The Silent Hour

difference.”

It was quiet for a while, and then I said, “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For leading the sort of life that makes things like that go through your head.”

“Hey, my fault, right? Nobody forced me to date a detective.”

“You got a profession you’d prefer? Something safer? Sexier?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Now, that’s a good question. What would the ideal profession for a romantic partner be? Hmm . . . do you have one?”

“Reporter, of course.”

“Coward. Try again.”

“Singer. Jazz or blues, or maybe a country-rock style. Someone with the right voice, you know, kind of smoky and sultry. Bit of an attitude when she’s onstage, nice long legs—”

“Pig.”

“What?”

“I ask about the ideal profession and you start describing the physical features of another woman.”

“I was trying to play along.”

“Try harder next time. Or smarter, at least.” She laced her hands behind her head, smiled. “You know what I’d choose? A carpenter. Strong and capable, right? Handy.”

“Hey, I replaced that shelf at your apartment.”

She lifted her head and stared at me. “The shelf you broke?”

“Well, be that as it may, I also hung the new one—”

“How many trips to the hardware store did that take you?”

“Just because I didn’t have all the materials at first—”

“You tried to put it up without using a level, Lincoln. It wasn’t a shelf, it was a ramp.”

“I corrected that.”

“In a mere five hours. Yeah, stick to detecting, buddy. Even if it gets you into trouble.”

I leaned forward and turned the volume on the radio down, a serious concession with two on and two out. “Think about another writer approaching you to guide them through a story, Amy, and then tell me what you’d say. Somebody in your business comes to you for help, you try to do it if you can. At least that’s the way I’ve always operated. He put his ego on the shelf and came asking for help.”

“Do you trust him?” she asked.

I hesitated, which is never a good sign when offered in response to a question of trust, but then nodded. “He checks out.”

“I didn’t ask if he checked out. I asked if you trust him.”

“Yes.” I nodded again. “So far, I haven’t seen anything that warns me not to. The way he showed up after a call from Sanabria, I guess, but since then, in the conversations we’ve had . . . he seems genuine.”

“Same thing you said about Parker Harrison at first.”

That stopped me. I gave her a grudging nod.

“Maybe it is, but Ken doesn’t share Harrison’s history. Besides, I’ve been in his position, okay? In two regards. Once when Karen left”—Amy made the face one should expect when he mentions his ex—“and once with this sort of case, dealing with a client who came to me hoping I could explain what happened to his family. I remember the way that felt, the sort of burden John Weston handed over to me.”

“As I recall, it didn’t feel much better when you handed the answers back over to him.”

I was quiet, and Amy reached out and laid her hand on my arm.

“I get what you’re saying, Lincoln. I do. If you think you can help him and you want to try, then it’s a simple choice.”

“I really don’t know how much of a choice it is. Ken’s asked me to get involved. Graham probably will.”

I was passing the blame off to every external party, but the truth was it came down to my decision, and I couldn’t fully explain the motivation to her. Couldn’t explain that when Ken had smiled at me and said, “This is what you are,” it had felt less like he was trying to coerce me and more like he was defining me. While his definition was accurate, I didn’t know how much I liked it.

This is what you are.

“All of it’s irrelevant,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“The idea that I had some sort of choice to make about stepping into this. I was already in it, Amy. From the time Harrison sent that first letter. He picked me, and I’ve been in it ever since.”

“Why?” she said. “Why did he pick you?”

The silence built and hung around us, and eventually I reached out and turned the radio back up. We listened until the final out, but I don’t think either of us could have told you the details of the game.

PART TWO

COLD TRAIL

BLUES

14

__________

By noon the next day my prediction to Amy was validated. I was involved now—thanks to Ken Merriman’s urging and Quinn Graham’s approval.

It was Graham who called, but he quickly blamed Ken.

“Your buddy doesn’t have the best touch with police,” he said. “Calls me up today, says he wishes to inform me that he’ll be running his own investigation. Wishes to inform me. No bullshit, that’s what he said. Not ‘Yo, Detective Graham, I was wondering if I might be able to assist.’ Not ‘Excuse me, Detective Graham, I understand this is a cold case in another state and you might actually, for once in your career, be in favor of a PI’s involvement.’ No, Linc, instead he wishes to inform me that he’s going out on his own. Whether I approve or not.”

“Hmm,” I said.

“Hmm? Hmm? Yeah, hmm is right, Linc. That’s about what I had to say, too. Might have added a few more colorful terms, I don’t recall. Your buddy, though—”

“Don’t know that you can really call him my buddy, Graham. I met him two days ago. You two go back much longer than that. I figure, with that history, maybe he’s really your buddy.”

“Oh, you’re not working with him on this? Because he said you were. He said, I believe this is a direct quote—‘Perry and I are going to see what we can shake loose.’ Shake loose, Linc. You not shaking? He shaking by himself?”

“I said I’d back him up. That’s all. You know, give some advice—”

“Oh, some advice. Good, good. That’s what I want to hear. You’re giving advice to a guy who’s never been any closer to a murder case than his TV screen.”

“You don’t want me to help him, then I’ll just explain that and stay the hell out.”

“Uh, no. Not at this point. Too late for that. Your buddy, he’s in the game now. Already informed me, as I said. And if he’s in the game, Linc? You better be, too. Because at least you been around. At least you know what you’re doing. I did a little checking on you. Found out, my man Linc, he’s a