Dutch turned to me again. “You?re the one knows these people,” he said. “Do you think they?d snuff
each other over twenty-four million bucks?”
“Hell, I might kill them for twenty-four million bucks, Dutch. The question is, does it make sense?
My answer is no, it doesn?t. They deal in bigger numbers than that every week.”
Salvatore added his thoughts:
“I agree. It could happen if there was some rhubarb over territory, somebody in the family got his
feelings jacked off, personal shit like that. Then, maybe. I don?t see them cuttin? each other up over
some dope deal either.” He shook his head vigorously. “That don?t come across as a possibility.”
“So we?re back to square one, and w got five more corpus delictis on our hands,” Dutch said.
“I?ll keep digging, of course,” Charlie One Ear said, and went off to the other side of the park with
Salvatore and Callahan to look for car tracks.
They returned ten minutes later. Charlie stood with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, rocking on
his heels. After a proper dramatic pause he said, “It?s highly likely the damage was done from the
other end of the park. We found what could be tire tracks. Actually it looks like someone may have
wrapped burlap or some other heavy material around the wheels so they wouldn?t leave any
identifying tracks.”
“How far is it from back there to the theatre?” Dutch asked.
“About a furlong,” Callahan said, and when we all stared dumbly at him, he added, “Two hundred
yards, give or take a few feet.”
“An M-16 with a good scope could handle that,” said the Stick.
“Isn?t that comforting,” Dutch said.
I took Callahan aside and told him about the game at the Breakers Hotel and Thibideau dropping over
fifteen grand.
“Interesting,” said Callahan. “Disaway?ll go off, twenty, thirty to one tomorrow. It rains, pony wins,
„Thibideau can buy the Breakers.”
“Maybe I?ll come to the races tomorrow afternoon,” I said.
“Back gate, one o?clock. I?ll wait ten minutes.” And he drifted back with the gang.
Dutch walked over and joined me.
“Twelve people blown out from under us,” he said, “and all we?ve done so far is provide airtight
alibis for every good suspect we got. . . at least the ones that are still alive.”
“All but one,” I said.
“Who?s that?” Dutch asked.
“Turk Nance.”
