hands and started blubbering.
Skip simply waited.
“He knew this was going to happen. He knew it.”
“What was going to happen?”
“He was going to die by violence. He always said it—’I’m gonna smoke as much as I want. Probably be dead before I’m forty anyway.’ “ She looked at Skip. “He is dead, isn’t he?”
“I’m sorry. Yes, he is. At least, we think so. Do you have a picture of him?”
Unspeaking, moving like a robot, Allred got up and fetched a framed photo from the top of the television—herself and the man dead in his office.
Skip nodded again. “Yes. Could you make a positive identification?”
Allred held a tissue to her mouth. “What happened? What the hell happened? He was so—he seemed so jaunty last time I saw him.”
“I thought you said he expected to die.”
“Well, he did.” She shrugged. “That was just his nature. He was depressed, I guess. Like, all the time. But last week, he was almost happy.”
Skip waited, but Allred said only, “What the hell happened?”
“It looks as if someone shot him, Mrs. Allred.”
The woman gasped.
“Who do you think might have done it?”
Slowly, Allred walked the picture back to its accustomed place and sat down again, the tissue once more at her mouth. She seemed to be biting down on her finger, perhaps in an effort to feel something other than pain. She looked alert now, though, as if she were thinking, not simply shocked and numb, staring at the wall.
Finally, she said, “He was into dealing a little.”
“Dealing what?”
Her fat shoulders shrugged. “Cocaine, I guess. Whatever. He gave me some blow now and then—and he always had pot, too.”
Skip hadn’t seen any drugs at his house.
“He was talking about some kind of big score. I didn’t really approve of his dealing drugs—I mean, it wasn’t immoral or anything, I just thought it was dangerous and”—she stuck a knuckle between her teeth to get a grip—”I guess it was.”
Knuckle or no, her face fell in once again, and her big shoulders shook.
Then she wagged her head, as if warding off the grief. “No, no, no. I just don’t think it was drugs.”
“Why not?”
“Something. Let me think.” She drank some of the water and stared at the wall again. “I know! I asked him. And he said no. That’s what it was.”
“And then did you ask what it was if it wasn’t drugs?”
“Yes. Yeah, I did. He said, ‘You’re going to be really surprised, Ellie girl. Really, really surprised. Guess what? It’s halfway legitimate. And not only that, it’s right. Right and moral.’ “Allred laughed, a forced-sounding noise coming out of her throat. “Now how’d I forget somethin’ like that?”
Five
SKIP COULDN’T WAIT to get back to her office to interview Talba. She was over an hour late, so the girl would have had time to stew. That was good. She was looking forward to an antsy and worried witness, suffering from so powerful a combination of paranoia and boredom she’d be an easy target.
Instead, she found nothing but a message saying Talba had gone for a walk and would check in from time to time to see if Skip had returned.
Damn. She hated resourcefulness.
In fact, Talba returned in about twenty minutes laden with packages and overcome with enthusiasm. “Whoo—great stuff at the museum store. You ever go over there?”
“Sit down, Ms. Wallis.” Skip spoke sharply.
Instantly, the friendly demeanor turned hard. “Hey. Who do you think you’re ordering around? I come down here to accommodate you, you’re not here, I wait, and now you got nothing but attitude.”
“Sit down, Ms. Wallis.” This time Skip’s voice was slightly kinder, and she thought she might have let a bit of the seriousness of what she had to say creep into her expression.
Wallis looked suddenly frightened. She sat. “Something bad’s happened.”
“You’re damn right something bad’s happened. I want you to tell me every single thing you know about Gene
Skip simply waited.
“He knew this was going to happen. He knew it.”
“What was going to happen?”
“He was going to die by violence. He always said it—’I’m gonna smoke as much as I want. Probably be dead before I’m forty anyway.’ “ She looked at Skip. “He is dead, isn’t he?”
“I’m sorry. Yes, he is. At least, we think so. Do you have a picture of him?”
Unspeaking, moving like a robot, Allred got up and fetched a framed photo from the top of the television—herself and the man dead in his office.
Skip nodded again. “Yes. Could you make a positive identification?”
Allred held a tissue to her mouth. “What happened? What the hell happened? He was so—he seemed so jaunty last time I saw him.”
“I thought you said he expected to die.”
“Well, he did.” She shrugged. “That was just his nature. He was depressed, I guess. Like, all the time. But last week, he was almost happy.”
Skip waited, but Allred said only, “What the hell happened?”
“It looks as if someone shot him, Mrs. Allred.”
The woman gasped.
“Who do you think might have done it?”
Slowly, Allred walked the picture back to its accustomed place and sat down again, the tissue once more at her mouth. She seemed to be biting down on her finger, perhaps in an effort to feel something other than pain. She looked alert now, though, as if she were thinking, not simply shocked and numb, staring at the wall.
Finally, she said, “He was into dealing a little.”
“Dealing what?”
Her fat shoulders shrugged. “Cocaine, I guess. Whatever. He gave me some blow now and then—and he always had pot, too.”
Skip hadn’t seen any drugs at his house.
“He was talking about some kind of big score. I didn’t really approve of his dealing drugs—I mean, it wasn’t immoral or anything, I just thought it was dangerous and”—she stuck a knuckle between her teeth to get a grip—”I guess it was.”
Knuckle or no, her face fell in once again, and her big shoulders shook.
Then she wagged her head, as if warding off the grief. “No, no, no. I just don’t think it was drugs.”
“Why not?”
“Something. Let me think.” She drank some of the water and stared at the wall again. “I know! I asked him. And he said no. That’s what it was.”
“And then did you ask what it was if it wasn’t drugs?”
“Yes. Yeah, I did. He said, ‘You’re going to be really surprised, Ellie girl. Really, really surprised. Guess what? It’s halfway legitimate. And not only that, it’s right. Right and moral.’ “Allred laughed, a forced-sounding noise coming out of her throat. “Now how’d I forget somethin’ like that?”
Five
SKIP COULDN’T WAIT to get back to her office to interview Talba. She was over an hour late, so the girl would have had time to stew. That was good. She was looking forward to an antsy and worried witness, suffering from so powerful a combination of paranoia and boredom she’d be an easy target.
Instead, she found nothing but a message saying Talba had gone for a walk and would check in from time to time to see if Skip had returned.
Damn. She hated resourcefulness.
In fact, Talba returned in about twenty minutes laden with packages and overcome with enthusiasm. “Whoo—great stuff at the museum store. You ever go over there?”
“Sit down, Ms. Wallis.” Skip spoke sharply.
Instantly, the friendly demeanor turned hard. “Hey. Who do you think you’re ordering around? I come down here to accommodate you, you’re not here, I wait, and now you got nothing but attitude.”
“Sit down, Ms. Wallis.” This time Skip’s voice was slightly kinder, and she thought she might have let a bit of the seriousness of what she had to say creep into her expression.
Wallis looked suddenly frightened. She sat. “Something bad’s happened.”
“You’re damn right something bad’s happened. I want you to tell me every single thing you know about Gene
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