The Night Watchman Read Online Free PDF Page B

be enough evidence to convict me. But under the circumstances, it seemed right. So her brother was a dirt-bag murderer. She couldn't be held responsible for his life of lies, and he wasn't the first preacher to be caught in some tawdry tryst. Like the Shadow used to say, “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?”
    “So you came by to thank me?” I sensed there was more and wanted to get to it. I wasn't psychic or anything. I just happened to read the label on the file she was carrying: Hendricks Murder-Suicide. I opened the door under the sink and reached in, locating Jim by Braille. “Would you like a drink?”
    She shook her head. Maybe she was a teetotaler and religious zealot like her brother.
    I retrieved a can of soda from the fridge and poured more in my glass than I normally would. Didn't want to give a poor impression of myself. Jim was an unrecognizable dark black, and it was a bit unnerving to see him emasculated like that. I would make it up to him as soon as she left, and return him to his light brown color and more potent sting.
    “I need your help,” she said, as if it hurt her to speak the words.
    My eyebrows rose along with my glass.
    “My brother didn't kill anyone.” She held out the file like a piece of rotting meat. “And he certainly didn't do what this report says he did.”
    “It's a closed case,” I said and then coughed, nearly spewing Jim and Coke out my nostrils like a soda fountain. I wiped my lip with a paper towel from the counter. “According to the paper, Pampas closed it out as a murder-suicide. Seems pretty clear cut. Besides, what's that have to do with me?”
    “There's nothing clear cut about it.” She stepped forward, her eyes gleaming, her voice strong, confident. She aimed a finger at me. “My brother was murdered. They were both murdered, him and that girl. Someone set him up, and I'm going to find out who.”
    I hissed; my filter was working overtime with her. I'd lost count of how many suicides I'd investigated where the family refused to believe their loved ones could have done such a thing. Add murder, religion, and exotic lovers to that equation, and her reaction wasn't surprising. I couldn't blame her, but she was diving headfirst into denial big-time. “Back to my question: what does any of that have to do with me?”
    “I want you to look at the case. Sergeant Yancey told me you were a great homicide detective.”
    “Whoa, lady. If you think I'm going to have anything to do with this, you must be drunker than I'm going to be.” I tossed one back for dramatic effect. The next one would be straight alcohol. I hate when I'm wrong about people, and I regretted letting this lady into my apartment.
    “Nobody else will talk with me about this. I've contacted the governor's office, the FBI, the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. They all say it's a closed case, and they won't do anything.”
    “Look… Pam, is it?” I rested my glass on the counter. “I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but maybe no one will reopen it for a reason—like it's an obvious, no-questions-asked murder-suicide. End of story.”
    “That's impossible.”
    “Why's that?”
    “Because David didn't do it.”
    “What makes you so sure?”
    “Because he could never… do something like that. He loved the Lord and served Him with all his heart. It was his passion.”
    “And… what else?” I rolled my hand like a director stretching out a scene. “This is the part where you fill in that you found some evidence or something to clear his name. Something to back up your suspicions.”
    Her eyes pierced mine. “I know my brother, Mr. Quinn, and he didn't do it.”
    “You know your brother? With such compelling evidence as that, I'm surprised the governor didn't fly down here and settle this thing himself.”
    “Make fun of me if you want, but it's true.”
    “There are a hundred private investigators in this city,” I said. “I suggest you find one.”
    “I've tried,