No One Rides For Free by Larry Beinhart

Author:Larry Beinhart [Beinhart, Larry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-07-29T13:43:40+00:00

18

REOPEN

DETECTIVE SERGEANT BILL Tillman called me the next morning.

"I was just thinking of you," I said.

"Don't say things like that, please, now that she's finally gone back to Nutley. "

"I'm sorry," I said. "How did that story work out?"

"How did the story work out?" Tillman said. "Let me say this about that. I had the story of the psychic and the policeman mounted, covered in clear acrylic and framed. It is now hanging on my wall. Let me quote something for you; the first sentence reads: 'If you ever want to see a slick con, see the Psychic who promises Pulitzers to reporters, promotions to Police Captains. . . So, my friend, I owe you one, and it is now my pleasure and privilege to pay. We got a break in the case."

"I'm on my way."

"What it is, we busted a busboy from the restaurant where Wood ate his last meal. It turns out that two guys came into the place two nights before Wood was killed, asking about him. Now the other thing I'm trying to work on is that DEA, Colombian thing. That is a bitch. They are both claiming diplomatic immunity."

"Forget about them. How's tomorrow?"

"Fine," he said. I made flight reservations, then called Christina.

I said "hello," and she said, "I don't think I want to see you anymore."

"What's wrong?"

"It's fine for you. You come over and have a nice time, then you go home to your—to Glenda. And I'm alone. I was doing just fine without you."

The dream of falling, I'm told, is a very common dream. I have it sometimes. I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, or a bridge, or, most often, on the ledge of a roof. Suddenly, what is beneath me is gone. A dream voice tries to scream, but its vocal chords are paralyzed.

"Christina, we are so good together."

"That's what's wrong. You take me up so high. Then I go down so low. If it wasn't so wonderful, it wouldn't matter. It's fine for you, you go home. You belong to someone else, and if I were her, I wouldn't like it."

There was no way I was going to tackle all of that on the telephone.

"Listen to me a second," I said.

"No. I've made up my mind."

"It's about your father; it's about the case."

"What? What is it?"

"I'd rather tell you in person."

"All right. But don't expect me to feel any different when I see you."

Sure I didn't, and ran from the cab up her stairs. She held herself stiffly, untouchable, unkissable. She led me into the living room and offered me a chair that fit only one. She sat so that the table was between us. The chess game she was playing didn't matter at all. I was happy just to be in the same room with her.

"The Virginia police," I explained flatly, "have come across some indication that your father was deliberately murdered. It's thin, but I'm going down to see if we can make something out of it."

Her eyes grew moist.

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