Wading Into War: A Benjamin Wade Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

Why are
you here?”
    She motioned with her head. “Think we’d better take this conversation
outside. Someone’s coming.”
    I spun around and peeked through the blinds. From down the streets, two
men in suits were walking cautiously up to the house, the street lamps
elongating their shadows.
    “You’re not coming with me,” I said, putting the gun in my suit pocket.
“But I’ll get you out of here. My car’s on the street out back.”
    “I know where your car is. It’s where I got your gun.”
    Her words puzzled me. My gun?
    She continued. “And I’m coming with you or I might have to tell those
plainclothes officers outside that you were the one who killed this man.”

Chapter
Eleven
     
    I pulled out the gun and held it to the
light. Sure enough, it was my gun, or rather, my father’s gun that I had
inherited. The corpse had bullets that matched my gun. Burman would run
ballistics tests himself and then plaster the results on a billboard. He’d have
way too much pleasure in bringing me down.
    “You don’t play fair,” I growled, putting the gun back in my suit pocket.
“C’mon.” We tiptoed toward the back of the house.
    “Who said anything about fair?” she retorted, following close behind.
“This is war, mister. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can start
doing something about it.”
    “But we’re not at...”
    “Yes,” she spat, “we are.”
    Footsteps sounded on the front steps, the wood creaking under the weight.
I held my finger to my lips. I opened the back door and the police tape
fluttered in the breeze.
    We hurried across the back yard and through the rear gate. We were just
making our way along the driveway when the neighbor’s wife looked out the
window and saw us. She let out a piercing scream.
    I grabbed Lillian’s hand and we ran to my car. I didn’t have time to be a
gentleman; she would have to open her own door. We climbed in and sped off.
    After a few minutes of weaving in and around traffic and doubling back, I
gave her a sidelong glance. “How’d you follow me?”
    “I didn’t.” She fished a cigarette out of her purse and lit it. “I knew
that if you had the chance, you’d probably return to the house. I didn’t have
time to go inside before the police showed up. I just camped behind the garage
and waited for you.” She blew smoke out of her nose. “Find anything?”
    I paused a moment, debating what to say. Donnelly had pretty much implied
Lillian was a spy. Could I trust her? I stayed silent.
    “What did Donnelly tell you about me?”
    I equivocated. “Not much, really. Said you were helping him.”
    “That’s true.” She blew smoke out of her mouth. “But it’s not the whole
story.”
    “What’s the whole story?”
    “I’m not sure I want to tell you. The less you know, the less you’ll be
able to hinder me. But I’ll say this: the part about my brother is true. He
really is in Europe, probably running for his life.”
    “You sent Rosenblatt to Europe? Or did Uncle Sam?”
    “A bit of both. Our interests were aligned so we worked out an
arrangement that was good for the government and for me.”
    I scowled. “What happens if the interests no longer align? Which side do
you choose?”
    She blew a smoke ring that lassoed the rearview mirror. “You’re the
detective. What do you think?”
    I tried a new angle. “What are these documents Rosenblatt had? Why are
they so important?”
    She killed the cigarette in the ashtray and stared out the windshield.
“That information is almost more important than my brother. And I’m definitely
not going to tell you details about them because frankly, I haven’t seen any of
them.”
    “What?” I said. “You have no idea what they are?”
    “Not really. I know Wendell considered them crucial to the war
effort”—she held up a finger—“I know we’re not at war, but it’s coming. I think
even the isolationists, deep in their hearts, know we can’t avoid it.”
    I mulled that over