Free Saving Farley's Bog by Don Sawyer

clue who did it. No ideas about where to go from here.
    Stitch was about to turn away when something caught his eye. He looked down at Maxwell’s feet. He wore a pair of Adidas running shoes. Stitch cocked his head in thought. One was neatly done up. But the laces of the other were untied. The shoe looked as if it would fall off if Maxwell had tried to walk in it. Could he have been caught before he had a chance to tie it up? Possible, but unlikely. Other than the shoe, Maxwell was perfectly dressed. And he was not the kind of guy to walk around with his shoelaces untied.
    Stitch crouched down. He gently pulled the untied shoe off Maxwell’s foot. As he did, a small slip of brown paper fell out of the shoe. Stitch looked around. A paper shopping bag lay on the top of the chest of drawers. A chunk had been torn out. On the floor next to the bureau Stitch spotted a red Bic pen.
    Stitch picked up the paper and studied it. Red letters and numbers had been written in a shaky scrawl. He wrote this in a hurry, Stitch thought. Maybe he had heard them kicking down the door. He knew they weren’t neighbours coming to welcome him into the neighbourhood. He saw the pen and bag on the chest of drawers. He scrawled the message as they smashed in and headed for the bedroom. At the last second, he must have untied his shoe and slipped in the message. Just before the killers entered the bedroom.
    What was it he so desperately wanted to say? Stitch returned his attention to the scrap of paper. On it was written: KN6631475. After the last number there was a line. It looked as if he had wanted to write more but ran out of time.
    KN6631475. Stitch ran his hand over his hair. A licence plate? Too many digits. Phone number of some sort? A code?
    Stitch carefully folded the paper and placed it in his wallet. Then he pulled his cell phone out of its holster and called the Parsons Police department. He had a homicide to report.

CHAPTER 10
    The Ride Home
    The drive home was long and depressing. Before the police arrived, Stitch had taken pictures of the body and scoured the cabin for other evidence.
    It had taken several hours for the police to check Stitch out and clear him. They weren’t used to execution-style murders in Parsons. There were lots of anxious phone calls and scurrying around. It was pretty clear no one knew exactly what to do. They walked all over the crime scene destroying potential evidence. Stitch was glad he’d been over it first. They also grilled Stitch. He was their only lead and they were reluctant to let him go.
    Stitch told them what he could about Maxwell. He told them he was working for Maxwell’s wife. They were quite interested when he explained how he had tracked Maxwell to the cabin.
    The first thing Stitch did when he got on the road was what he dreaded most: He called Molly Maxwell. At first she was shocked. She asked over and over for details of the killing. Then she started to sob. She cried and sniffled on the phone for several minutes.
    Then she moved to feeling guilty. If it wasn’t for her hiring Stitch, her husband would probably still be alive. It was all her fault. She should have left him alone.
    Stitch had waited patiently. When she had finished, he asked her a simple question. “Molly,” he said gently. “Are you the one who agreed to switch your vote for $100,000?”
    There was a pause at other end. Then a loud sniffle. “No,” she said at last.
    â€œAnd are you the one who found a lover and ran out on the family?”
    â€œNo,” she said again, this time a little stronger.
    â€œNo, you’re not, Molly. You acted out of love and concern. You are the one who acted responsibly. Don’t beat yourself up.”
    Stitch could hear her short, ragged breathing.
    â€œBob was a big boy. He made some really awful decisions. And they caught up with him,” Stitch said quietly. “You did not make those decisions. He did.