You Know Who Killed Me Read Online Free PDF

one side of a steely wave, balanced for a moment on the point, then slid down the other side. The service wasn’t necessary; the post office went along with it for the sake of local color. The way things were going it would be discontinued quicker than Saturday delivery.
    It was snowing on the Windsor side, flakes as big as Canadian quarters. It made our side look even bleaker than always. One of those drenching springs was coming, the ones that raise the levels of the Great Lakes and the hopes of governors who want to sell water to Arizona.
    The Reverend Florence Melville was cradling the receiver when I let myself back into the rectory. I sat down in the Charlemagne chair and crossed my legs.
    â€œYou’re not running for Man of the Year, are you?” She looked like she’d been having a good time.
    â€œYou asked for references. The people who like me aren’t in a position to impress you.”
    â€œThe consensus seems to be you make more trouble for yourself than you have to, and it’s contagious.”
    â€œNot to clients.”
    â€œThey’re agreed on that too. What annoys them most is what I found most impressive. You don’t carry tales, even when it would free you up to do your job.”
    â€œNot carrying tales is the job. You said the same thing about yours.”
    â€œWhile you were out polluting the atmosphere, did you reach any conclusions about whether my offer represents a conflict of interest?”
    â€œIt’s a thin line, like I said. I’d be bending it, but I’ve done that before. It hasn’t broken yet.”
    â€œWhat do you charge?”
    â€œFive hundred a day; three days up front, for expenses.”
    â€œAs much as that?”
    â€œI never know when I might have to catch a plane in a hurry. You get back what I don’t spend if the job runs shorter, minus my labor. I wouldn’t count on it this time. Even when there’s an army of cops, the average murder investigation runs several weeks when the culprit isn’t actually caught red-handed; that’s a conservative estimate since Detroit closed its police lab. They just found some rape kits they overlooked for twenty years.”
    â€œAre you at all tempted by the reward?”
    â€œNot without knowing who put it up. I can’t remember the last time one was paid. It always gets spent somehow, and the bookkeeping always checks. Then there’s the chance the money man’s the one responsible for the crime, in which case I’d never see a cent due to my own damn brilliance. The interests don’t get more conflicted than that.” I brushed the telltale ash off my suitcoat. “What’s your end, apart from having lost a valuable parishioner?”
    â€œDonald Gates was also my friend. So is Amelie. In my work they don’t come by the bushel. Friendship means letting your hair down, and no one wants to fart in the presence of a priest. Call it pride, but I can’t let a personal injury like this pass. Don’t remind me what the Lord said about vengeance; I’m the referee, remember?”
    â€œWill the Church go along with it?”
    â€œIt won’t have to. I’m paying you out of my own pocket.”
    I watched her open a drawer and take out a checkbook bound in red vinyl. She picked up her pen.
    â€œI’d have to insist you put all other cases aside,” she said, writing; “with the exception, of course, of your obligation to the sheriff’s department. Running down anonymous tips would be part of the deal anyway.”
    I grinned. “Just don’t tell Henty. I’d like to get used to coming and going in the Heights without getting rabbit-punched or thrown in the hoosegow.”

 
    FIVE
    Operator: Sheriff’s tip line. What’s your information?
    Caller: You need to check out Donald Gates’s fellow workers at city.
    Operator: Which ones, ma’am?
    Caller: Not until I see the