Free Dust To Dust by Tami Hoag Page A

his old buddy. Thinking there was more to that story and Steve Pierce didn't want to tell it.
    People lied to the cops all the time. Not Just bad guys or the guilty. J Lying was an equal opportunity activity. Innocent people lied. Mothers of small children lied. Pencil-neck paper pushers lied. Blue-haired grannies lied. Everyone lied to the cops. It seemed to be embedded in the human genetic code.
    Steve Pierce was lying. Kovac had no doubt about that. He just had to narrow the field of possible hes and decide if any of them were significant to Andy Fallon's death.
    He pulled a pack of Salems out from under the passenger's seat, held it under his nose, and breathed deeply, then put the cigarettes back and got out of the car.
    Pierce answered the door in sweatpants and a U of M hockey jersey, the smell of good scotch hovering around him like cologne, and a cigarette dangling from his lip. In the hours since his discovery of
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    Andy Fallon's corpse, his physical appearance had degraded to the look of a man who had been battling a terminal illness for a very long time. Gaunt, ashen, red-eyed. One corner of his mouth curled up in a sneer as he pulled the cigarette and exhaled.
    "Oh, look. It's the Ghost of Christmas Present. Did you bring your rubber truncheon this time? 'Cause, you know, I don't feel like I've been abused enough for one day. I find my best friend dead, get in a fight with Hulk Hogan in a cop uniform, and get harassed by a dickhead detective. The list Just doesn't go on long enough. I could go for a little torture."
    He made his eyes and mouth round With feigned shock. "Oops! My secret is out now! S and M. Shitt"
    "Look," Kovac said. "This hasn't beenmy favorite day either. I got to go tell a man I used to look upto that his son probably killed himself"
    "Did he even listen?" Pierce asked. "What?"
    "Mike Fallon. Did he even listen when you told him about Andy?" Kovac's brow creased. "He didn't have much choice."
    Pierce stared past him at the dark street, as if some part of him still clung to a tattered scrap of fantasy that Andy Fallon would materialize
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    from the gloom and come up the walk. The weight of reality defeated him. He flicked the cigarette butt out the door.
    "I need a drink," he said, and he turned and walked away from the open door.
    Kovac followed him, taking the place in with a glance. Dramatic colors and oak furniture of some retro style he couldn't have named on a bet. What he knew about decorating wouldn't dot an i, but he recognized quality and big price tags. The walls of the hall were a patchwork of artsy photographs in white mats and thin black frames.
    They went into a den with dark blue walls and fat leather armchairs the color of a fielder's glove. Pierce went to a small wet bar in one corner and freshened his glass from a bottle of Macallan. Fifty bucks a bottle. Kovac knew because he had been asked to kick in a few so the department could buy a bottle for the last lieutenant when he left. He'd personally never paid more than twenty dollars for a bottle of booze in his life.
    "Andy's brother told me Andy stopped by about a month ago to come out of the closet:' Kovac said, leaning a hip against the bar.
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    Pierce frowned at that and made a task of wiping imaginary condensation off the soapstone counter." I guess it didn't go well with the old man, huh?"
    "What was the point of telling him?" Pierce's voice tightened with anger he was trying hard to camouflage. "Sure, Dad, I'm still the same son who made you so proud in all those ball games," he said with heavy sarcasm to the room at large. "I Just like it up the ass, that's all."
    He tipped back the scotch and drank it like apple Juice. "Jesus, what did he expect? He should have just let well enough alone. Let the old man see what he wanted to see. That's all people really want anyway. "How long had you known Andy was gay?"
    "I don't know. I didn't mark it on the calendar," Pierce said, walking away.
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