Husband by Dean Koontz Page A

Kids change your life.”
    “I’m looking forward to it.”
    Mitch realized that he was responding to Taggart less guardedly than he had previously. He reminded himself that he was no match for this guy.
    “Aside from the drug-possession charge,” Taggart said, “Jason stayed clean all these years.”
    “He always was lucky.”
    Indicating the photo, Taggart said, “Not always.”
    Mitch didn’t want to look at it anymore. He returned the photo to the detective.
    “Your hands are shaking,” Taggart said.
    “I guess they are. Jason was a friend once. We had a lot of laughs. All that comes back to me now.”
    “So you haven’t seen or spoken to him in ten years.”
    “Almost ten.”
    Returning the photo to the envelope, Taggart said, “But you do recognize him now.”
    “Without the blood, seeing more of the face.”
    “When you saw him walking the dog, before he was killed, you didn’t think—
Hey, don’t I know that guy?
”
    “He was across the street. I only glanced at him, then the shot.”
    “And you were on the phone, distracted. Mr. Barnes says you were on the phone when the shot was fired.”
    “That’s right. I wasn’t focused on the guy with the dog. I just glanced at him.”
    “Mr. Barnes strikes me as being incapable of guile. If he lied, I expect his nose might light up.”
    Mitch wasn’t sure if he was meant to infer, by contrast to Iggy, that he himself was enigmatic and unreliable. He smiled and said, “Iggy’s a good man.”
    Looking down at the envelope as he fixed the flap shut with the clasp, Taggart said, “Who were you on the phone with?”
    “Holly. My wife.”
    “Calling to let you know she had a migraine?”
    “Yeah. To let me know she was going home early with a migraine.”
    Glancing at the house behind them, Taggart said, “I hope she’s feeling better.”
    “Sometimes they can last all day.”
    “So the guy who’s shot turns out to be your old roommate. You see why it’s weird to me?”
    “It is weird,” Mitch agreed. “It freaks me out a little.”
    “You hadn’t seen him in nine years. Hadn’t spoken on the phone or anything.”
    “He was hanging with new friends, a different crowd. I didn’t care for any of them, and I didn’t run into him anymore at any of the old places.”
    “Sometimes coincidences are just coincidences.” Taggart rose from his chair and moved toward the porch steps.
    Relieved, blotting his palms on his jeans, Mitch got up from his chair, too.
    Pausing beside the steps, head lowered, Taggart said, “There’s not yet been a thorough search of Jason’s house. We’ve only begun. But we found one odd thing already.”
    As Earth rolled away from the slowly sinking sun, afternoon light penetrated a gap in the branches of the pepper tree. A dappled orange glare found Mitch and made him squint.
    Beyond the sudden light, in shadow, Taggart said, “In his kitchen there was a catchall drawer where he kept loose change, receipts, an assortment of pens, spare keys…. We found only one business card in the drawer. It was yours.”
    “Mine?”
    “‘Big Green,’” Taggart quoted. “‘Landscape design, installation, and maintenance. Mitchell Rafferty.’”
    This was what had brought the detective north from the coast. He had gone to Iggy, guileless Iggy, from whom he’d learned that indeed a connection existed between Mitch and Jason.
    “You didn’t give him the card?” Taggart asked.
    “No, not that I remember. What color was the card stock?”
    “White.”
    “I’ve only used white for the past four years. Before that, the stock was pale green.”
    “And you haven’t seen him in like nine years.”
    “Maybe nine years.”
    “So although you lost track of Jason, it seems like Jason kept track of you. Any idea why?”
    “No. None.”
    After a silence, Taggart said, “You’ve got trouble here.”
    “There must be a thousand ways he could’ve gotten my business card, Lieutenant. It doesn’t mean he was keeping track