Free Booked to Die by John Dunning

exchange that I recognized as Evergreen, in the mountains. I checked it against the number on the paper that Bobby had dropped in Jerry Harkness’s bookstore. The numbers were different. I copied the new number in my notebook and left Bobby’s book on the rickety little table beside the bed.
    In the manager’s office I made my calls. The first was the new Rita McKinley number. It rang once and was answered by a machine. The cool female voice said, “You’ve reached 670-2665. No one’s here now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon.” The phone beeped. I didn’t leave a message.
    I tried the other number. A cutoff recording came on and said that the call could not be completed as dialed.
    I called downtown. Hennessey had come in. I told him I was at Bobby’s place and I gave him the address. “We’ll need a crew over here to comb through things. You come supervise, will you? Tell them to leave the books for me. I want to go out and talk to some more book dealers.”
    “Will do. You had a couple of calls while you’ve been out. One of them might be important. Barbara Crowell.”
    “When did that come in?”
    “Time on the message said one-fifteen. Just a few minutes ago.”
    “Did she say anything?”
    “The dispatcher wrote ‘urgent’ on it, underlined in red. Said the woman sounded scared to death. But she wouldn’t talk to anybody else.”
    “What’s her number?”
    He read it to me. I hung up and dialed it. Another goddamn answering machine.
    “Hi, this’s Barbara. I can’t come to the phone right now, but…”
    I slammed the phone down. I had a very dark vision suddenly. Jackie Newton walked over my grave.
    “Ruby, I want you to stay here and keep Mr. Zimmers company. I’m leaving you the key, so you can give it to Hennessey when he comes. I don’t want either one of you guys to go into that apartment. You understand what I’m saying?”
    “I think I do, Dr. J.”
    “You boys need to vouch for each other that nobody’s been up there between the time I left and when the cops came. Okay?”
    “Sure. What’re you gonna do?”
    “I’ve got to be somewhere, right now.”
    Five minutes later I pulled up at Barbara Crowell’s place on Pearl Street. The Lamborghini was parked out front.

7
    The house where Barbara lived had two apartments on each floor. I parked in the loading zone behind Jackie Newton’s car, got out, went inside, and started up the stairs. The place seemed like a mausoleum, still and deathly quiet. The steps creaked as I moved up, but that was the only sound until I got to the second floor and heard the radio. It was soft rock music, trickling faintly from above. I knew it was her radio playing—the apartment across the way was vacant. I took a grip on my gun and started up to the top. The radio came closer but still there were no voices. At her door I stopped and listened. Nothing. It was one of those
oh-hell
bad times in a cop’s life. You want I should maybe knock on her door? Not this boy. I’d walk in and catch him
in flagrante delicto
, my only witness the terrified victim. Can’t you just see it?
No. Your Honor. I didn’t invite him in
. That’s me she’s talking about now, not Jackie Newton: we know from past experience what she’d say about a guy who could make her heart stop just by saying boo. I
asked Mr. Newton over to make up a quarrel we’d had… I certainly didn’t expect or want Detective Janeway to come walking into my bedroom
…
    Why couldn’t she scream? Throw something against the wall? I’d take any help I could get, any way I could get it.
    But there was only profound stillness and the refrain from
A Lover’s Concerto
on the other side of the door.
    Ah, fuck it. I turned the knob. It was unlocked. I pushed it just a crack, enough to see into the front room. The radio got suddenly louder and that was all. I could see it blaring away on a table across the room. I pushed the door a little wider and I could see through to the