“Probably not. Nobody cares. Nobody wants to. You’ll sell a million copies, though.”
“That’s not why I wrote it and you know it.”
“I don’t know what I know, Barry. I thought I did going in.”
“I’m sorry I left you in the lurch.”
“It isn’t that,” I said. “Me and the lurch are old acquaintances, we call each other by our first names. But I don’t like getting frozen out. I don’t like that I’m just another grand jury where you’re concerned. I figured I was a little more than that.”
He got up and walked around, stumping a little.
“I had my head on backwards, Amos. I didn’t know who to trust. Most of all I didn’t trust me. That’s why I left, went somewhere where nobody knew me and where what I said didn’t matter. I had no way of knowing this whole thing would blow up in the meantime. It wouldn’t if you’d just—well, to hell with all that.” He sat back down.
“I got on Grice’s case by accident,” he said. “We were aware of each other. We knew each other over there because we were both from Detroit, and every now and then we crossed paths back here. I knew he suspected me of having something to do with Harney’s death. Maybe it’s part of the reason I didn’t blow the whistle right away when I found out he was mixed up in Blankenship’s action. And maybe that’s another reason I left. I was losing my objectivity, and when that happens to a reporter it’s time to get out. Or go into television,” he added archly. “So I planted that check stub at home and told Ed Sunburn about it so he could let me know if anyone was looking for me. If I hadn’t done that there was no telling what direction they’d come from. It was a safety valve. But I never figured you’d be the one doing the looking.”
“You know Sunburn’s dead. Grice killed him.”
“I know. It was in Jed’s piece. I guess I’m responsible for that too. I didn’t have Grice down as the type to go over the edge. I came into this one a half-beat off and never did catch up to the melody.”
“He was over there, Sunburn was. He must’ve known his chances.”
“I never liked him much. He was just a little too arrogant about having given up the use of his legs for his country. But he could be counted on not to talk. See, that’s the thing. You’ve been tested in that area, but not the way he was.”
“You don’t have to explain, Barry. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Like hell.”
“It’s not a thing I want on a paying basis.”
I’d spoken sharply. The words hung in the air for a moment. We watched each other. Then he glanced at his wristwatch. “Buy you a drink?”
“You bought the last one.” I lifted the bottle and two pony glasses out of the bottom drawer of the desk, got up and splashed water into the glasses in the little washroom. Back at the desk I filled them the rest of the way from the bottle. Barry picked up one.
“Cold steel.”
I shook my head and lifted mine. “The death of friends.”
He hesitated the barest instant, looking at me, before drinking his down.
The telephone rang and I answered it the usual way.
After he left I locked up and started for home. On the way I stopped in a corner bar, ordered two double Scotches, and drank them back to back. They didn’t work any magic so I went out. I buttoned my coat. The air was metal cold and the skyline to the east had a smoky look of coming rain. Westward the sun had gone down under a violet sky. I didn’t look at it long. The color reminded me of Louise Starr’s eyes, and I never saw them again.
A Biography of Loren D. Estleman
Loren D. Estleman (b. 1952) is the award-winning author of over sixty-five novels, including mysteries and westerns.
Raised in a Michigan farmhouse constructed in 1867, Estleman submitted his first story for publication at the age of fifteen and accumulated 160 rejection letters over the next eight years. Once The Oklahoma Punk was published in 1976, success came quickly, allowing him to quit his day job in 1980 and become a fulltime writer.
Estleman’s most enduring character, Amos Walker, made his first appearance in 1980’s Motor City Blue, and the hardboiled Detroit private eye has been featured in twenty novels since. The fifth Amos Walker novel, Sugartown, won the Private Eye Writers of America’s Shamus Award for best hardcover novel of 1985. Estleman’s most recent Walker novel is Infernal Angels.
Estleman has also won praise for his adventure novels set in the Old West. In 1980, The High Rocks was nominated for a National Book Award, and since then Estleman has featured its hero, Deputy U.S. Marshal Page Murdock, in seven more novels, most recently 2010’s The Book of Murdock. Estleman has received awards for many of his standalone westerns, receiving recognition for both his attention to historical detail and the elements of suspense that follow from his background as a mystery author. Journey of the Dead, a story of the man who murdered Billy the Kid, won a Spur Award from the Western Writers of America, and a Western Heritage Award from the National Cowboy Hall of Fame.
In 1993 Estleman married Deborah Morgan, a fellow mystery author. He lives and works in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Loren D. Estleman in a Davy Crockett ensemble at age three aboard the Straits of Mackinac ferry with his brother, Charles, and father, Leauvett.
Estleman at age five in his kindergarten photograph. He grew up in Dexter, Michigan.
Estleman in his study in Whitmore Lake, Michigan, in the 1980s. The author wrote more than forty books on the manual typewriter he is working on in this image.
Estleman and his family. From left to right: older brother, Charles; mother, Louise; father, Leauvett; and Loren.
Estleman and Deborah Morgan at their wedding in Springdale, Arkansas, on June 19, 1993.
Estleman with actor Barry Corbin at the Western Heritage Awards in Oklahoma City in 1998. The author won Outstanding Western Novel for his book Journey of the Dead.
Loren signing books at Eyecon in St. Louis in 1999. He was the guest of honor.
Estleman and his fellow panelists at Bouchercon in 2000. From left to right: Harper Barnes, John Lutz, Loren D. Estleman, Max Allan Collins, and Stuart M. Kaminsky.
Estleman and his wife, Deborah, signing together while on a tour through Colorado in 2003.
Estleman with his grandson, Dylan Ray Brown, shown here writing an original story on “Papa’s” typewriter at Christmastime in 2005 in Springfield, Missouri.
Estleman with his granddaughter, Lydia Morgan Hopper, as he reads her a bedtime story on New Year’s Eve 2008. Books are among Lydia’s favorite things—and “Papa” is quick to encourage this.
Estleman and his wife, Deborah, with the late Elmer Kelton and his wife, Anne Kelton, in 2008. Estleman is holding his Elmer Kelton Award from the German Association for the Study of the Western.
Estleman in front of the Gas City water tower, which he passed by on many a road trip. After titling one of his novels after the town, Estleman was invited for a visit by the mayor, and in February 2008 he was presented the key to the city.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author is grateful for permission to quote three lines of “The Tower,” from The Poems of W. B. Yeats, edited by Richard J. Finnegan. Copyright 1928 by Macmillan Publishing Company, renewed 1956 by Georgie Yeats. Reprin
ted by permission of Macmillan Publishing Company. Macmillan London Ltd., and Michael B. Yeats.
copyright © 1986 by Loren D. Estleman
cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
978-1-4532-2053-5
This edition published in 2011 by Open Road Integrated Media
180 Varick Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
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