'That's right. But somebody wanted to make a point.'
'And did,' DeSpain said. He grinned a big, wolfish grin.
'Except we don't know what the point was.'
'He was there for a while,' I said.
'What was he waiting for?'
'Maybe for Sampson to come to the front,' DeSpain said.
'Get a clear shot.'
'Or maybe for Sampson to say the lines he was saying so that the killing would have meaning.'
'To whom?'
'I don't know.'
'Me either,' DeSpain said. He stopped twirling the gun and drummed lightly on it with a forefinger the size of a sap.
'But it might have to do with love,' I said.
'It's what he was singing about when he got shot.'
'Lucky in love,' DeSpain said.
'So you've been thinking about it too,' I said.
'Some,' DeSpain said.
'So maybe it would mean something to a lover,' I said.
'
'Cept he didn't have one,' DeSpain said.
'That you know about,' I said.
'You know about one?'
'No.'
DeSpain did his wolfish smile again, pulling his lips away from his teeth with no hint of warmth or humor. He had big teeth, with prominent canines.
'Maybe it was a fruitcake,' he said.
'Thinks he's a Ninja assassin. Buys a ticket. Walks in the front door, puts on his mask, works up his courage, does the deed.'
'And that's why he stood there for however many minutes, working up his courage,' I said.
'Sure. Ain't so easy for some people.'
'You got a whacko file?' I said.
'Sure.'
'Anybody fill the bill?'
'Not till we get desperate,' DeSpain said.
'Then you make do,' I said.
'I've squeezed a lot of square pegs into a lot of round holes,' DeSpain said.
'Just need to shove sort of hard.'
DeSpain had picked up the handgun and was now twirling it by the trigger guard around his forefinger, like a movie cowboy.
'You been a cop,' he said.
'Can I see the file?' I said.
Still playing with the handgun DeSpain reached over to the computer on the side table behind his desk and turned it on with his left hand. When the screen brightened, he tapped the keys for a minute. A list of names formed on the screen.
'Want a printout?' he said.
'Or you want to read it off the screen?'
'Printout,' I said.
DeSpain turned on the printer, hit a couple of keys, and the list began to print.
'Couple years,' DeSpain said, 'these things'll violate a suspect's civil rights for you. Won't have to lift a finger.'
The paper eased out of the printer and DeSpain picked it up and handed it to me. He pointed at the list with the muzzle of the gun.
'Ding dongs are hard to keep track of,' he said.
'List may need an update.'
