Free Stranglehold by Ed Gorman

was all too easy.
    And then he was gone, pushing his way back through the crowd.
    I did the same thing with my crowd. From what I could see, the quickest way to the other side was to run to the parking lot in back. I didn’t get far. As I rounded the corner of the hotel a uniform appeared and held up his hand. He also raised his flashlight and burned the beam into my face.
    â€œHold on. You have some ID?”
    â€œLook, Officer, there’s somebody I need to see on the other side.”
    â€œYou a guest in the hotel?”
    â€œYes.”
    He snapped his fingers and held his palm out, a thickset middle-agedman with dark, suspicious eyes and the mannerisms of a hall monitor.
    The best thing to do was get it over as quickly as possible. When I handed him my wallet, the beam fell from my face to my ID. “From Chicago?”
    â€œYes. Look, I really am in a hurry.”
    â€œWho is it you need to see so bad?”
    â€œOld college friend. Just spotted him in the crowd on the far side.”
    â€œYou know a woman was killed here tonight.”
    â€œI know. But I didn’t do it and neither did Paul.”
    â€œPaul?”
    â€œMy college friend.” I was tempted to say that I was working with Susan Cooper but decided against it. I wanted to keep her name out of it. I could see over his shoulder. Cars were leaving, flashes of headlights turning the cop into silhouette.
    He still had my wallet. “Dev Conrad.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    He beamed his light on my driver’s license again. He was either memorizing it or trying to levitate it. He frowned and handed it back. He’d been hoping to plant my ass on death row, but he hadn’t been able to come up with a good enough reason. “Get out of here.”
    â€œThanks.”
    He waved me past as a couple came up behind me. I walked when I wanted to run but running would only make me interesting to him again. The rear of the hotel was lined with Dumpsters. A loading dock protruded from the center of the building. Parking space was limited to fifteen yards of macadam.
    The two cars closest to me were empty. The silver Pontiac near the alley had a driver. The red-headed man. His headlights came on and he started backing out.
    I yelled for him to stop and darted toward him. He laid down a long strip of rubber getting the car into the alley. For three or four seconds Ihad a good look at him. The brutal appearance was lessened by his cold smile. He was under the impression this was some kind of game. Then he was gone in a fishtailing, tire-screaming exit that went on all the long way to the end of the alley. I couldn’t even get close enough to identify the license plate.
    When I turned back to the hotel, my good friend the cop was standing there. He looked happy. “Guess Paul didn’t want to see you, huh?”
    â€œYeah. Guess not.”
    â€œHow about letting me see that wallet again?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy? Because I said so is why.” He shook his head and addressed an unseen person. “He asks why.”
    I gave him my wallet. He flipped it open, then used the communicator on his shoulder. “Tell Detective Kapoor there’s somebody here she should probably talk to.”
    â€œWhat the hell’re you doing?”
    He held up a finger to quiet me. “Right. I’ll bring him to the back door now.”
    After he finished talking, I said, “This is a waste of time.”
    â€œMaybe to you, but this whole little deal is strange.”
    â€œWhat ‘whole little deal’?”
    â€œYou’re in a big hurry to get back here, and then this supposed friend of yours races away. Somebody was killed here tonight, and that makes this whole little deal suspicious. At least to me.” He returned my wallet. “I’m covering my ass, man. You go in and talk to the detective and she asks you a few questions and you’re out of here.” Then: “This