Free Toward Night's End by M.H. Sargent

been telling the truth. Someone had purposely left Porter’s truck at the Kobata house to pin Tom Bollgen’s murder on the Japanese-American. It made sense. There were plenty of people who now hated the Japanese. But the more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that Sally was protecting Matthew Kobata. Then again, why would she protect someone – anyone – that murdered her lover? That didn’t make sense. So maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe Porter’s truck turned up after Matthew had made his getaway.
    But then, what about Cody Carsteen’s murder? The knife he found in Kobata’s boat was clearly part of a set that matched the murder weapon. The only thing he felt sure of was that Kobata had killed Carsteen. But why? He’d like to believe that it was a retribution killing for Tom Bollgen’s death, but Dr. Charlie was adamant that Carsteen was murdered prior to Bollgen. He had already confirmed that the congealed blood found in the back of Porter’s truck was Carsteen’s.
    What a mess, thought Johnstone as he got out of his car and headed to the old apartment building. It had started to rain, and Johnstone had left his umbrella at the office, so he walked very quickly and got inside before getting soaked. He then cursed under his breath. The dilapidated building didn’t have an elevator. That meant climbing four stories. Damn.
    The only good thing was that he was back in Seattle. His own turf. And both bodies were now in Chet Mortenson’s lab where the chief medical examiner would perform the autopsies.
    He reached the fourth floor completely out of breath and cursed again. How had he gotten so out of shape? He took his time looking for apartment 4-B, trying to catch his breath. The hallway was run down, in desperate need of a new coat of paint. When he found the correct apartment, he knocked on the door. It was immediately opened by a middle-aged woman with cheaply dyed blonde hair. She looked irritated.
    “Mrs. Carsteen?” Johnstone asked.
    She just glared at him. “Cody will pay the rent, okay?”
    “I’m not here about the rent, Mrs. Carsteen.” Johnstone showed her his badge. “Seattle police, ma’am.”
    She just looked more irritated now, if that was possible. With a heavy sigh, she asked, “I don’t know anything about it.”
    “Pardon me?”
    “You’re here about the fight, right?”
    “What fight?” Johnstone inquired.
    “Last week? He got in some fight at a bar on Third. You guys were called.”
    That was interesting, thought Johnstone. Hopefully there would be a police report. “Who was the fight between?”
    “How would I know?” she retorted in disgust.
    “May I come in?”
    “He’s not here, okay?” she replied, not budging an inch. “He’s on base.”
    This surprised Johnstone. “What base?”
    “Navy?” She said, in a questioning tone. She could see his surprised look, so she added, “He’s in the Navy.”
    “I see,” Johnstone said. But in truth, he didn’t. The man’s only identification was a driver’s license and some personal checks. Both with the Fourth Street address, apartment 4-B. There was no Navy identification.
    “So, you can find him there, okay?”
    “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Carsteen.”
    “I’m not Mrs., okay?” clearly annoyed again. “I’m a friend. That’s it.”
    “I’m sorry, I just presumed—”
    She waved him off. “It’s okay. But go to the base, okay?” She started to shut the door and Johnstone blocked it with his hand.
    “He’s dead, ma’am,” Johnstone said. “He died a couple days ago. On Bainbridge Island.”
    She just stared at him. Finally, she asked, “Someone kill him?”
    “Why do you say that?”
    She shrugged. “I dunno. He got in that fight last week, you know?”
    Johnstone waited for her to continue, but she didn’t elaborate. His gut told him that she was holding back. But he took another tack. “Does he have family, ma’am?”
    “Not that I ever knew about. But you could