Free The Gutter and the Grave by Ed McBain

said was true, that maybe Johnny Bridges
had
shot Archese. Maybe those initials on thewall really did point to the killer. In which case everyone but Knowles was lying. Johnny was lying, and Christine was lying, and even Laraine was lying. It didn’t make sense.
    “Did you work on this one personally, Dennis?” I said.
    “No.”
    “Who did?”
    “One of my people. A girl named Fran West.”
    “A girl?”
    “Um-huh. A trick I learned. Put a female tail on a guy and he never tips that he’s being followed. I guess guys are naturally more suspicious of other guys, huh?”
    “I guess so. One question, Dennis.”
    “Shoot. And then get the hell out. I’m busier’n hell.”
    “Have you been telling me the truth?”
    Dennis Knowles smiled crookedly. “Now, Matt,” he said, “would I lie to you?”
    * * *
    I went downstairs past the African mask, past the country girls waiting and anxious to have their pictures taken nude for the cheese magazines, and then past the private gallery on the ground floor, the oils by an unknown Mexican artist decorating the window facing the street. It was only eleven o’clock but the sun had already turned on its wattage and the sidewalks were steaming. It was going to be another scorcher, and the pale blue sky held no promise of rain-relief. I loosened my tie and walked into the museum.
    I don’t like to be puzzled. I think that’s why I became a detective in the first place. Puzzles bother me. I was always good in math in high school, mainly because I refused to become puzzled by the puzzle. I’d fit the pieces together until I got the right answer, and then I’d check the answer, and with mathematics it always worked. Life isn’t quite like math, but if you add two and two, you usually get four. I was adding two and two now and coming up with five. Or seven. Or nine. But never four. I kept trying to figure everyone’s stake in this thing, and the possible reasons for the possible lies. Nobody lies unless he feels he has to. Then why were all these people lying?
    I needed a drink, but I settled for a cup of coffee from the museum’s shop. I went outside to drink it, sitting among the huge statues in the garden. It was very peaceful and relaxing there. Toni and I used to go to the outdoor garden often. If you want serenity in the midst of the busiest city in the world, that’s the place to find it. I found it that Wednesday morning, sipping at my coffee.
    If Dennis Knowles had told me the truth, everyone else was lying—either by commission or omission.
    Johnny had allegedly sought me to help him with some petty cash register pilfering. He’d never once mentioned that he was in love with Christine Archese or that he and she were trying to obtain a divorce from Dom. Nor had he mentioned going to Dennis Knowles for help.
    Christine, when she’d learned of her husband’s death, had carried on like an Indian squaw ready to roll in the ashes. If she truly loved Johnny, if she were truly bucking for divorce, her hysterics had all been an act, a lie. Laraine had told me that Dom hired Knowles to watch his wife Christine. And Knowles had just told me it was Johnny Bridges who’d hired him.
    Unless Knowles was lying…
    This was a possibility. He’d taken the broken nose like a true sport, and I suspected his good fellowship. A man who breaks down doors for a living isn’t exactly the kind of man who’ll easily forget a ruptured proboscis. But at the same time, he’d sounded honest and sincere when he’d professed his respect for me. And I’d known many a louse who, contradictorily, held high ideals and standards in a very personal narrow area of emotion or thought.
    Why the hell
should
he lie to me?
    The nose. All right, maybe he did harbor a grudge over the nose and was enjoying a private revenge by screwing me up with a completely crazy story. That was possible.
    On the other hand, he knew I wasn’t getting paid for my legwork, and the only person who’d suffer from his