Deadly Weapon by Wade Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

I’m not smart at this sort of thing. But I thought from what you said about Shasta Lynn — ”
    “You don’t like her, do you?” Walter James interjected softly. “Why?”
    Silence crept in. “I don’t even know her,” the girl said stiffly. “Why should I dislike her?”
    “Answering a question with a question isn’t polite,” he said smiling. “But let it pass.” He put his finger on the door handle and paused. “May I pick you up for dinner tomorrow night? Six o’clock?” He got out and walked around to the curbside door. Laura Gilbert was looking at him with a little frown on her forehead.
    “You must be way ahead of me. I don’t think I understand,” she said.
    “There’s no problem to it. I’m not being devious. I just think we’ll get along.”
    “Oh, I’m sure we would,” she said and put her head to one side. “I don’t know just how to put this and I don’t want to make you feel funny, but — aren’t I a little adolescent for you?”
    “I’m thirty-eight,” said Walter James, “and even my adept mind can’t see quite what that has to do with it.” He opened the door; she collected her belongings and slipped gracefully to the ground.
    “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you know later.” There was the hint of a saucy smile on her red lips. “Let me pretend to think it over, anyway, and I’ll let you know at the police station tomorrow — today.”
    “I’ll see you at six then,” he said. “It’s not necessary for you to come down to headquarters. Get some sleep.”
    “But Mr. Clapp said — ” she whispered.
    “You need the sleep and I think I can keep Clapp occupied. I have the upper hand temporarily.”
    She grinned outright. “You’re power mad.”
    “Not at the moment. Not with your father to face.”
    They walked up the flags together, two street-lighted figures of the same height. As they set foot on the small cement porch, the door opened, letting out a trickle of radio music. A tall spare man in a dressing gown stood in the light. “Laura?” he said.
    “Good morning, Dad,” she answered. “Your daughter got in a little trouble tonight.”
    The tall man held the screen door open. He had heavy gray hair and gray eyebrows accenting a tan, lined face. Walter James couldn’t see that the lines indicated any character, one way or another.
    “Dad, this is Mr. James. Mr. James, my father.”
    “Your daughter wasn’t personally involved in any trouble, Mr. Gilbert,” explained Walter James. “She just happened to be the only witness to an odd happening.”
    “And Mr. James was kind enough to bring me home from the police station.”
    “It’s pretty late, Laura,” said Mr. Gilbert. He said the words disinterestedly, almost perfunctorily. Walter James looked at him sharply.
    “Dad, the police work all night,” the girl explained with elaborate patience. “A man was killed, and they didn’t feel like waiting for me to get my sleep so I’d look pretty for their questions.” She added, “Mr. James is a detective.”
    The old man regarded Walter James more closely. “I’d ask you in, Mr. James, but you can understand — at this hour — ”
    “Naturally,” said Walter James. “I’ll see you again.”
    Mr. Gilbert closed the door on his daughter’s “Good night.” Walter James stared for thoughtful seconds at the closed door before turning back to his car.
    Walter James drove slowly down the deserted boulevard. Occasionally, off-duty traffic signals threw lonely flashes of yellow light across his face. Once, as he turned through the ghostly brilliance of the Park Avenue intersection, he glanced in the rear-view mirror critically. His face was smooth and bland, if a little sallow. Only small spiderwebs of wrinkles edged his eyes. “Thirty-eight,” he said aloud. Then the scream and rattle of the Number 11 streetcar snapped off his reverie; the rest of the way he drove quickly and deftly.
    Once in his apartment, he turned the lock and hung