One Good Deed by David Baldacci

Author:David Baldacci
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Macmillan

SHAW HAD A BIG FOUR-DOOR BUICK that he pushed hard as they roared down the road. Earlier, after they’d finished their dinners, he’d escorted Archer to the Derby Hotel and let him wash up in the hall bath. As he was driving, Shaw said, “I called ahead, so the lady’s expecting us. Right now, tell me about that fella on the truck with you.”

“His name’s Dickie Dill.”

Shaw’s eyes took on a hint of recognition. “Dickie Dill. Damn. I knew I’d seen that cuss before.”

“Where?”

“Investigating a murder, well, actually two murders, this was way back. Must’ve been ten years ago, before the war. That Dill killed two women sure as I’m sitting here. But we couldn’t prove it.”

“I thought you always got your man, Mr. Shaw?”

“Hell, son, even lawmen lie sometimes to make themselves look better.”

“Well, any consolation, he was in prison for a long while. Just got out a few months ago, so they must’ve got him for something else. He’s small but mean as hell. He’s not a man you want to cross.”

“I’ll cross him if he steps a foot outta line,” said Shaw fiercely.

They reached the gates of the Pittleman estate, and Manuel opened them so they could pass through.

“Hold on,” said Archer. He was pointing at a long-hooded car parked in the drive. “That’s Lucas Tuttle’s car.”

“You sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure. That’s his driver sitting in the front seat.”

“Wonder what he’s doing here?”

The front door opened as he said this, and Lucas Tuttle appeared there.

Archer saw that he was putting a sheaf of papers into his suit jacket pocket.

“Let’s ask him.”

They faced off with Tuttle at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door.

Tuttle had on a checkered sport coat, contrasting charcoal slacks, and black-and-white leather lace-up shoes. His bow tie held a pattern of black-and-white swirls. His crown-dented fedora covered the snowy hair. The bowl end of a pipe stuck out of his breast jacket pocket.

“Archer, what are you doing here?” he asked.

Shaw stepped forward and showed his badge. “He’s with me. I’m Lieutenant Detective Irving Shaw, with the state police.”

“You certainly look like an officer of the law,” said a clearly unimpressed Tuttle.

“Can I inquire as to what you’re doing here?”

As he asked this, Archer glanced toward the front of the house. In a window next to the door, he saw Malcolm Draper staring out at them. When he saw that Archer had spotted him, the man abruptly moved away.

Tuttle said, “I was here paying my respects to Marjorie on the death of her husband.”

“I understand that you owe her a debt.”

“And who do you hear that from?” said Tuttle, glowering at Archer.

“Never mind. Did you pay her?”

“I have Mr. Archer here working on that for me. So you can ask him about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Just a minute there, fella,” said Shaw. “You want to tell me where you were between the hours of midnight and six a.m. on the day Hank Pittleman was found murdered?”

“I was in Houston, Texas, with about ten other gentlemen.

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