Free The Anatomy of Violence by Charles Runyon

adorned his upper lip. “You?” He drew in his chin, pushing out a roll of fat below it. “We don’t have Farham.”
    “Then let me look in that room.” I moved down the counter and fumbled for the latch on the gate.
    Koch closed the door until only his good eye glared through at me. “Get her out of here, Johnson.” The door clicked shut.
    I found the lock and opened the gate, but the sergeant came through, pushing me gently backwards. “Little lady,” he said in a fatherly tone, “go home. You got enough trouble without taking on Koch.”
    I stiffened. “I know Richard’s here some place. Captain Riemann saw him brought in.”
    The sergeant scratched his chin and smiled. “Riemann saw him? Last week old Riemann saw a mess of spiders crawling out of his telephone. Yelled they were coming through the cable. That’s why he’s in a sanitarium right now.”
    “Where?”
    “Didn’t say.” He took my elbow. “You better go home now, little lady. I’ll take you.”
    I jerked loose and walked out. I couldn’t make a scene with daddy there. And I wasn’t sure now that Riemann’s story hadn’t come out of his bottle.
    I climbed into the car. “To the
Clarion.”
    The
Clarion
city room looked like a disaster area waiting for the Red Cross. Yellow copy paper and smudged page proofs littered the floor. At a desk sat a boy reading a comic book.
    He was in charge, he said, until the night man arrived. Yes, he knew Richard. A nice guy when he wanted to be—but he wasn’t with them any more. He showed me the mark through Richard’s name on the assignment sheet. No, there’d been no cops around looking for him.
    Back in the car, I directed Jules to the tourist camp and Rich’s peeling red trailer. The door was unlocked. As I opened it, his retriever, Goldie, met me. She was vibrating all over. I saw his card table lying on its side in front of a stuffed seat piled with books. Papers lay on the floor beside an overturned portable typewriter.
    Goldie was standing over her bowl beside the sink making little whining sounds. I emptied a can of dog food into it and filled another pan with water. Rich had left unwillingly, otherwise he’d have provided for Goldie.
    I set the card table on its feet and picked up the typewriter. A sheet of paper was in it:
    Dear Laurie,
    Decided no point hanging around this town with you leaving. Called the old man out of the sack and quit my job. He yelled, “Dammit, Farham, do you realize it’s four in the morning?” Then slammed down the phone. I hate those sloppy, sentimental farewells. Might head for New York if this overgrown orange crate holds together that far. I was kidding about the drama-critic caper but maybe we’ll see each other. Sorry about the lousy evening but I guess
    That was all. For some reason, his apology about the lousy evening made me want to cry. I folded the letter, stuck it in my purse, and returned to the car. If the police weren’t looking for Rich, it must mean they already knew where he was. But where did that leave me?
    “I don’t mind watching you chew off your lipstick,” said Jules. “But you could do it as well en route. What’s the next stop?”
    Jules might be able to influence Koch, I thought, but I wasn’t quite ready to put myself in his hands. “Could we go out of town, Jules?”
    “That,” he said, pulling out of the court, “was my original idea.”
    A minute later we were rolling past the fast, rock-walled graveyard. I looked for Eileen’s grave, but the little flat stone was lost among acres of spires and granite blocks.
    “Time to choose,” said Jules. “I can offer a speedboat on the lake, a quiet, secluded drink at the State Line Club, or an equally secluded picnic.”
    “Here.” I opened the purse and showed him the gun lying along with my lipstick, tissues and coin purse. “I want to practice.”
    “Oh.” His eyes clouded a moment, then he grinned and the car shot forward. “I know a place.”
    I leaned back,