another book with the word “evil” in the title by spring or summer ’22. But I’m working on a new book, and I may let P.T. and Remy grab a short breather. Not sure as of this writing. If you’re on my email list, you’ll be the first to know.

  I would like to thank Noah, Maggie, and Zoey for being my first three editors and the biggest sources of encouragement in my life. A couple folks to recognize on the “second round” edit team for their help from geography to legal to firearms to continuity: Ryan Loiacono, Suzanne Miller, Kerry Archbold, Allison Stover, Bette Carlson, Andy McMahon, and my great agent, Marly Rusoff (and Michael).

  A shout-out to my people at Putnam: Mark, Ivan, Sally, Danielle, Ashley, Ashley, Dan, Emily, and all the others who work behind the scenes. It’s one thing to arrange words on a page, but someone’s gotta market this book, sell it to the folks on the sales team, get a cover done, proof the thing, get it to stores, and arrange all the publicity and marketing to let the world know it exists. Appreciate you guys!

  The following booksellers hosted me on my tour for The Evil Men Do, and their stores are great places to buy a book: Doug at Eagle Eye in Decatur; Cynthia at the Vero Beach Book Center; Rebecca, McKenna, and John at Murder by the Book in Houston; Barbara and Patrick at the Poisoned Pen; and Anne at Book Carnival. The coronavirus laid waste to my visit to Vroman’s in Pasadena and Clues Unlimited in Tucson, but I know they would’ve been great stops. Another big thanks to everyone at the Savannah Book Festival—and to all the writers I’ve met over the last three years. The only community as welcoming as crime writers are the fans who follow their writing. One other shout-out of gratitude: to Marilyn Stasio of The New York Times for giving an unknown writer great publicity.

  Last, there’s the writing life. And then there’s the work that supports you as you get better at your craft. In the latter, there’s a handful of folks who were like lanterns in the night, helping me survive over three decades when I was younger. This sometimes came through advice or a job. Or even a place to stay. None of this relates to writing books, but it kept the engines running while I got better at my craft. So I thought I’d give a shout-out to three folks who helped me at pivotal times: Linda Filep, Hahn Lin, and Jeremy Kaplan. Thank you.

  I’ve ended the last two acknowledgments saying that “this is not over” and “P. T. Marsh will be back.” I’ll just say here that there’re more stories to tell with P.T. and Remy. Either way, at some point, you will meet my next hero, Gardner Camden. If you like these stories, you will love Gardner as much or more. Talk to y’all soon and happy reading.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  John McMahon is the author of The Good Detective and One Good Deed. In his role as an ad agency creative director, he has won a Gold Clio for his work with Fiat, and he's written a Superbowl spot for Alfa Romeo. He
currently lives in Southern California with his family and two rescue animals.

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