Murder in the Wings by Ed Gorman Read Free Book Online

looking forward to this."
    She leaned over and kissed me. The kiss got a lot more serious than I thought it would, but it didn't go anyplace. For the next few minutes we went through our nighttime ritual. I always muttered a few prayers under my breath, and so did she, except she always muttered louder than I did. She must have known what I was doing, and I sure knew what she was doing, but we never once discussed it. Adults with any pretense of hipness should never admit that they pray.
    I was asleep in three-and-a- half minutes.
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    T he phone was on my side. I got it.
    "Hello," I said.
    There was traffic noise in the background. He was obviously calling from an outdoor phone.
    "Wade, I know it's you."
    Nothing.
    "Wade, you really should turn yourself in. You really should."
    I felt Donna press against my back. Muzzily, she said, "Let me talk to him, hon." I handed her the phone. "Stephen, listen, please. We love you very much and we're very afraid of what might happen if you don't turn yourself in. Stephen? Do you understand?"
    She held the phone out so we could both hear anything he said. What he said was nothing, at least for a long time. Then, "I really fucked it up good this time, didn't I?"
    No doubt about it. It was Stephen Wade. Then he hung up.
    Five minutes later I was wide awake. Donna, next to me in the darkness, had started to cry softly. "We're going to find out who really killed him, Dwyer. The first goddamn thing tomorrow that's exactly what we're going to do."
    She was serious, too.

Chapter 8
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    T he halfway house where the man named Lockhart was staying was located on the edge of the city's only acknowledged ghetto. Under the overcast sky the neighborhood looked even bleaker. Black teenagers who should have been in school lounged sullenly in front of a grocery store and watched us pass by.
    The house we wanted was a three-story job with a new shingled roof, a captain's walk, three spires, and a front porch long enough for the Bears to use for a scrimmage. Sixty or seventy years ago this place had probably been some banker's version of Shangri-la. Though the temperature was only in the low fifties and a damp mist gave the sky a dusky feel, three men were sitting on the porch in rusty lawn chairs. They watched Donna approach with special, and understandable, interest. She had gone trendy today, heels and designer jeans and a baby-blue sweater that could make you weep.
    There's an air about newly released cons. They're nervous, as if they're waiting for anything they do to get them hauled right back into the slam again. These guys were to be pitied. They wanted to look at Donna and they did look at Donna but then they looked away quickly, as if the law were going to show up and beat their brains in. In their view, I suppose, I was the law.
    I nodded, trying to make the gesture broad and pleasant. Two of them nodded back. One of them snuck a peek at Donna again. He licked his dry lips, as if somebody had just put a big Thanksgiving dinner down in front of him.
    "We'd like to see a man named Lockhart," I said.
    The first man, in greasy green work clothes that smelled of car oil, smiled. He had bad teeth. "You ain't the only one. He's been gettin' a lot of calls the past couple days."
    "You can't find him?"
    Now the second man spoke. He was tall and tubercular. His Adam's apple looked like it weighed twenty-five pounds. His face didn't make sense. He had a sad little mouth and a jackal's eyes. "Oh, everybody knows where he's at."
    The third man grinned. "He's up in the attic. The poor sumbitch." He had Elvis sideburns and greasy black hair. Blackheads gave his face an unfinished look, like a board with too many knots. "Anderson's gonna keep him there, too, you can bet your ass on that."
    "Anderson the man around here?"
    "You got that right, mister," the first one said.
    "He inside?"
    The third man guffawed. "He always inside, pal. Always. Try'n sneak out some time and you'll find if he's inside or