What Time Devours by A. J. Hartley Read Free Book Online

imagination.
    Thomas liked food, though he was not what some would call a “foodie,” and not solely because he loathed the word. He had, he liked to think, an eclectic palate, and could appreciate a fast-food burger for what it was, even if he’d rather be dining on oven-roasted pork shoulder with spigarello, patty-pan squash, and chickpea barigoule at Avec on Chicago’s Randolph Street. He was not a gourmet, just an enthusiast.
    He picked over a few ears of corn. Supply was apparently depleted, though whether by drought or flooding (there had been a lot of both lately) he couldn’t say. He chose a pork loin that was on special, which he would roast with rosemary and thyme from the garden, and chose a suitable beer. He had a poor palate for wine and couldn’t afford to educate it. Beer, he knew. He picked up some chicken, navy beans, and coarse sausage for a cassoulet, and chose from the fruit selection. The peaches and nectarines seemed best, so he added several of each. Then salad greens, tomatoes, pine nuts, and a bottle of extra virgin olive oil ( how can anything be EXTRA virgin? ), and he was done. And, more important than filling his shopping bags, he had rebuilt some version of normalcy.
    He was home by seven and was just about done unloading the car when he caught the strobing flare of blue lights through the living room window and was on his way to the front door when the bell rang. Even though he had glimpsed the cop car, the sound made him jump.
    He opened the door and found a policewoman standing with her back to him, looking casually across the street. She turned to him, pale and smileless. Lieutenant Polinski. She had a long oval face, a thin broad mouth, and a mane of unruly black hair. She was probably in her midthirties but had the eyes and complexion of an older woman.
    “Good morning, Mr. Knight,” she said. “Can I come in for a moment?”
    “Sure.”
    “Sounds like you had an eventful evening. You okay?”
    “Kind of,” he said.
    “Tell me about it.”
    He did, though there wasn’t much to tell, and when he finished she just nodded seriously and said, “Going after him wasn’t real smart, especially if you thought he might have been the killer.”
    “I know,” said Thomas. “I was just . . . Someone was sneaking around my yard. I don’t know. I was angry.”
    “Still, it was a reckless thing to do.”
    “That’s me.” Thomas grinned. “Mr. Reckless.”
    She gave him a hard look.
    “This isn’t a game, Mr. Knight. This is a murder inquiry and you could have gotten yourself into serious trouble. The kind of trouble you don’t wake up from. You hear what I’m saying? Let’s try to be a little more careful—and by that I mean smart—in the future, okay?”
    “Okay,” he said.
    Polinski gave him another look, sure he wasn’t really getting it, then shrugged.
    “There are several officers going door to door to see if anyone might have seen anything. They started yesterday.”
    “Oh,” said Thomas, unsure of what to say. “Right. I haven’t remembered anything else, I’m afraid. But I’m glad to have them around. After last night, I mean.”
    “And you are still sure you didn’t know the woman?”
    “Sure.”
    “Right,” she said. She seemed unusually watchful, and Thomas wondered why the officer in charge of the investigation was talking to him, when uniforms were deemed sufficient for the shoe-leather work at his neighbors’ houses. “Does the name Daniella Blackstone mean anything to you?”
    Thomas stared at her.
    “The novelist? That’s who the dead woman was?”
    “That’s right,” said Polinski, her gaze steady. “You knew her?”
    For a moment Thomas did not know what to say.
    “Only through her books,” he said.

CHAPTER 10
    It wasn’t an adequate answer, he knew, and though he had been able for a moment to convince himself that it was an honest answer in a very limited sense of the word, he knew that it was also an evasion. Polinski had sensed