Amos Walker: The Complete Story Collection by Loren D. Estleman

Author:Loren D. Estleman [Estleman, Loren D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781440531002
Publisher: Tyrus Books
Published: 2010-06-15T16:00:00+00:00

Pickups and Shotguns

One

Fifty minutes after I arrived for my appointment five minutes early, Lawrence Otell’s secretary—a tawny-haired angel whose placard read MS. ROLAND—hung up her telephone and told me I could go in. I left off studying an actuarial chart on the wall that informed me I’d been dead for two years, passed through the door marked PRIVATE, and shook the hand of the big square middle-aged type seated behind a desk shaped like a lima bean. He managed my name and indicated the chair on the customer’s side, helping himself to a lump of hard candy from the jar on the desk without offering me one or apologizing for making me wait. I didn’t give it much thought. I’d been working off and on for Midwest Confidential Life, Automobile, & Casualty for fifteen years and had yet to receive so much as a Christmas card from its headquarters in downtown Detroit.

“I see you’ve handled a number of assignments for us, Mr. Walker.” Otell peered through a pair of black-rimmed readers at a file with my name lettered on the tab.

“You gave me the last six personally.”

That upset him quite a bit. He glanced at me over the tops of his glasses, then closed the folder. “Have you ever investigated arson?”

“I went along on a couple of torch jobs. Is that the beef?”

“My usual man is out sick this week. He seems to be taken ill every year during the first week of deer hunting season. You don’t hunt?”

“I used to, with my father. It isn’t so much fun now that I do it for a living.”

“I don’t go in for blood sports myself. This case shouldn’t be too complicated. The only reason I’m suspicious at all is the policy holder refused permission to the local fire department to investigate the premises. By law the investigators are required to ask permission. Otherwise they must seek a warrant. They’re in the process of doing that now, but the circuit judge is away on a hunting trip and can’t be reached.”

“Can’t they get another judge?”

“It’s a small town, and it’s Friday afternoon. They might not be able to locate another before

Monday, by which time the integrity of the scene may be violated. Of course, this could be simply a case of a disgruntled homeowner sticking his finger in the spokes just to cause trouble. Do you know the term ‘pickups and shotguns’?”

I shook my head, which pleased him. Otell was a frustrated pedant.

“It’s a phrase advertisers use when they divide the population into consumer groups. Huron’s a small town in a farm community yielding slowly to suburban development. Pickups and shotguns outsell sportscars and cufflinks five to one.”

“I was there once. You’re overestimating sportscars and cufflinks.”

He slid another folder out from under the one with my name on it and held it out. “This contains all the information you’ll need to start. The commander of the sheriff’s substation is Sergeant Early. You’ll want to let him know what you’re up to.”

I didn’t ask him why.

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