Open Season by Archer Mayor Read Free Book Online Page B

thousand dollars. That’s not much considering his assets.”
    “Which were?”
    “Almost a million. I don’t think there’s anything there, like I said before.”
    “What about Reitz’s neighbors? Anyone see anything?”
    “They don’t even admit to hearing the shotgun blast.”
    “And Reitz’s daughter. What about her?”
    “I don’t know. What about her?”
    “The report said they didn’t get along. Did you interview her?”
    “Not yet.”
    “How about everyone living on and around Estabrook? Did any one see Woll get mugged?”
    “Not that they admit.”
    “How about the guy with the mask?”
    “Nope.”
    “Did you ask Woll if he’d pissed anyone off recently?”
    “No. I will, though.”
    The television was turned off again, and Murphy looked at me. “So you think the guy who rousted Woll is the same guy who arranged for Reitz to kill Phillips, and that he did all that because he wanted to draw attention to the Kimberly Harris case. Is that right?”
    “It’s a possibility—the jury connection goes beyond coincidence; at least I think so.” I could feel my palms begin to sweat. Murphy’s questions were making me angry, as was his implication that I wasn’t doing the job properly.
    “It’s also a possibility that Reitz’s daughter hates her guts, that Mrs. Phillips has had enough of the dog-lover, or that Woll rubbed some guy the wrong way, maybe even Henry Wodiska. Do we have anything besides his word that he spent the night where he said he did?”
    “Of course. We checked where he works. We have done this kind of thing before, Frank.”
    “Well, we better start showing it. Did you see tonight’s news? At six o’clock?”
    I shook my head.
    “They carried the Reitz shooting. Not much, but the ball’s beginning to roll. If we don’t do something fast, we’re going to get buried. The way I see it, we’ve got enough on our hands finding the guy who made Reitz pull that trigger without digging up old news.”
    “Is that a subtle way of telling me not to touch the Harris thing?”
    His eyes narrowed. “Where’d you get that bullshit? I’m just being helpful. Isn’t that why you came over?”
    I didn’t answer, much as I was tempted. Slowly he turned away and took another swig from his glass. He looked suddenly deflated. “It’s been a long day. Do what you have to do, Joe, but keep it under your hat and make damn sure you keep your priorities in order. A lot of people in the department were happy to see Davis go down. If they find out you’re digging into that stuff, you’re going to start feeling the heat, even if you can tie it together with what’s on our plate now. And if the press gets the slightest whiff of it, we’ll never hear the end of it. Have you told everyone to keep their mouths shut?”
    “I think I convinced Wodiska. Woll’s the only one I can order. Will you back me up on Harris?” He paused before answering. “I’m not here for long; they know that. My backing isn’t going to be worth diddly.”
    “Will you do it anyway?”
    “You haven’t convinced me yet. As far as I’m concerned, the guy who set up the Reitz-Phillips thing and Woll’s mugger are two separate people, and neither one has anything to do with Harris.”
    I rose and returned my half-empty glass to the bar. “All right.” I put my coat back on and headed for the hallway. “See you tomorrow, Frank.”
    “Hey.” I turned around, and he hoisted his glass at me. “I’ll be thinking about you in Florida.”
    “Sure.” I hated to admit it, but right now part of me wished he was already there.

5
    THE WEATHERGIRL WITH THE POODLE HAIR was wrong: it was already snowing as I left the Murphy house. From where they lived high on Hillcrest Terrace—an area my friend Gail Zigman, who was a Realtor, described as “middle-class, non-intellectual”—I could see the light below on Western Avenue, Brattleboro’s main artery to West Brattleboro, and the glistening snake of Interstate 91,