Free Stakeout (2013) by Parnell Hall

me, I’ll go away and you’ll never see me again. If you don’t tell me, I’ll keep coming back and asking until you tell me or you’re dead.”
    “You’d do that?”
    “Of course not. On the other hand, I don’t really wanna take the fall for murder. All right, look. You don’t wanna give me a lead to the mob, give me a lead to someone who can give me a lead to the mob.”
    “It’s the same thing.”
    “Not really. It’s one more degree of separation. It’s the same thing you just said about finding the other guy first. Plus I won’t give your name to the guy you give me, which breaks the chain.”
    Sallingsworth studied my face. “You must be really desperate. What the hell’s going on?”
    I gave Sallingsworth a rundown of what happened. When I was done he shook his head.
    “I don’t know how you ever lasted this long.”
    “I didn’t retire.”
    “That’s where you made your big mistake.”
    “Can you help me?”
    “Nothing’s gonna help you. You best shot is go home, watch TV, pretend this never happened.”
    “You forget I have this court date for murder.”
    “Your attorney any good? Your best shot is beating the rap. Trying to solve the crime will probably get you killed.”
    “Thanks for the encouragement.”
    “My pleasure.”
    “You can’t help me at all?”
    Sallingsworth shook his head. “Wouldn’t be prudent.”
    I sighed, got up. “Well, enjoy your retirement, in case I don’t see you again.”
    Sallingsworth nodded, raised his glass. “Thanks for the scotch.”

20
    A S IF I DIDN ’ T HAVE enough problems, now I had to investigate a homicide without getting an elderly detective from Atlantic City whacked. It was just the sort of moral dilemma I needed to complete my already impossible situation.
    I drove back from Atlantic City feeling mildly irritated that my old friend, Mike Sallingsworth, didn’t really want to die. So who could I ask for advice now? Not Richard. Not MacAullif. Not Alice. All had weighed in with the universally accepted position that I had totally fucked up. I had come to see Sallingsworth because I needed to get a line on the dead man without involving MacAullif. Now I had to get a line on the guy without involving Sallingsworth.
    As I came up on the Elizabeth exit I wondered if the cops were done with his house. The thought intrigued me. Would there be a crime scene ribbon across the door?
    Could it hurt to just drive by?
    I could think of many ways it could hurt to just drive by, starting with MacAullif twisting my head off my shoulders and ending with New Jersey cops gleefully waterboarding me. Neither seemed a desirable outcome, nor did either seem likely. The cops would have no reason to watch the house. It would not occur to them there might be something in it of some value to the killer. Or the man most likely to be cast in the role.
    As I got off the New Jersey Turnpike and drove toward the place, it occurred to me I was risking getting indicted for a second count of murder and all I was concerned with was whether I got a couple of other guys in trouble. I figured that made me one hell of a good guy.
    Or stupid as shit.
    There was a crime scene ribbon over Vinnie’s front door. Aside from that, there was no indication that there had been a crime. There was certainly no police presence, at least that I could see.
    Not that it mattered.
    I wasn’t going in, was I?
    The front door opened and a young woman came out. An absolute knockout in a cheap and flashy way. That was prejudiced on my part, predicated no doubt on Vinnie’s Jersey Shore connection, but there’s cheap and flashy and there’s cheap and flashy. The girl had big boobs, featured in skin-tight spandex in a manner that seemed to imply she spent some money getting big boobs just so she could flaunt them in this fashion. Her blond hair looked like it came out of a bottle. She wore false eyelashes, thick eyeliner, and too much eye shadow. Her bright red lipstick was the only