Suspects Read Free Page A

weeks after beginning the latest effort to climb out of the hole. Nobody even knew he was back in town. His plan had been to collect a paycheck or two, stay off anything stronger than ice cream, buy some presentable clothes, and show up one Sunday soon over at 1143 Laurel with an armful of presents for everybody: flowers for Donna, a classy bottle of wine for his brother, and of course all kinds of toys for Mandy, dolls and whatever else little girls liked: he’d ask a female clerk in the toy store, but only after explaining that he legitimately had a niece, so he wouldn’t be accused of being a potential child molester. He had always to stay on guard, being the kind of guy many people instinctively thought the worst of.
    And time did not diminish the effect of any injustice he had ever suffered. A dirty deal tended to get worse in memory. Jack Duncan, the produce-department manager, would not be forgotten, though Lloyd was aware, if precedent meant anything, that he was unlikely to have the opportunity to take revenge on the man, Duncan being the sort to call the law on the slightest pretext, and if ordinary people were inclined to detest Lloyd on sight, make that to the tenth power for cops.
    He was in a foul mood as he arrived at the supermarket in late morning to collect what money was due him, but he was also under control until he went to the accounting department in the mezzanine office and found that not only was a check not waiting for him there, but Jack Duncan had thus far failed to notify Personnel of the dismissal.
    Lloyd went down and found the man, with his bow tie and name-plate, out on the floor near the lavish array of tomatoes—regular, plum, aquacultured, cherry, yellow, organically grown, imported Israeli, sun-dried—that was his self-described “baby.”
    â€œThey don’t have my money ready. That mean I’m not fired?”
    â€œYou’re dreaming,” Duncan said. “They’ll send you a check when they get around to it.” He was drab against the background of brilliant red fruit.
    â€œIf you fire a person, you should pay him right away,” Lloyd said sullenly. He brought his hand out of his pants pocket.
    â€œYou must be an authority on the subject,” Duncan said wryly, but then looked at what Lloyd had brought from the pocket and blanched. He took a step backward, pressing himself against the display of tomatoes, and stared wildly around the store. As it happened, no customers or staff were nearby at the moment. “Oh no, please—!”
    â€œWhat’s your problem?” Lloyd asked, feeling good for a change as he extended the closed utility knife. “I preferred this to the box cutters you got back there: opens cartons better. I took it from Hardware. It wasn’t pilfering: I only used it in the store. Here, I’m giving it back.”
    â€œGet out,” said Duncan, recovering his courage.
    â€œHere, take it,” Lloyd said. “Look, the blade isn’t even out. How could I have carried it in my pocket otherwise? It’s the store’s property. Take it.”
    â€œI’m calling Security,” said Duncan.
    â€œAll right,” Lloyd said. “I tried.” He returned the closed knife to his pocket. “You dirty little yellow bastard.” He turned quickly and left the store. At that moment he did not care about his money, but neither did he feel the demands of his pride had been satisfactorily answered by simple name-calling. He needed the ear of a woman who had some affection for him, a characterization that could not be applied to any with whom he had ever been intimate. This was an unpropitious time to make his peace with Donna. He had to do some drinking first to work up his nerve, but not get so drunk that his sister-in-law would not let him in the house.

2
    Yellow tape had been stretched around the entire property at 1143 Laurel, and the van of the crime-scene team was at the curb