Death of an Immortal Read Online Free PDF

his voice low and even.
    Brosterhouse ignored him; he pulled one of the pages out of the file. “These letters make for interesting reading. Especially this one––and I quote: ‘If I should be found dead, it will be Richard Carlan who killed me.’”
    “That’s bullshit,” Carlan said, his face growing red as everyone in the lobby, civilian and cop, stared at him. “We just had a misunderstanding. We were working it out.”
    “So she ran to Portland and became a prostitute because you were working it out?”
    “She was hysterical. Crazy! I was on my way here to pick her up.”
    Brosterhouse stared at him with an expression Carlan recognized. It was the hardnosed skepticism that cops automatically turned on anyone they considered guilty. “If that’s true, I could’ve arrested you. The restraining order is pretty clear.”
    Carlan had always wondered what he would do if he was accused of a crime he didn’t commit. Would he immediately clam up? Call a lawyer? The rational and experienced cop inside him knew without a doubt that was the best thing to do. But he fell back on the same protestations he’d heard a thousand times, from guilty and innocent alike. “I didn’t do it. She was already dead when I got there.”
    “Your alibi is shaky,” Brosterhouse said. “We know you were in Bend the night before, but that gave you plenty of time to drive over the pass.”
    “But I loved her!” God, how pathetic that sounded. How guilty! They always said that, murderers who stabbed the “one they loved” a hundred times, who slashed and slashed until the “one they loved” was obliterated.
    “You are no longer allowed anywhere near this case, Carlan,” Brosterhouse said. “Go back to Bend. We’ll contact you.”
    “But I might be able to help!” Being shut out of the case was an even bigger fear than being suspected. He needed completion. Jamie had died before he could talk some sense into her, before she could remove the restraining order and those damning letters. He imagined her on her knees while he shoved the letters down her throat. Damn her! Why did she have to die and leave me to deal with this shit?
    From now on, people would always look at him sideways, even in Bend, where they knew him. He’d pass them in the hallway and there would be whispers, and laughter, and shame. Jamie had done this to him, and now he couldn’t change it. He was angry with her, rightfully so, but even more aggravating was that his anger had no outlet. Unless he turned it on the killer, the bastard who had taken her away before he could get to her and change her mind.
    Brosterhouse leaned toward him. He was huge, probably twice Carlan’s weight, though Carlan was just a little below average in size. “If you were a Portland cop, I’d have your badge,” he growled. “We don’t look the other way here, like they do in Bend. That small-town bullshit doesn’t wash here. Get out of town before I throw you in jail for even thinking about breaking the restraining order.”
    Carlan felt a sudden calm. He was a cop. He knew the law. He wouldn’t be bullied like the poor saps he arrested every day who didn’t understand their rights. He stared Brosterhouse in the eye.
    “I didn’t do it,” he said evenly. “Fuck you.”
    He walked away, feeling like he had regained a little of his pride. He knew other cops in Portland, cops who would be willing to help. Brosterhouse was wrong: the bullshit wasn’t confined to small towns, it was everywhere, in big cities and small, from sophisticated capitals to tiny, isolated hamlets. Bastard wanted to pretend the system of favors and the protection of your brothers didn’t apply in Portland? Who did he think he was talking to?
     
    #
     
    It turned out that Brosterhouse was almost right. Carlan called three of his “buddies” on the Portland police force and got turned down by all of them. The first two simply hung up; the third said, “I never much liked you, Carlan,” and