Free Above Ground by Don Easton Page B

damage to the carpet wasn’t my fault.”
    Jack obtained Holly’s new address and then asked, “How much was her deposit?”
    â€œHalf a month’s rent. Four-seventy-five.”
    After stopping at a bank, Jack met with Holly, who was living in a one-bedroom apartment just two blocks from her previous address.
    Jack was invited inside. He saw Jenny sitting on the sofa watching television with her thumb in her mouth. Holly pulled it out as she walked past and then sat at the kitchen table with Jack. Jenny immediately put her thumb back in.
    â€œShe quit doing that two years ago,” said Holly. “Just started again after...” Her voice trailed off and she looked around the apartment and said, “I know it’s not much, but it’s close to Jenny’s daycare and I can still walk to work.”
    Jack leaned across the table and squeezed the top of her hand and said, “It’s only been a week. Don’t you think you should take some more time off?”
    Holly pulled her hand away. “I can’t afford to. Sitting around doesn’t help. Keeping busy seems to. Between driving back and forth to visit Charlie, looking after Jenny, and going to work, I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself.”
    Jack swallowed, and then said, “Our office received an anonymous letter this morning. It looks like yourhusband was murdered by mistake. It should have been me.” Jack knew his voice sounded shaky. He put his palms down on the kitchen table in an effort to stop himself from trembling.
    Holly just looked at him and didn’t speak.
    â€œDid you hear me?” asked Jack.
    â€œYes,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. “It wasn’t something I didn’t know. My husband was a good man. It wasn’t a robbery. It had to be you. I’m glad that you know it too. Maybe now you’ll find out who did it.”
    Jack paused and glanced at Jenny for a moment before turning his attention back to Holly. “I think I knew it the first night I met you. I could see you were decent people, but it ... it was ... I didn’t want to admit that I was responsible.”
    Holly stared at him as she asked, “What did the letter say? Why would someone commit murder and then write to the police? Are they thinking of confessing?”
    â€œNo. They indicated that if our office keeps doing our job, then other police officers or people they love or know will be murdered. I work on an intelligence unit for organized crime. There are lots of potential groups of suspects.”
    â€œYou mean to say that the people who murdered my husband are also threatening the police?”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œThey must be insane! How do they expect to get away with that?”
    â€œIf I have anything to do with it, they won’t.”
    â€œQuite a few people in your office?”
    â€œQuite a few.”
    â€œAll with different names, I suppose. Like Smith, Adams, Jones, or whatever.”
    â€œNot exactly but ... what are you getting at?”
    â€œThat enough people in Vancouver share names with people you work with that it would be ludicrous totry and protect them all. You’re not to blame for what happened to my family. Do you know that there are at least a half-dozen J. Taggarts listed in the phone book in the lower mainland? Except for you, mine might have been the only Jack.”
    â€œI’m not listed in the phone book.”
    Holly paused and then said, “That figures. But you see what I mean. Taggart isn’t even that common of a name.”
    â€œMaybe that was the problem.”
    â€œMaybe.” Holly reached across the table and patted Jack’s hand. “I admit that a few days ago I felt like smashing you in the face. Especially when I found out about Charlie. I know it was really mean of me to call you to the hospital that day.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I wanted to know.”
    â€œBut the way I