Barrington Street Blues by Anne Emery Read Free Book Online

voce
: “Maybe he pulled the trigger himself.”
    Ross reared back: “What are you saying?”
    â€œYou know what the police always say about overly helpful witnesses, people who insinuate themselves into the investigation.”
    â€œNo. I don’t.”
    â€œYou should have kept up with criminal law, Ross. Cops always suspect people like that.”
    â€œBut we’re not in the business of suspecting people, are we, Monty? And neither are the police on this one; they’re not looking for a killer. As for us, we are in the business of establishing that Leaman’s
suicide
, and his regrettable decision to take Graham Scott down with him, was in fact the fault of the Wallace Rennie Baird Addiction Treatment Centre. And now we have Doctor Swail-Peddle.”
    â€œAt least we can be fairly sure he’s not using an alias. Name like that, he didn’t make it up.”
    â€œBe serious, will you, Monty? We have the good doctor providing inside information that supports our case. He was utterly candid about his dispute with the centre. He has nothing to gain by helping us. I think we should be grateful.”
    â€œNothing to gain but revenge against his former employer.”
    â€œWhich he — again, candidly — admits will sour for him once he is forced to undergo cross-examination by the centre’s counsel at trial.”
    â€œYou’re right. If he’s on the level, his evidence will be very helpful indeed.”
    â€ 
    I drove downtown to St. Bernadette’s that evening to pick up Brennan Burke for our excursion to the Legion. He was just getting out of his car when I pulled up. “Give me two minutes to get rid ofthis collar if we’re going to be lifting a few.” I told him to go ahead. “How was the seminar?” I asked when he joined me in my car.
    â€œSure, it was brilliant. How could it be otherwise with myself at the head table? So, what exactly are you trying to find out?”
    â€œIf there are any genuine war veterans on hand, I’ll be asking whether they know of someone who brought a Luger back with him.” He looked skeptical. “It’s worth a try. It’s the only place I can think of to start.”
    The Cunard Street Legion, Branch 25, was noisy and full of smoke. I was surprised at the size of the crowd until I noticed a bunch of tables grouped together. A party of some sort. All the participants were a couple of decades short of WWII vintage. Burke and I went to the bar. A beer for me, a Jameson for him. The bartender was young, but I asked anyway: “Is there anybody here tonight who served in World War Two?”
    â€œThe only one I can see is Mrs. Dryden over there. She was with CWAC , Women’s Army Corps.”
    I approached her table. She had the wrinkled face of a lifelong smoker; her cigarette burned forgotten in her hand as she perused the baseball scores in the
Chronicle Herald
. “Excuse me, Mrs. Dryden. I’m hoping to speak to someone who’s a veteran of World War Two; the bartender pointed you out.”
    â€œI’m a veteran, yes. How can I help you?”
    â€œI’m trying to find the owner of a German pistol, a Luger that was used in a shooting here in the city. The owner’s not in any trouble; I suspect the gun was stolen. I thought it might have been brought back after the war, and it would sound familiar to somebody.”
    â€œHa! Good luck, kiddo. I bet that would sound familiar to a lot of people. More than a few must have come over in forty-five. I wouldn’t know; my war was in England.”
    â€œAll right. Thanks anyway.”
    â€œYou might try old Bill Groves, though. He’s a collector.”
    â€œWhere would I find him? Does he come in here?”
    â€œHe’d love to come in here. But he’s in an oxygen tent in Camp Hill Hospital.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œGo and see him. Bill loves visitors. His family never goes near