You Know Who Killed Me

You Know Who Killed Me by Loren D. Estleman Page A

Book: You Know Who Killed Me by Loren D. Estleman Read Free Book Online
Authors: Loren D. Estleman
Ads: Link
grudges to unload. I got the number from the file and called it.
    Donald Gates answered from beyond the grave: “No one can come to the phone right now. Please leave a message.” At least I assumed it was him. I cradled the receiver and left for Iroquois Heights.
    The dead man smiled down at me from the billboard at the first exit. The city limits sign still read:
    IROQUOIS HEIGHTS
    HOME OF THE WARRIORS
    YOU ARE UNDER SURVEILLANCE
    I wondered how long it would be before I could cross that border without feeling like I was stepping into the O.K. Corral with a cap pistol in my holster.
    The house was painted lime green, which somehow managed to look like the only color that made sense. It was a Wright knockoff, fresh enough for the junipers planted out front to resemble an architect’s drawing, bunches of broccoli easy to maintain. It was an old neighborhood, with some of the prewar saltboxes still standing on small lots among newer, larger houses, all well-kept; the local ordinances and the Homeowners’ Property Association were plenty clear on that subject.
    â€œMister? Are you looking for Mrs. Gates?”
    I’d rung the bell and was about to push the button again when the woman called to me from a driveway across the street. She wore a cloth coat over a housedress, a scarf covering her hair and tied under her chin, and held that day’s rolled edition of the local paper. She looked about fifty, and like her house, kept well.
    I threw away the cigarette I’d just lit. “Do you know where she is?”
    â€œBelle Isle.”
    â€œWhat’s on Belle Isle this time of year?”
    â€œHomeless. Detroit lets them set up their tents there in the winter. Amelie helps out, bringing them food and blankets and whatever else they need.”
    â€œI heard she’s the generous type.”
    â€œI keep telling her she’s not helping them at all. Some of those people are in their twenties, and not handicapped so far as I can tell. Do you know what McDonald’s pays? Better than my Chester ever made driving a bread truck for Wonder. In a couple of months they’d save enough to put down a deposit on an apartment. But they’re not about to go to work until people stop giving them handouts.”
    â€œI guess it helps to stay occupied, after what happened.”
    â€œYou know about that?” The frown she’d worn for the twentysomethings on the island turned down farther. “If you’re looking for a reward, you came to the wrong place. It’s her church putting it up.”
    â€œI’ve got other business with Mrs. Gates. Do you know how long she’ll be gone?”
    â€œAll day, probably. When you waste time on a bunch like that, you waste a lot of it.”
    She went back inside. I groped for another cigarette. I could have been the murderer, for all she knew; but she only had time to think about the people who wouldn’t flip burgers for a utility flat in the city, and she didn’t like wasting it.
    *   *   *
    A gust caught the Cutlass broadside as I drove over the MacArthur Bridge from Jefferson. It packed a wallop and I had to clamp both hands on the wheel to avoid drifting into the opposite lane, where a delivery van was headed back toward the mainland on the double. Apart from that I had the span all to myself.
    Lake St. Clair was gray as shale and looked about the same consistency. A frozen haze lay on the other side, behind which someone had built a scale model of Windsor, Ontario, out of lead. No telling what was going on there after sixteen straight days without sunshine; Canadians are coy about their suicides.
    I never seem to visit Belle Isle in nice weather, when the picnic ground’s in use and the culture crowd is drifting in and out of the Dossin Marine Museum with its dioramas of bootlegging boats and artifacts from the Edmund Fitzgerald. Admiral Perry’s guns still guard the place, their muzzles spiked

Similar Books

A Shot of Red

Tracy March

John Rackham

The Double Invaders

A Secret Atlas

Michael A. Stackpole

Lakota Dawn

Janelle Taylor

The Bear's Tears

Craig Thomas