The last I heard, Annie Wynn was remanded into psychiatric custody for an evaluation, but I am convinced she's technically sane. My guess is that she will get several years to life for her part in the death of Sandy Palmer.
The press descended on Dry Wells from as far away as Salt Lake and Reno and stayed for several days. By the time I'd given half a dozen statements and interviews and finished talking to the grand jury, the television opportunity in L.A. was dead and gone. Darin Young now refuses to take my calls, but you know what? I don't give a damn. Ironically, I'm now a celebrity again anyway. There will be other jobs.
I sent the following E-mail to Hal:
Thanks for your help in a messy situation. I guess evil has failed to triumph, at least in this instance, and that is still possible for one man to make a difference. I finally understand that this is what you have been trying to pound into my thick skull for the last couple of years.
Have a wonderful trip, friend, and stay in touch.
Mick
PS. and by the way, I've never had it so good.
Epilogue
Two Months Later
It is mid-summer, now.
There is a small radio station, located on the campus of a community college near Los Angeles. The red brick building sits back among the weeds behind a tall chain-link fence. It is dark. There is one used car in the parking lot. The porch light is on, and surrounded by moths. A scruffy old gray cat is sprawled on the steps, waiting patiently for dinner.
Despite the lateness of the hour, callers are backed up and holding. The phone rings constantly. As a commercial break comes to a close, the host slips a pair of black earphones onto his head and leans forward into the microphone. He is calm, at ease, and in his element.
"You're listening to KWTF FM, broadcasting from Northridge, California." He chooses a caller at random. "Hello, you're on the air live with Mick Callahan. How can I can help you?"
THE END
Memorial Day: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Novels) Page 22
