First Gravedigger by Barbara Paul Page B

sanctum and headed straight for Speer’s desk.
    I put on gloves before I got to work. I had to break the lock to get the drawer open, but I was able to do it without marring the wood. The gun was in a chamois bag, a .38 automatic with a full clip. I would have preferred a revolver. If the automatic jammed, Charlie Bates was fully capable of blurting out that his old buddy Earl had foisted a bad gun off on him.
    I slipped the automatic into my pocket and left Speer’s office. I made a point of making noise as I passed Wightman’s closed door. He was quick to investigate.
    And gloat. “Leaving? You must have been here all of fifteen minutes. Sure you aren’t overdoing it?”
    The man had all the subtlety of a boa constrictor. “Pull in your fangs,” I said. “Forgot something. I’ll be back shortly.”
    â€œOf cooouuurrrse you will,” he crooned, and shut his door.
    I told the guard the same story when I checked out, and then drove back to Highland Park. I found a place to leave the car and walked through the zoo, only half believing Charlie would still be waiting at the yak pens. But there he was, locked in eye contact with a great shaggy beast that was finding Charlie Bates an interesting specimen indeed. I had to slap Charlie on the shoulder to get his attention.
    Instantly the yak was forgotten. “You got it?”
    â€œI’ve got it. Let’s go.”
    In the car I made Charlie repeat Amos Speer’s address to make sure he still remembered it. Then I handed him the automatic.
    But Charlie had had too much time alone with the yaks: he was having second thoughts. “Earl, I don’t know about this.”
    â€œYou know, in a way I envy you,” I said quickly. “You’re taking decisive action to end an intolerable situation. Not many people have the guts to do that.”
    â€œYeah, well—”
    â€œBut at the same time—look, Charlie, why don’t you take a week to think it over? You might change your mind.”
    â€œUh.”
    â€œIn a week you might think of another way to solve your problems. Who knows? You might find a way to pay off your debts. You might even score big. Maybe your wife will come back to you. Anything’s possible.”
    â€œNone of that’ll happen.”
    â€œMiracles have happened before—”
    â€œNot to me, they haven’t.”
    â€œBut maybe your luck’s due to change. You might even win a new car on a quiz show—”
    â€œHa! Fat chance.”
    â€œYou don’t know, Charlie, you might—”
    â€œEarl. You promised you wouldn’t try’n stop me.”
    I let a long pause develop as I pretended to think about it. “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? All right, Charlie, I’ll keep my word. I won’t try to talk you out of it. Tell me Speer’s address again.”
    He repeated it obediently. By now his death and Speer’s were so linked in his mind that one presupposed the other. I drove him to a taxi stand on Bellefonte Street and handed him enough cash to pay the driver. He closed the car door and then stuck his head through the window.
    â€œYou’re a real friend, Earl—the only friend I ever had.” He stuck out his hand. “Goodbye, Earl.”
    I shook his hand. “Goodbye, Charlie.”
    He climbed into a cab. I watched his sad face looking at me through the rear window until the cab pulled around a corner and out of sight.
    I risked a traffic ticket getting back to the gallery in a hurry. The guard wrote down 11:09 when I checked in. I banged on Wightman’s door as I passed. “I’m back, you asshole!” A muted whinny answered me.
    Then I settled down in my office to wait, hoping Wightman wouldn’t be leaving soon. I got my wish. I sat there and twiddled my thumbs for six hours . About two o’clock my stomach started growling, but Wightman was either skipping lunch or he’d