Not Safe After Dark & Other Stories by Peter Robinson

Author:Peter Robinson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Mystery & Detective - General, Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective, Fiction, Fiction - General, Suspense, Women Sleuths, Traditional British, Mystery & Detective - Police Procedural, General, Short Stories
ISBN: 9780771075599
Publisher: Toronto : M&S, 2004.
Published: 2004-10-25T23:00:00+00:00

THE WRONG HANDS

'Is everything in order?' the old man asked, his scrawny fingers clutching the comforter like talons.

'Seems to be,' said Mitch.

Drawing up the will had been a simple enough task. Mr Garibaldi and his wife had the dubious distinction of outliving both their children, and there wasn't much to leave.

'Would you like to sign it now?' he asked, holding out his Mont Blanc.

The old man clutched the pen the way a child holds a crayon and scribbled his illegible signature on the documents.

'There . . . that's done,' said Mitch. He placed the papers in his briefcase.

Mr Garibaldi nodded. The movement brought on a spasm and such a coughing fit that Mitch thought the old man was going to die right there and then.

But he recovered. 'Will you do me a favour?' he croaked when he'd got his breath back.

Mitch frowned. 'If I can.'

With one bent, shrivelled finger, Mr Garibaldi pointed to the floor under the window. 'Pull the carpet back,' he said.

Mitch stood up and looked.

'Please,' said Mr Garibaldi. 'The carpet.'

Mitch walked over to the window and rolled back the carpet. Underneath was nothing but floorboards.

'One of the boards is loose,' said the old man. 'The one directly in line with the wall socket. Lift it up.'

Mitch felt and, sure enough, part of the floorboard was loose. He lifted it easily with his fingernails. Underneath, wedged between the joists, lay a package wrapped in old newspaper.

'That's it,' said the old man. 'Take it out.'

Mitch did. It was heavier than he had expected.

'Now put the board back and replace the carpet.'

After he had done as he was asked, Mitch carried the package over to the bed.

'Open it,' said Mr Garibaldi. 'Go on, it won't bite you.'

Slowly, Mitch unwrapped the newspaper. It was from 18 December 1947, he noticed, and the headline reported a blizzard dumping twenty-eight inches of snow on New York City the day before. Inside, he found a layer of oilcloth. When he had folded back that too, a gun gleamed up at him. It was old, he could tell that, but it looked in superb condition. He hefted it into his hand, felt its weight and balance, pointed it towards the wall as if to shoot.

'Be careful,' said the old man. 'It's loaded.'

Mitch looked at the gun again, then put it back on the oilcloth. His fingers were smudged with oil or grease, so he took a tissue from the bedside table and wiped them off as best he could.

'What the hell are you doing with a loaded gun?' he asked.

Mr Garibaldi sighed. 'It's a Luger,' he said. 'First World War, probably. Old, anyway. A friend gave it to me many years ago. A German friend. I've kept it ever since. Partly as a memento of him and partly for protection. You know what this city's been getting like these past few years. I've maintained it, cleaned it, kept it loaded. Now I'm gonna die I want to hand it in. I don't want it to fall into the wrong hands.

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