The Sixth Commandment by Lawrence Sanders Read Free Book Online

him.
    “Mr. Coburn?” I said. “Original settlers?”
    “From the poor side of the family,” he said with a harsh laugh. “The others had the money and sense to get out.”
    “Now, Mr. Coburn,” Jimmy said, again, nervously.
    I saw the beer glass was almost empty.
    “Buy you a drink, Mr. Coburn?” I asked respectfully.
    “Why the hell not?” he said, and shoved the glass across the bar. “And this time go easy on the head,” he told the bartender. “When I want a glass of froth, I’ll tell you.”
    Jimmy sighed, and drew the brew.
    “Mind if I join you, Mr. Coburn?” I asked.
    “Come ahead,” he said, motioning to the stool next to him.
    When I moved over, I noticed he had a long gun case, an old, leather-trimmed canvas bag, propped against the bar on his far side.
    “Hunting?” I said, nodding toward the case.
    “Was,” he said, “but it’s too damned wet after that storm. Ain’t a damned thing left worth shooting around here anyways. Except a few two-legged creatures I could mention but won’t. What you doing in town, sonny?”
    There was no point in trying to keep it a secret, not after that tour of the village with Constable Goodfellow.
    “I’m here to see Dr. Thorndecker,” I said. “Of Crittenden Hall.”
    He didn’t say anything, but something happened to that seamed face. Caterpillar brows came down. Bloodless lips pressed. Seared cheeks fell in. The elbow-chin jutted, and I thought I saw a sudden flare in those washed-blue eyes.
    Then he lifted his glass of beer and drained it off, just drank it down in steady gulps, the wrinkled Adam’s apple pumping away. He slammed the empty glass back down on the bar.
    “Do me again, Jimmy,” he gasped.
    I nodded at the bartender, and motioned toward my own empty glass. We sat in silence. When our drinks were served, I glanced around. The bar was still empty. There were small tables for two set back in the gloom, and a few high-sided booths that could seat four.
    “Why don’t we make ourselves comfortable?” I suggested. “Stretch out and take it easy.”
    “Suits me,” he grunted.
    He picked up his beer and gun case, and led the way. I noticed his limp, a dragging of the right leg. He seemed active enough, but slow. He picked a booth for four, and slid onto one of the worn benches. I sat opposite him. I held out my hand.
    “Samuel Todd,” I said.
    “Al Coburn,” he said. His handshake was dry, and not too firm. “No relation to the Todds around here, are you?”
    “Don’t think so, sir,” I said. “I’m from Ohio.”
    “Never been there,” he said. “Never been out of New York State, to tell the truth. Went down to the City once.”
    “Like it?” I asked.
    “No,” he said. He glanced toward the bar where Jimmy was studiously polishing glasses, not looking in our direction. “What the hell you want with Thorndecker?”
    I told him what I was doing in Coburn. He nodded.
    “Read about it in the paper,” he said. It was almost a Bostonian accent: “pay-puh.” “Think he’ll get the money?”
    “Not for me to say,” I said, shrugging. “You know him?”
    “Oh, I know him,” he said bitterly. “He’s living on my land.”
    “Your land?”
    “Coburn land,” he said. “Originally. Was still in the family when my daddy died. He left me the farm and my sister the hill.” Something happened to his eyes again: that flare of fury. “I thought I got the best of the deal. It was a working farm, and all she got was uncleared woods and a stretch of swamp.”
    “And then?” I prompted him.
    “She married a dude from Albany. Some kind of a foreigner. His name ended in ‘i’ or ‘o’. I forget.”
    I looked at him. He hadn’t forgotten. Would never forget.
    “He talked her into selling her parcels off. To a developer. I mean, she sold the land. Land that daddy left her.”
    I watched him raise his beer to his thin lips with a shaking hand. It means that much to some of the old-timers—land. It’s not the money