Free The Pandora Directive: A Tex Murphy Novel by Aaron Conners Page B

blew out a long stream of smoke and rejoined the ranks of the carnally deprived. “Tell me again about what this guy, Bob, was doing in the girls’ apartment.”
    “Like I said, he came out of her bedroom, holding an object of some kind. Then he hid by the door and waited for her.”
    “And this object… it wasn’t a jewellery case or something similar — something of value?”
    “Didn’t look like it. A plain metal box. Like a box you keep recipes in.”
    “But the girl had valuables in the apartment?”
    I tried to recall. “I think so. I seem to remember some jewellery, a couple of things worth stealing.”
    Pernell leaned toward me. I could hear the wheels turning. “So the bottom line is, his primary reason for being in the apartment wasn’t to murder the girl. He wasn’t even to rob the place. It was to find this object.”
    It seemed logical. Then a thought occurred to me. “Well, if that’s the case, why didn’t he just leave? He had what he came for. Why would he try to kill Emily?”
    Pernell thought it over and shrugged. “She knew about the box. Maybe the guy wanted to kill her to keep anyone else from finding out about it.”
    The implications were huge. If what Pernell had told me was reliable and Kettler had been the serial killer, some group was mimicking the crimes in order to cover the murders they committed in the course of doing their business. And it was possible that some branch of the Government was that group. And I’d become a fly in their ointment. I looked around. I already knew that someone had been watching me. I wondered just how many eyes were on me now.
    “I’ve gotta checkin with Emily. Thanks for the drinks.”
    Pernell was scribbling furiously on a steno pad. He didn’t seem to hear me.

Chapter Eight
    The Fuchsia Flamingo hadn’t opened yet, and the doors were locked. I pounded a few times and waited. A minute later, the door swung open, revealing Gus Leach’s massive frame. He looked beat.
    “Come on in.” I’d never imagined the mutant could sound so friendly.
    The room was dark, except for a soft white light emanating from behind the bar on the far side. I followed Leach to the light and pulled up beside him on a sparkling purple bar-stool. The drink in front of him was at least a triple. He raised the glass to his mouth and reduced it to a shot. He shivered slightly and turned to face me.
    “I’m glad you came by. I hope you didn’t have any problems with the police.”
    “Nothing serious.”
    Leach nodded and got up from his seat. He walked wearily around to the back of the bar. “Want a drink?”
    “Sure.”
    “Bourbon, right?”
    “How’d you guess?”
    “Physiognomy. It’s a hobby of mine.”
    He filled a glass, neat. Just the way I like it. “You can tell almost anything about a person from their facial features.”
    “Really? So I have a bourbon face?”
    “Something like that.” Leach poured himself a quadruple Bacardi, straight. I tried not to stare. “I really want to thank you for what you did last night. You saved Emily’s life.”
    “How’s she doing?”
    “It shook her up pretty good, but she isn’t hurt. If you’d shown up any later…” he shook his head. “She’s upstairs, trying to get some rest.”
    I took a deep drink. Leech had given me the good stuff. I swirled it around and took a delicate sip. I raised my glass, but he was looking away.
     
    Then I turned to see Emily coming down the stairway. Leach set his string down and walked over to meet her.
    “I’m fine, Gus. I just couldn’t sleep anymore.” She walked toward me and settled onto a bar stool. She was wearing a green, crushed velvet robe. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she was still stunning.
    “Gus told me what you did. I don’t know how to thank you.”
    I could think of a few ways, but it probably wasn’t the right time to go into detail. “It was a close shave. I’m just glad you’re OK.”
    Leach was behind the bar, mixing a Bloody