The Recycled Citizen by Charlotte MacLeod

Author:Charlotte MacLeod [MacLeod, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9780816147779
Publisher: ibooks
Published: 1987-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

13

“I COULD MAYBE—YOU know—drop in for a drink,” Bill ventured at last.

“Are you known there, Bill?” Max asked him.

The artist made gyrating motions with those incredibly wee hands. “I’ve been.”

There were few places around town where Bill hadn’t been. The Bittersohns had found that out long ago. For an almost painfully honest man, which in all truth he was, Bill knew a remarkable lot about what lurked in the dark corners of Boston. He never got into trouble. Everybody knew Bill didn’t carry tales. And everybody knew he was the kid brother of Pericles Jonubopoulos, another honest man, and one nobody cared to get on the wrong side of.

“Before we go further, you may wish to familiarize yourself with the appearances of some people we’ve run across in the course of our explorations,” said Brooks, fishing a small packet from his inside breast pocket. “I managed to get these developed and printed during odd moments before and after dinner. Here’s one you took of that fellow kicking the, can away from Theonia, Max.”

“Nice composition,” said Bill with professional interest. “Theonia? I had an idea she was your wife, Brooks.”

“She is, I’m proud to say. Perhaps you hadn’t realized what a talented actress she is. I must say I hadn’t myself. She disguised herself as a bag lady and spent all day yesterday tramping the streets, gathering evidence.”

“Hey-y-y! But where does the tonic can come in?”

“We have reason to believe such cans are the receptacles in which the drugs are distributed, presumably from the supplier to the pushers,” Max told him. “We have no proof yet, but you’ll notice it’s a purple can of a brand even Brooks never heard of. The guy kicking it away is dressed in purple from head to foot. And less than a minute later this same guy stood back and let the can be picked up by a woman wearing a purple sweater.”

“Okay pal, but why do you say heroin?”

“Because we’d already found a few grains of it in a bag that had purple paint squirted on the side of it. Wait a second, I’ll go get it.”

Max fetched the torn bag again. “The guy who carried this was mugged and killed the night before last. He was another SCRC collector—you know, they go around picking up waste and turning it in for salvage. Their bags are marked with the logo, as you see. This one had been ripped open and left at the scene. There were other cans lying around but none like the one in the photo. I managed to see a photograph the police had taken at the scene.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” said Sarah.

“I suppose it didn’t seem important at the time. I spun them a yarn about trying to trace his family so the center wouldn’t have to pay for the funeral, but it didn’t get me far. They just said forget it, guys like him don’t have families interested in paying for their funerals. The photograph wouldn’t have helped much, anyway, because he was lying face down.

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