Mourn the Hangman Read Online Free PDF Page A

Stella could have lived in this austere house. She’d have hated the black hall tree with its oval mirror, Blake was sure. The dark hallway ran the depth of the house. Stella was afraid of the dark. There was a dim light in the upstairs corridor, he noted, but the house had the look of darkness, the feel of silence. The darkness and the silence. How had Stella stood it at all?
    Reeder motioned Blake ahead of him into the book-lined library. Reeder went over to the hearth and stirred up the blaze with the fire tongs, then turned, the guttering light at his back.
    “Have a drink.” He motioned toward the side table. Blake hesitated and then poured himself a stiff one. Holding the glass in his fist, he drank.
    Reeder said stonily, “Very manly performance, Blake. Or didn’t you want to impress me with what a hell of a fellow you are?”
    Blake looked at him. “I don’t give a damn what you think.”
    “Don’t you? Haven’t you come because Stella is out somewhere and you don’t know where?”
    “I know where she is.”
    “You don’t have to be belligerent with me, Blake. I know what you’re going through. I learned to hate Stella because she put me through it — ”
    “You can stop hating her,” Blake said.
    Reeder laughed. “I won’t ever stop hating her. And neither will you, Blake, when you know her as I do.”
    “She’s dead,” Blake said coldly.
    Reeder went on smiling for a moment, opened his mouth to speak. Then he rocked on his heels as though he’d been struck in the chest. Blake could see the blood drain down from his pale face.
    “You’re lying,” Reeder whispered.
    “I’m not lying.”
    Reeder took a step toward him. Face muscles rigid, he stared at Blake. “She’s not dead,” he said numbly. He turned his back to Blake, his shoulders sagging. He reached out to steady himself against the ornate library desk. He spoke over his shoulder. “What happened, Blake?”
    “Somebody killed her.”
    “How?”
    “They — beat her to death with — a lamp from her vanity dresser.”
    “When, Blake? When did it happen?”
    “I don’t know. I came home. She was already dead.”
    Reeder heeled around then. Blake watched his fingers tighten on the desk edge, turning white. He could feel Reader’s grief in the chilled room. Reeder will get over it, he thought, but I can’t get over it. There’ll never be anything for me but Stella and the way she died and the man who killed her — and my hands about his throat.
    Reeder slumped into the chair behind his desk. His blue eyes were cold with hatred. “Is that why you came to see me?” Reeder said. “You think I did it?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Reeder’s lips pulled away from his teeth. “What did you want to ask me? Ask me and get out.”
    Blake looked at him. The man was grief struck. The hell with his grief, Blake thought. There’s my grief. Somewhere there’s the man who killed Stella. Maybe there. Across that prissy desk. “I hope you won’t lie to me,” Blake said. “I’ll beat the truth out of you if you do.”
    Reeder leaned forward, looking up at Blake across the desk. “I’m telling you again. Ask me what you want and get out. Make it fast, Blake.”
    “Were you over there today? Were you in Gulf City today?”
    Reeder looked up at him. He nodded slowly. “Yes.”
    “Did you see her? Did you see Stella?”
    “I went over there to see her.” He laughed harshly. “I may as well tell you I spent a great deal of money on Stella just before she divorced me. I felt she owed it to me. It wasn’t the money. It was the principle.”
    Blake was breathing across his open mouth. “It was your hatred,” he muttered.
    Reeder’s mouth moved into a contemptuous smile. “All right, it was my hatred. If she is going to be so happy with you, why should I pay for it?”
    Blake stepped toward the desk. “Did you see her?”
    “You might as well stand where you are, shamus. You can’t frighten me. What in God’s name could your