The Silent Hour Read Free Page B

just been sitting empty for that long—"
        "That's
my understanding."
        "A
house that is worth—"
        "Several
million, for the house and the property. I know you expect this to be easy, but
I have a different sense than that. I think it will be anything but easy."
    ----
        

Chapter Three
        
        I
left the office a few minutes after Harrison did. I stood on the corner waiting
to cross Rocky River and walk over to Gene's Place for some lunch, trying to
enjoy the warm breeze and the sun and not dwell on the fact that I'd just
agreed to work for a murderer. Not even an accused murderer, which was the sort
of thing defense investigators did regularly, but an admitted murderer, a guy
who'd sat across the desk from me and talked about the man he'd killed with a
knife.
        I'd
had him on his feet, headed toward the door, and now I was working for him. So
what had changed— Why, after ordering him to leave, had I agreed to his
request— I could pretend part of it was the story, the intriguing question he'd
presented, but I knew that wasn't enough.
         You're
looking at me with distaste, he'd said, and he'd been right. I was
disgusted by him when he walked into the office, disgusted by him when he wrote
the first letter back in the winter. He was a killer. He'd ended a life, shed
innocent blood. I was entitled to my disgust, wasn't I— Then he'd looked at me and
asked if I believed in his potential for rehabilitation, asked if I believed in
the work I'd done with the police, and somehow in those questions he'd
guaranteed himself my help. I didn't want to refuse him on the grounds that he
was a lost cause. Didn't want to walk out of the office feeling like a smaller
man than when I'd walked in.
        The
light changed, and I crossed the street and cut through the parking lot to the
restaurant, thinking that Harrison was a clever son of a bitch. It had been a
nice play, that final question about rehabilitation, and in the end it got him
what he wanted. Part of me felt honorable for my decision; another part felt
manipulated. Played.
        Maybe
I'd made a mistake. This wasn't the sort of client I wanted on the books. Granted,
we hadn't signed anything, and I could always back out…
        "Joe
will be furious," I said aloud, and then I managed a laugh. No, my partner
was not going to be impressed with this story. I could hear him already, his
voice rising in volume and exasperation as he explained to me the hundreds of
obvious reasons why I shouldn't have taken this case. That alone could justify
taking it. I had a hell of a time getting under Joe's skin now that he was in
Florida. This one just might do it, though. This one just might have enough
annoyance to bridge the miles.
        It
should be simple, too. I added that to the pro side of the list as I walked
into Gene's Place and down the brick steps beside the old popcorn machine that
had greeted people just inside the doors for years. Honestly, it should take me
no more than a day or two to determine where this Cantrell couple had gone. I'd
give them a call or drop them a note and explain where Harrison was and what he
wanted. If they agreed to contact him, fine, and if they didn't, I would still
have held up my end of the bargain—and, hopefully, would have satisfied
Harrison into silence.
        I ate
a turkey club and drank black coffee and listened as people around me discussed
what a beautiful day it was, how nice the sun felt. It had been a i old, angry
April, with a late-season snowstorm that canceled the early baseball games and
then settled into a few weeks of gray sky and chill rain. I hat looked to be
behind us now, finally. Today's weather seemed to be an official announcement,
winter waving a going out of business sign at the city, closed for the season
sign, rather. It'd be back soon enough, as everyone in Cleveland knew.
        Still,
today it was gone, and staying indoors seemed like a crime,