A Welcome Grave

the dead leaves fall to the earth, taste the whiskey in his mouth and feel it burn down his throat, the stock of the gun cool and comfortable in his hand.

When I arrived, he knew me. While I banged on his door, within gun range, he knew me. With each echoing step I’d taken over the wooden bridge that brought me face-to-face with him on that gazebo, he knew me. And when he lifted the gun and twirled it and jammed it into his mouth and pulled the trigger, then, he’d known me most of all.

Confusion kills.

Brewer was right, looking at me for murder. In a way, I had killed him. It was my arrival, the sight of me there in the gazebo, my failure to clear the surprise and fear out of my brain fast enough to explain, that made him pull the trigger.

“The son believed me,” my attacker had said a few nights later. “He knew that his would be a welcome grave.”

True enough. Matt Jefferson had welcomed it, sent himself to that waiting grave, because he knew that what was in store—what I represented—was worse.

So who was I? In that moment that he’d known me, who the hell had I been, and why was I there?

At least he has a reason. You got nothing but greed.

Matt Jefferson believed he knew who I was and what I was after, and that confusion killed him. Back in Karen’s living room, the confusion was alive and well again, flourishing, with Targent nurturing it and some unknown participant—maybe Andy Doran, maybe not—validating it. This time, I had the opportunity for a few words of explanation, all that Matt Jefferson would’ve needed. This time, the words weren’t going to be enough. This time, that gun was going to stay pointed at me.

I went into the gym before my apartment, the late-night check such a habit now that I didn’t even think about it. The sight of the plastic sheet over the window surprised me for a second. Somehow, the damage to the gym had faded in my mind during the rest of the day.

The day. It had been just that morning that I’d stood in the gym and watched Thor step in through the window. That seemed impossible.

I locked the gym door—as if it mattered with the plastic sheet there instead of a window—and walked back through the office. The message light on the desk phone was blinking, but I didn’t stop to pick it up. There would be a message there from my insurance company, a call I absolutely should return, but I couldn’t make myself care about that right now. The insurance company wasn’t going to disappear, and neither was the damage to my building. I, on the other hand, might need to if Targent came up with any more finds.

There were more phone messages waiting for me at my apartment, most from the gym members who knew me well enough to have my home number, calling to express their concern and pry for details. I deleted them and dialed Amy’s number.

“I was waiting for some indication that you were alive,” she said when she answered. “I’ve never dated a guy who presented that problem—the need to check to make sure he was still alive.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve wanted to call you all day. Things got away from me a little bit. Starting with the gunfire and progressing to the cops exercising a search warrant on my apartment, then producing video evidence that I know Thor and lied about him before.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah.” I leaned against the wall and exhaled, worn out just from reciting the day’s synopsis. “Any chance I could see you?”

“I was hoping so. Why don’t you come here? No offense, but after last night, I’m not a real big fan of your building.”

“A little late-night gunfire and all of a sudden it’s a bad neighborhood?”

“Just come over.”

She met me at the door, barefoot, wearing a T-shirt that was four sizes too big and her glasses, which she never wore outside of the house. I loved her in the glasses.

“Wine?” She had a bottle in her hand.

“Definitely.”

We went upstairs. She poured two glasses of red wine and passed one to me, and then we went into the living room and sat down on the couch. I took a swallow of the wine and closed my eyes.

“Long day?” she said.

I laughed.

“Funny question?”

“Yeah. Just a few minutes ago I was standing in the gym trying to figure out how many days had passed since it got shot up. Had trouble convincing myself that it was really just last night.”

I told her about Thor, Donny Ward, the private investigator in Indiana, and Targent’s video. It took a while to tell.

“He’s serious about this?” she said. “He actually considers you a suspect?”

“Considers me the suspect, Amy. And this thing with Thor . . .” I shook my head. “That hurts, no question. Because on the surface it does fit. It really does. This idea that it was a man with a grudge and a hired killer, well, Thor and I make a natural pairing for that. Thor showing up in my gym today makes it a lot worse, too. I can’t explain that.”

“Why not?”

“When a man like Thor tells you that a conversation is to stay confidential, you’d be well advised to pay attention.”

“But if it would clear you . . .”

“Which it wouldn’t. There’s no evidence that it’s true. Targent wouldn’t believe Thor, and all I would have accomplished would be to anger one of the deadliest men in the city.”

“So what can you do?”

“The job Targent should be handling. Finding a real suspect. If I can do that, show a strong case, they’ll have to redirect. Andy Doran could be the ticket.”

Amy was quiet. I looked at her and thought that this should be a good night. This moment, on the couch with her sharing wine and conversation one day after we first made love, should have been special, carefree. Instead we were talking about killers and cops.

“It has to stop soon,” I said. “Targent’s got to burn out with it. That’s what happens when you’re wrong—you run into the wall. There’s no evidence, nothing left to push with.”

“Well, when’s he going to hit that wall?”

“It had better be soon.” I reached out and rubbed her leg. “I’m sorry, Amy. We should be talking about something else. You shouldn’t have had to get up at three in the morning to stand around with a bunch of cops, either.”

“It wasn’t exactly a traditional first date.”

“I always try to provide women with something unusual. You know, stand out from the crowd.”

“Mission accomplished.”

I don’t know when the conversation slowed, or when it stopped. All I know is that at some point we both fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up in the night and saw she was still there I was glad.

I was back in my apartment, getting dressed and drinking coffee, when Joe called.

“You planning to show up today?”

“It’s ten to eight, Joe.”

“You’re going to want to get down here.”

“Why?”

“While you were sleeping, I was working, And you will be thrilled to hear what I learned. Thrilled. ”

“What’s that?”

“Remember my problem with Donny Ward’s story?”