The Death in the Willows by Richard; Forrest Read Free Book Online Page B

tightly.
    â€œWe’re very proud of your husband, Madam Secretary.”
    â€œPlease. Call me Bea.”
    â€œOf course, and I’m John. In fact,” he glanced at his watch, “in an hour the mayor would like to make a presentation with radio and television coverage.”
    Lyon abruptly went to the window and stood with his back to them. “There will be no coverage as there will be no event to cover.”
    â€œMr. Wentworth, the mayor and police commissioner …”
    â€œAm I in custody?”
    â€œOf course not. You can leave at any time. However, we would like you back again if anything further turns up.”
    â€œDo you know anything about the man I killed?”
    â€œWe haven’t had time to complete a full investigation.” He picked up a thin file folder. “But there’s enough here to tell me he was a real loser.”
    â€œMay I see it, please?”
    John Nesbitt hesitated a moment and then handed over the folder. Lyon stood at the window reading the sparse outline of William Banning Shep’s brief life. A room search on East Tenth Street had yielded few possessions except an irate landlady concerned over back rent. His neighbors knew him as a moody, taciturn man who kept to himself; his job history was splotchy, with continued bouts of unemployment. There were several photographs, including a group taken inside the bus, that showed the dead man sprawled in the aisle as Lyon so vividly remembered. He closed the file and gave it back to Nesbitt. “I’m going home now.”
    Rocco sat in front with the trooper driver while Lyon stared moodily out the rear window. He was unable to shake the sheen of depression that engulfed him. He had tried to view the events with logic, but coherent thought could not dispel his depression.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have looked at the file.”
    He didn’t answer for a moment. “How’s the campaign coming?”
    â€œLousy. My unworthy opponent has accused me of everything except soliciting votes on my back, and I believe that’ll be suggested next week. Did you know that I’m a dupe of the Communist party?”
    That penetrated his depression and he smiled. “What kind of dupe are you: Russian, Maoist, Red Guard, or CP U.S.A.?”
    â€œHe doesn’t know the difference.”
    â€œIs he reaching the voters?”
    â€œHe talks a lot about what haunts people: taxes, crime, inflation. People hear what they worry about.”
    â€œI keep going over it again and again.”
    â€œI was afraid of that.”
    â€œHe keeps coming down the aisle and I’m holding that damn gun in my lap. There must have been another way.”
    â€œI’ve thought about it, and I could never see what else you could have done under the circumstances.”
    â€œThere are always alternatives.”
    â€œNot in this case.”
    Rocco turned toward them and pointed out the window. They were overtaking a Nutmeg Transportation Company bus. As they passed, the passengers waved out the window. Lyon recognized Hannon, with his arm in a sling, the voodoo lady, and a few others. He gave them a thumbs-up sign as they pulled past the bus and it began to recede in the distance.
    He wondered if he’d ever see any of them again. The camaraderie of the cocktail party the night before had been strong, and the promise of a yearly reunion well-intentioned, but might be forgotten as life continued and feelings diminished.
    An accident of life had taken a dozen and a half people and put them into extraordinary circumstances. For the present they were riding an emotional high, but it would fade, just as he hoped the face of the man he had killed would eventually go away.
    But there had been an additional passenger—the man with the beard who gave him the gun. Why did he leave and disappear?
    The shock wave from the explosion was sufficiently powerful to rock the heavy car.
    â€œWhat in hell was