Until You Are Dead by John Lutz

Author:John Lutz [Lutz, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense & Thrillers
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Volkswagen's oil-starved engine beat like a busy machine shop as I drove past Marlville's exclusive shopping area of boutiques, service stations bordered by artificial green grass and shrubbery that would fool you at a thousand feet, and a red-brick and yellow-plastic McDonald's harboring half a dozen scraggly teenagers with nothing better to do on a sunny June day in swank suburbia.

I turned onto the cloverleaf and headed east toward the city, glad to be away from all that manicured spaciousness.

From a phone booth on Davis Avenue, I checked with my answering service. No one had called, and I didn't feel like returning to my desolate office to reread my mail.

My apartment was also a lonely place, but the loneliness was in me, wherever I went. I phoned a colleague at police headquarters who had an F.B.I. connection and promised to get me information on Larry Stein in a hurry and call back. Then I took a quick shower, leaving the bathroom door open so I could hear the phone.

It rang while I was toweling myself dry.

Larry Stein had been a member of a short-lived left-wing student organization called LIFT, Leftist Insurgents For Tomorrow. He had attended some demonstrations that turned violent and had been photographed near the R.O.T.C. building at Washington University when it burned down. He was never formally charged with arson, and someone else eventually was convicted of the crime. This was in 1966. Who cared now? Probably no one.

I cooked up some hamburger steaks and stewed tomatoes and sat down with it and a glass of beer to watch a ball game on television.

At a few minutes after five, the jangle of the phone woke me from a sound sleep in front of the TV.

"Nudger?"

"I think."

"Chief Gladstone. I got a call from the city police. Larry Stein is at the morgue."

I could think of nothing to say. I wasn't sure myself how I was taking the news.

"Refuse collectors found his body this afternoon in a big cardboard box behind a restaurant. He was shot to death. How about going down and making the I.D.?"

"Does Emily know?"

"Not yet."

"I'll tell her," I said. "I'll let you know when I get done at the morgue."

I replaced the receiver and stood for a moment, despising myself. I knew that hidden in my compassion for Emily was a secret joyous voice reminding me that she was a widow now, she was free.

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