A Flicker of Doubt - Tim Myers [56]
“I’m waiting,” I said.
“Hank Klein had us check out this chick’s apartment. We didn’t even know who she was.”
“You’re talking about the newspaper publisher? Why should I believe you?”
“He was dating her. We went there to look for a letter the fool had written, but we couldn’t find it Somebody called the cops on us.”
“Why would you do a favor for Klein?”
The man grunted. “We both owed him one. Now you want to let up on that thing? My neck’s killing me.”
“How do I know you won’t come after me if I let you go.”
“You’ll still have the board, won’t you? Listen, I’ve been pretty reasonable about this up to now, but if this doesn’t end right now, it’s going to be personal. Do you get me?”
I took the pressure off him and said, “Go ahead. Get up.”
He did, eyeing me as he rubbed his neck. “Man, you’ve got a mean streak I wasn’t counting on, and I’m usually pretty good at judging people.”
“Like you said, it’s different when it’s personal. Don’t try to find me, you understand?”
He laughed. “You’ve been watching too much television. I figure we’re square, at least for now.”
I watched him walk away, thought about following him to see who he was going to meet, then I realized he’d probably lose me before I got half a block.
I was still carrying the wood in my hand when I came back onto the main street, so I dropped it against the edge of the building and walked back to my truck. Thankfully none of the windows were shattered, and the money was right where I’d left it, locked safely in the glove box.
I drove to the bank, dropped off my deposit, then decided to pay a visit to the newspaper publisher. Maybe if I caught him off guard while he was at home, I might be able to get something out of him.
I looked up the address in the telephone book, found Klein’s place and drove there. After two sessions with the doorbell of the Colonial, Wanda Klein answered. She’d accused me of murder once, something that naturally still left a bad taste in my mouth.
“What do you want?’ she snarled at me. ‘
“I need to see your husband.”
“He doesn’t have time for the likes of you,” she said. “Go home.”
From the other room, I heard the publisher’s voice. “Wanda? Who is it? The phone’s for you.”
She was clearly torn between chastising me more and seeing who was calling her. She made her decision, slamming the door in my face without another word. I waited ten seconds, then I rang the bell again. I was nothing if not persistent
Hank Klein came out “Go away,” he said.
“I’m not done talking to your wife. I’m sure she’d love to know about your girlfriend.”
He shot a glance back inside, then stepped out on the porch and pulled the door shut behind him. “Keep your voice down, you moron.”
“I don’t have anything to hide,” I said. “Don’t tell me your wife doesn’t know you were dating Becka.”
“Who fed you that nonsense? We weren’t dating.”
“That’s a lie. You were seen out on a date with Becka right before she died. It was a public place, Klein.”
“The pizza joint?” he asked. “You’ve got to be kidding me. She didn’t like an editorial I wrote, and if you knew anything at all about the woman, Becka wasn’t shy about sharing her opinions with the world.”
He had a point; she never ducked confrontation, but I wasn’t ready to give in that easily. “Maybe that’s true, but I’ve got another witness, one of your own associates.”
“What, somebody at the paper told you I was dating Becka Lane? That’s a load of crap, I’ve never cheated on my wife in my life. I don’t dare take the chance.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but the newspaper belongs to her father. I’m the editor by her capricious whim. Newspapering is the only thing I know. Do you think I’m foolish enough to risk losing it? Who is this associate you’re talking about? I’m firing whoever it was first thing in the morning.”
“I don’t know his name, but he said you asked him to break into Becka’s apartment right after she was murdered.”
He shook his head. “Harrison, I don’t know why you should believe me, but he lied