Free You Can’t Stop Me by Max Allan Collins, Matthew Clemens

identifying victims in the 1995 bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. And, although it never played into the trial, he also had developed evidence that implicated Timothy McVeigh. He was slightly older than Harrow.
    They ordered drinks and made small talk for a few minutes. Finally Pall asked, “Are you gonna tell me why?”
    “Why what?” Harrow asked.
    Pall looked at Harrow over the top of his glasses.
    Harrow said, “You know about the show.”
    “I live in Oklahoma, J.C., not a cave.”
    “You follow it?”
    “I saw Friday’s episode. You think it’s a good idea, J.C., investigating something so close to you?”
    “It’s a good idea if I surround myself with the right people.”
    “Have you eaten? I could eat.”
    Pall called a waiter over and ordered salad, steamed vegetables, and a small rare filet.
    Harrow said, “Make it two.”
    When the waiter was gone, Harrow said, “Michael…” No one called Pall “Mike” that Harrow knew of. “…have you thought about retirement?”
    Pall studied Harrow. “And here I thought you came to offer me a job.”
    “You’ve got your time in, and qualify for a full pension. You’re single, at least as far as I know, which means you’d be free to travel. I’m here to offer you a chance to do a little moonlighting.”
    “How many months you guaranteeing?”
    “Nine. But it will mean more money than two full years at your current job. And there’s a possibility—just a possibility—that we might keep the team together, if we’re successful.”
    “The team? Or the ‘act’? This sounds like show business to me, not law enforcement.”
    “You know me better than that, Michael. This will be professional all the way.”
    “Who else do you have?”
    “My second is lined up—Laurene Chase.”
    “Oh. Well. That’s a very good start. Here’s our food!”
    They ate.
    They had a drink after. They had another drink, and after Pall finished his, he asked, “When do you need an answer?”
    “The sooner, the better,” Harrow said. “You’re my first choice in this position—but I have other names I can go to.”
    “I’m the first you’ve approached?”
    “In this slot, yes. Only other team member signed on is Laurene. We go to work June first.”
    “I’ll let you know,” Pall said.
    When Harrow left the meeting, he had no idea which way the scientist was leaning. Pall was a lot of things, but easy to read was not one of them.
     
    The next stop took Harrow to Shaw and Associates, a commercial crime lab in Meridian, Mississippi. Sixty-five, with white hair and an easygoing smile that spoke of confidence and success, Gerald Shaw had left public life for the private sector over twenty years ago. Now, his crime lab was the most respected of its kind in the nation, if not the world.
    After small talk over a cup of coffee, Harrow got to the point and asked for the loan of chemist Chris Anderson.
    “Loan?” Shaw asked, arching a black eyebrow that seemed stark next to the white swooping over his forehead.
    “We’ll pay him,” Harrow said, holding up a palm. “You can take him off salary and even bennies, while he’s with us.”
    “Well, doesn’t that sound like a sweet little deal,” Shaw said genially. “And just who’s gonna cover his workload?”
    Harrow had known Shaw was a sharp businessman, and was prepared for the haggling. “We’ll pay for a sub. If you have any expenses lining up a sub, we’ll pay that, too.”
    Shaw grinned sleepily. “Well, that does sound a little sweeter. But it’s up to the boy himself. If Chris wants to go, fine—you got yourself a deal.”
    Born and raised in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, Chris Anderson had played basketball in high school well enough to make All-State, but not to get a scholarship. His grades, though, had been another matter—exceptional in math and science, Anderson had earned a full ride at the University of Alabama right there in his hometown. He took his first trip north to