You Can't Stop Me. Max Allan Collins

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СКАЧАТЬ were crawling all over the house now, every light turned on, the windows bright in the darkness. The first uniforms to arrive, in a blur of flashing red and blue were Johnson and Stanowski, the deputies who had worked under Harrow when he had been sheriff. Johnson confiscated his gun and walked him outside to take his initial statement in the yard.

      Under the garage light, Lon Johnson, a rail-thin twenty-year vet with light green eyes and sandy hair, shook his head as he looked toward the house, his skin pale and a sickly yellow under the mercury vapor light.

      “J.C., I’m sorry. Christ, I’m sorry. Do you have any idea what the hell happened in there?”

      Harrow shook his head.

      Night-shift sergeant Stanowski, another longtime vet, was heavyset, his crewcut tinged with silver. “No questions, Lon. Not till the detectives get here.”

      “Jesus, Stan,” Johnson said to the sergeant, “this is family.”

      Stanowski gave Johnson a sharp look that said, Family or not, he’s still a suspect. In the sergeant’s place, Harrow would have done the same.

      Johnson seemed about to say something to his sergeant, and Harrow held up a hand. “Lon, take it easy. Stan’s just doing his job. Wants his ducks in a row.”

      “I know, J.C., but…”

      “No buts,” Harrow interrupted. “You want to do me a favor? Do this by the book.”

      The sergeant tried to hide his embarrassed smile at the show of support from the man who, if you went by the book, was their prime suspect.

      Looking at Stanowski, Harrow said, “Any chance I could get into my truck?”

      “Not before it’s processed. Why?”

      “Cigarettes in the glove compartment.”

      Stanowski pulled a pack from his shirt pocket and shook a smoke out for Harrow. The sergeant knew Harrow supposedly had quit, but had the decency not to point it out, and lit up the former sheriff.

      Harrow took a long drag, letting the smoke fill the emptiness, as he wished nothing more than for cancer to strike him instantly, right at this moment, right here in the goddamn yard, and kill him. A second later, however, the thought dissolved, like a hailstone battered by rain, replaced by another one: Someone had to find the person who had killed his family.

      And in that moment, the decision that would inform years to come was made: if it took every second of the rest of his life, he would find the killer of his wife and son.

      “J.C.,” Johnson asked, “you all right?”

      Harrow just stared at him.

      After a moment, the deputy blanched and said, “Sorry, stupid damn question.”

      The detectives drove up then, putting the awkward moment out of its misery, and Harrow was left alone to finish his cigarette as the two deputies talked to the investigators.

      The secondary was some young pup that Harrow never saw before—short black hair, a suit that probably cost almost a month’s pay, and the well-scrubbed shine of someone who didn’t like getting his hands dirty. What the hell was he doing in this job?

      The lead detective Harrow knew. A short, wide-bodied man in jeans, an open-collar shirt, and a cheap sportcoat, Larry Carstens looked like the one-time college football player he’d been—close-cropped blond hair, wide forehead, wide-set brown eyes, formless nose, and lips as thin as a cut.

      Carstens had been a uniformed deputy under Harrow, and had made detective three years after Harrow’s departure. In the last couple of years, they’d even worked a couple of cases together, Harrow representing DCI.

      When they had been filled in by the uniforms, the detectives walked over to where Harrow stood next to his truck, his eyes darting between them and the house, which seemed to call to him in a low whisper.

      “Larry,” Harrow said with a faint nod.

      Carstens returned the gesture. “J.C., we’re all very sorry about your loss.”

      Harrow gave another nod, but said nothing.

      “We’ll do it by the book,” Carstens said with a world-weary sigh.

      “Please.”

      “I had patrol cars set up a half-mile in either direction. Any reporter, national or local, that wants to turn this into a circus will have to hike his ass in.”

      Harrow sighed. “Appreciate that.”

      “Tell me what happened. I know about this afternoon—it’s been all over the media. Start with leaving the state fairgrounds.”

      Harrow told Carstens what little there was, right up to the 911 call.

      “Let’s back up,” Carstens said. “Take from the morning till the presidential assignment kicked in.”

      Harrow did.

      Finally Harrow said, “Look, Larry, you’ve got my gun. Run it, and you’ll see it hasn’t been fired.”

      Carstens nodded absently. “By the book, J.C. We’ll want to do a GSR test too.”

      “Fine, then where the hell is Ogden?” Harrow referred to the only real criminalist employed by the Story County Sheriff’s Office, the man who should be doing the gunshot-residue test.

      His eyes narrowing in the darkness, Carstens took half a step toward Harrow. He kept his voice low, tone clipped but not disrespectful. “Try to remember, J.C., you’re not running this investigation. For now, in fact, you’re a suspect.”

      Harrow stepped back, stubbed the cigarette out under his foot. “Okay, I’m a suspect. You’re right. But can I ask one question?”

      “You can ask.”

      “Was there any sign of robbery in there?”

      “Nothing so far, unless precious items turn up missing. You have a safe, or a locked box with jewelry or money or anything in it?”

      “No.”

      Carstens frowned. “Then why the question?”

      “Ellen’s wedding ring is gone.”

      “…Could she have taken it off to do the dishes? Maybe it’ll turn up on her nightstand or—”

      “No. She never took it off. She had a thing about that.”

      “Was it valuable?”

      “Not particularly. Less than half a karat. She’d never let me upgrade. She was…sentimental.”

      Carstens swallowed. “J.C., I’ll look into it.”

      “Please.”

      When the crime scene van did turn up, Harrow was surprised to see not Story County’s criminalist Ogden, but a crime scene СКАЧАТЬ