Nobody Runs Forever

“But you and Mr. Beckham remained friends.”

“He’s had so much trouble, poor man, and I suppose it’s partly my fault. I take it you know about his imprisonment.”

“He stole from your husband’s bank.”

“My father’s bank. Well, it was then, but it’s true, Jack, my husband, he was the one who insisted on pressing charges. Now I realize that meant he knew all about us.”

“You mean, if you hadn’t been having an affair with Jake Beckham, he might not have gone to prison.”

“He definitely wouldn’t have gone to prison. My father liked Jake, he would have been perfectly happy to give him another chance. But my husband was determined.”

The detective nodded, looking around the room, seeming to weigh it on some sort of scale. Then she said, “Are there any guns in this house?”

“Yes, one,” Elaine said, and she couldn’t believe what a close call that had been. “I have a pistol,” she said. “I even have a license for it.”

“But your husband has none?”

“No, Jack doesn’t like guns. He says, ‘I can argue, or I can run, but I don’t know how to shoot.’”

“But you know how to shoot.”

“Oh, yes. I took classes, I even used to go to the range and practice every once in a while. Haven’t done that for years.” Smiling, trying for a lightness of tone, she said, “I hope you don’t think I could shoot anybody. Especially Jake.”

“Especially?”

“Well, he’s a friend,” Elaine said, then leaned forward to emphasize the point. “Nothing more than that, not since our sordid story all came out. But we’ve stayed friends. I had a drink with him, oh, two or three weeks ago. When I’m glum, you know, he cheers me up.”

“Yes, I can see where he would,” the detective said, and smiled again.

“Oh, you’ve talked to him, of course you have. How is he? I didn’t think I should visit him in the hospital, I wouldn’t want tongues wagging again.”

“He’s in good spirits,” the detective said. “Could I see this gun of yours?”

“Oh, I have no idea where it is,” Elaine said. Her heart was pounding, and for the first time she was uncertain she could carry this off.

The detective frowned. “You don’t know where it is? A gun is a serious thing, Mrs. Langen.”

“Oh, I know, it’s just— Years ago, I was taking women’s defense classes and things, and the gun was just a part of all that, that empowerment everybody went through. After a while, I just lost interest.”

“Still, to not know where you keep a gun—”

“Well, I used to keep it in a kitchen drawer, near the door to the garage, so it would be handy if I were going to the range or whatever, but then Jack said, what if somebody breaks in, if they come in through the garage that drawer’s the first thing they’ll open.”

And it was true, Jack had said just that, several times, and she’d ignored him every time. She was used to ignoring things she didn’t agree with.

“So then you moved it,” the detective said.

“I think I did. It could still be there, but I don’t think so.”

“Could we take a look?”

“Miss—Ms—what do I call you?”

“Detective is fine.”

“All right. Detective, do you really think there’s the slightest possibility I shot Jake? For what earthly reason?”

“Or your husband,” the detective said blandly. “Or anyone else with access to that firearm. May we take a look, see if it’s there?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Elaine said, and they both stood. As they walked together through the house, toward the kitchen, the detective said, “Is that your Lexus parked out front?”

“No, that’s a landscape man, he’s here to do some measurements outside.” Again with a stab at girlish lightness, she said, “He wouldn’t have access to the firearm, he’s just measuring things outdoors.”

In the kitchen, she led the way to the right drawer and opened it, and there lay a small hammer, two screwdrivers, a small pair of pliers, three pencil stubs, and a box of cartridges for the gun, but no gun.

“You still have the ammunition, I see.”

“Yes.” Her hand shook slightly as she picked up the surprisingly heavy box. “I don’t know how old these are by now.” Opening the box, she said, “About half left. It’s really been a long time.”

Looking around, the detective said, “Would you have moved it somewhere else in this room?”

“Or up to my bedroom, the closet there, I truly don’t know. I’m really very sorry, but I’d stopped thinking about that gun ages ago.”