Free Don't Cry Over Killed Milk by Stephen Kaminski Page A

looks like you’re up to your old tricks. If you want to help the police, enter the academy or join the Crime Solvers group.” She turned to face Gerry and lowered her voice. “Detective Sloman, I know Mr. Lassard is your friend, but you are not to speak with him about this investigation. Do you understand me?”
    Gerry nodded, and Margaret shooed Damon away.
    * * *
    A disappointed Damon left the park. Despite her gruffness, he knew that Margaret Hobbes was right. He wasn’t a police officer.
    Hobbes’ suggestion to join the Arlington County Crime Solvers was a good one, Damon thought. It was a local non-profit group staffed by Arlington citizens who monitored an anonymous tip line for county crimes. They maintained a semi-formal relationship with the police.
    Damon’s duplex neighbor, David Einstaff, was smoking a cigarette on their shared front porch when he arrived home. It was just before five o’clock in the afternoon.
    “Early day today?” Damon asked. David was an engineer in his fifties who had been fighting a bout of depression. Damon also suspected that the man had been drinking liberal quantities of whiskey since his divorce was finalized earlier in the year.
    “Yes,” he said. “I told my partners I had a personal matter to attend to, but I just needed to get out of there.”
    “Are you having problems at work?” Damon asked.
    “There’s nothing in particular. But I think I’ve had enough. I’ve been a wastewater engineer for thirty years. It might be time for a change.”
    Damon put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Have you considered talking to a professional about this depression you’re having, David? Maybe a psychiatrist who could prescribe something? Don’t make a drastic decision that you might regret later.”
    “I’ll think about it, Damon. Thanks for looking out for me. Are you up for a drink?”
    Damon wanted to eat a quiet dinner by himself and mull over the information on Jeremiah Milk he had learned during the day. But his neighbor was struggling, and Damon didn’t think he had a support system. “I’m not in the mood for anything alcoholic,” Damon said. “But I make a mean fruit smoothie. How about I whip up a couple?”
    David agreed, and the two men spent the evening on the porch drinking strawberry-banana smoothies, eating Lebanese take out, and debating the prospects for the Redskins’ football season.

Chapter 8

    After lying awake during the overnight hours and thinking about Jeremiah Milk, Damon resolved to spend his Tuesday making two stops. First, he decided to join the Arlington County Crime Solvers. Second, he was determined to gather any information he could from the private investigator, Marcus Pontfried. He justified the latter stop to himself. Technically, Margaret Hobbes had only forbidden Gerry and Damon from discussing the murder with each other.
    Before driving to the Crime Solvers’ office near the southern border of Arlington, Damon dialed their anonymous tip line. He reported that a man wearing black had been seen fiddling with the Rothsteins’ crepe myrtles in Hollydale the previous morning. Damon had promised Cynthia that he would alert Gerry Sloman. Providing an anonymous tip wasn’t ideal, but the police would still receive the information.
    The Arlington County Crime Solvers operated out of a single room on the first floor of a derelict two-story office building. Damon knocked gently on the door.
    It was opened by a young man wearing a wrinkled T-shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops. He introduced himself as Jessie and invited Damon inside. A box fan clicked steadily and blew hot air in the direction of a small metal desk.
    “What can I do for you, sir?” Jessie asked and sat behind the desk.
    There was no guest chair, so Damon remained standing. “Call me Damon. I’d like to volunteer with Crime Solvers.”
    “Great.” Jessie’s eyes passed around the windowless office. A CRT television stood atop a square of four inverted crates,