A Welcome Grave by Michael Koryta Page B

we’ll get a psychological profile together on this guy, and maybe that’ll tell us something. But at this point, it seems like a pretty unusual way to kill yourself.”
    “Agreed.”
    He shifted position, moving out of the glow of the floodlight. “That’s assuming he did kill himself.”
    “He did.”
    “Says the gentleman from Ohio,” Brewer said good-naturedly. “But, unfortunately, the gentleman from Ohio was the only person present. So if we say—just for the sake of argument—that he could be lying . . . well, that’s trouble. Because if he did happen to be lying, I’m looking at a homicide.”
    “You’re not.”
    “Gun wasn’t in the dead man’s hand.”
    “It fell out when he fell forward. You worked any suicides before?” When he nodded, I said, “Then you know that you often find the gun beside the body. The instantaneous rigor grips happen, but they aren’t the rule.”
    He didn’t say anything, just stood there and looked at me.
    “Check his thumb,” I said.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Check his thumb for a hammer imprint. The gun was a revolver, and he cocked it right before he fired. I know, because I heard it. Then he died damn fast. No slow process on that one. The hammer spur impressions could still be on the thumb. That happens when circulation stops abruptly.”
    “That’s a fine idea.” Brewer cleared his throat and spat into the bushes beside us. “I’ll be sure that the thumbs are checked, Mr. Perry.”
    “Great.”
    “It’s a strange thing,” he said for the third time and shook his head. “Now, Mr. Perry, as I said, I’m going to need to get that written statement.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “When was it that you were planning to head back to Ohio?”
    “The plan was for tonight.”
    He smiled and shook his head. “Oh, I’m afraid that’s not going to work.”
    “I’ve told you everything I can possibly tell you, and I’ll give you the written statement. If you need me for anything further, you’ll have my telephone number.”
    He made a face, as if he were getting ready to break some bad news and didn’t relish the task. That was a joke, though—he was enjoying it just fine.
    “I’m in a position where I could really embarrass myself here,” he said. “I mean, sure, you say it was a suicide. But right now, until I’ve done a little more investigation, that’s all I’ve got to rely on. Make me look awful bad if I cut you loose only to have my evidence team tell me it looks like you killed the guy. Then we’ve got to go find your ass, and I’ve got to deal with a bunch of cops in Ohio who are going to shake their heads at me, whisper to each other about this moron in Indiana who let a killer walk right out of his county.”
    He looked at me with flat eyes. “I hate to have people whisper about me.”
    I met his gaze. “You’ve got my statement. Unless you’re arresting me, I’m going to go home.” Home, suddenly, was sounding very nice, indeed.
    “Push comes to shove, eh?” Brewer said.
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep you here. At least for a few hours, while we get this straightened out.”
    “You arresting me for murder?”
    He shook his head. “I’m considering this an equivocal death investigation, Mr. Perry. Suicide’s an option, as is murder. As is, I suppose, an accidental shooting. That’d be the gamut, right? Anyhow, I’m going to have to look at it from a few directions, make sure—”
    “I get the idea. But if you intend to keep me here overnight, you’re going to have to arrest me for something. And I don’t think you’ve got probable cause to say I killed that guy, Brewer.”
    He smiled sadly and nodded, as if I’d beaten him on that point.
    “That private eye license of yours,” he said, “is from what state?”
    Shit. I saw where this was going now and shook my head.
    “Well?”
    “It’s from Ohio.”
    “Oops. That’s no good. Because we’re in Indiana. And that dead guy out there?