Savages: A Nameless Detective Novel (Nameless Detective Novels) by Bill Pronzini

Runyon’s case, if he was careful and no complications developed, the time should be relatively short.
    “Avoid strenuous activity; get plenty of rest,” Yeng said. “If any symptoms should recur—severe headaches, dizziness, double vision, a blackout lasting even a few seconds—you need to see your physician without delay.”
    “Understood. Can I get out of here now?”
    “I don’t see why not, as long as you’re feeling up to it. After you’ve seen your visitors.”
    He’d been expecting that. “Law officers?”
    “That’s right. They’re waiting outside.”
    “Send them in.”
    There were two of them. One brain, one brawn. The brain was in his fifties, short, compact, with sparse sandy hair and a quiet manner, dressed in a suit and tie; his name was Rinniak and he was a special investigator with the county sheriff’s department. The brawn, Kelso, wore a deputy’s uniform with knife-crease trousers and starched blouse and a Sam Browne belt so well oiled the leather gleamed in the room lights. Bulky, thick-necked,red-faced—half a foot taller and half a yard wider than Rinniak and, judging from his blue starry eyes, about half as intelligent. Kelso seemed vaguely familiar, but Runyon couldn’t place him until he took up an aggressive stance at the foot of the bed, a hand resting lightly on the butt of his service revolver. Right. The one who’d thrown questions at him last night. Deputy in charge of the Gray’s Landing substation, and the kind of suspicious, hard-nosed veteran who resented private sector investigators—the kind you could have trouble with even if you were careful around him.
    Rinniak sat in one of the two chairs. He said, “We’ll try to keep this brief, Mr. Runyon. Can you remember what happened last night?”
    “Everything before I got blindsided.”
    “That’s what we’re interested in.”
    Kelso said, “How about you start by telling us what a San Francisco private cop was doing at the Belsize farm.”
    “Delivering a subpoena. Or trying to.”
    “Who to?”
    “Gerald Belsize.”
    The sheriff’s men exchanged glances. “What kind of case?” Rinniak asked.
    “Assault and robbery. Belsize was a witness.”
    “Where and when?”
    “Three months ago, in San Francisco. He took his girlfriend down there for the weekend and the two of them—”
    “What girlfriend?” Kelso demanded. “You mean Sandra Parnell?”
    “That’s right.”
    The outthrust jaw tightened. “I should’ve known she was that way.”
    “What way?”
    “Cheap. Decent girls don’t spend out-of-town weekends with their boyfriends.”
    Add prude to suspicious and hard-nosed.
    Rinniak said, “Go ahead, Mr. Runyon.”
    “Belsize and Parnell were at a SoMa nightclub. On the way out she stopped to use the bathroom and he went on to the parking lot. Spotted two men beating up on a third, stealing his wallet. One of them came after him and he ran back to the club.”
    “Yeah, that figures,” Kelso said. “Pure coward.”
    “The mugger had a knife. You don’t have to be a coward to run from cold steel.”
    “I know him. You don’t.”
    Runyon said, “Belsize claimed he couldn’t describe either mugger, but the girl said he told her later that he got a good look at the one with the knife—he just didn’t want to get involved.”
    “That figures, too.”
    “SFPD arrested a felon named Zander as one of the perps. He had the victim’s wallet in his possession. He swears he’s innocent, claims he found the wallet half a block away. His lawyer contacted Belsize, got no cooperation, sohe called my agency to check him out and deliver a subpoena. Routine business.”
    “The girl didn’t tell us about any of that,” Kelso said to Rinniak.
    “No reason for her to. It’s not germane.”
    “Still should’ve told us.”
    Rinniak asked, “How did Belsize check out?”
    “Clean.”
    “Wrong,” Kelso said. “He’s been trouble his whole life. Only a matter of time before he got into the big