Dying Breath by J. A. Konrath

Author:J. A. Konrath [Konrath, J. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-02-27T22:00:00+00:00

JACK

After pacifying Herb’s food baby with two loaded chili cheese dogs, we headed to Englewood to surprise Dill Remir. He lived in the bottom of a two story duplex, sharing stairs and a front stoop with his upstairs neighbor, their doors side-by-side.

“You know this is a longshot, right?” Herb asked. “We didn’t find prints in the rental truck. The only connection to Remir is you suspect the truck was towed, and Remir steals cars by towing them.”

“How many longshots have panned out for us over the years?”

Herb’s face scrunched-up in thought. “I can’t think of any.”

“Me, neither. But a longshot is better than no shot at all.”

We parked in front of a hydrant, and when Herb got out of my car all the beans he’d dropped on his belly rolled free of him, leaving greasy orange trails.

“Hey, what happened to that tie?” I asked, for what felt like the tenth time.

“The one you bought me for my birthday?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to sugar coat it and make up a sweet lie? Or do you want the ugly truth?”

I considered both options. There have been many times in life where I would have preferred a sweet, sugar-coated lie, and to be offered a choice was a thoughtful gesture.

“I’ll take the lie,” I said.

“There was a shooting. Innocent bystander got wounded. I used your tie to stop the bleeding.”

That was as nice a lie as I’d heard lately. “Couldn’t be cleaned?”

Herb shook his head. “No way. But the tie played a much more important role than a simple clothing accessory. It saved a life. Whatever you spent on that tie, for that one victim, it was priceless.”

I liked that story better than the one in my head, that he simply hated it and refused to wear it. Or carelessly lost it. Or returned it for a store credit. So I didn’t press the issue.

I pressed the doorbell and waited for Remir to ask who it was via the intercom. But instead he buzzed us right in. Herb held the door open for me, gentleman that he was, and we walked down a narrow hallway and came to a second door. I knocked.

“You UPS?” A female voice from inside.

“No. Chicago Police.”

Herb and I held our badges up to the peephole. We heard locks disengaging, and then the door opened. An unassuming young woman of no more than thirty stood in the doorway, clad in a bathrobe. She was either very pregnant, or had eaten a pumpkin, whole.

“Thought you were my Amazon delivery,” she said. “Gotta buzz them in or my shitty neighbors steal the packages.”

“We’re looking for Dill Remir,” I said. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Husband,” the woman said. She didn’t seem surprised that the cops were looking for him. “What did he do?”

“We’d just like to ask him a few questions,” I said.

She snorted, probably thinking we were lying. Which we were, sort of.

“Dill went to the ER last night,” she said. “Kidney stones.”

“Which hospital?”

“Blessed Joseph, up the street. You gonna arrest him?”

“We’d just like to ask him a few questions,” I repeated.

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