Free The Survivors by Robert Palmer

doctors to write the prescriptions. She said it was the only way she could stop worrying about me.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Scottie.” I motioned for him to sit down. “Really, I am.”
    â€œYeah.” He didn’t sit, but he gave me a sly look. “Jerkwad.”
    We laughed. That was one of his favorite words from way back when. He played with the straps on the backpack. “I only want to talk to Russo. I don’t have any reason to hurt him.”
    â€œWhat do you think he can tell you?”
    â€œYour mom wasn’t working for Braeder anymore. Why was she talking to the company lawyer? I just feel like I’ve got to find out everything I can about that night. Like it’s a puzzle I’ve got to put together. What she was thinking. Why it happened. They talked only an hour before. He’s got to remember. It was on television, in all the papers. People don’t forget something like that.”
    He was getting worked up again, so I was as gentle as I could be. “We don’t forget, Scottie, but the rest of the world moves on.”
    â€œBelieve that if you want. I won’t.”
    â€œI don’t have any answers for you. I doubt anybody else will either.”
    â€œI’ll find that out when I talk to Russo. And if he can’t help there are others, people who worked at Braeder, friends of your parents. I’ve been in touch with a few of them. They can tell me things.” He slipped the backpack over his shoulders. “I need to go. Thanks for dinner.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t go home tonight, Scottie.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI drove by your house earlier, looking for you. The FBI had the place staked out. They’ll take you in if you go back there. You can ask your landlady. She saw them too.”
    â€œArrest me because of a few e-mails?” His voice had gone nasal and whiny.
    â€œThey said they only wanted to talk to you, but I’m not sure I trust them.”
    His eyes were unsettled, the timid Scottie of twenty-five years ago. “I don’t want to talk to them. They’ve got no right to bother me.” He slumped down in his chair.
    â€œYou can stay here tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll work something out. If you have to talk to them, I’ll go with you.” He didn’t look up, but he nodded. “Come on, it’s late. Let’s get some sleep. You can have the guest room.”
    â€œThat little room I saw off the hallway? I’d rather sleep here on the sofa.” He gave a jittery smile. “I almost died in a closet. I don’t do well in small spaces.”
    Add claustrophobia to the list. He was a walking textbook.

    Scottie asked if I had an extra toothbrush and dental floss. He was in the bathroom for a long time. Going through his rituals, I figured. After I got him a blanket and pillow, I checked the lock on the door and turned down the lights.
    He’d left his backpack in the middle of the floor, and I moved it out of the way. It was much heavier than I expected. I might have let it go, but rummaging around in people’s lives is my home territory. I unzipped the front pocket and the barrel of a gun popped out. I was so surprised, I nearly dropped the whole thing.
    I lifted it out, a revolver with a worn grip and battered nickel-plate finish. It was loaded, and the safety was off. I gave a loud curse.
    Behind me, the floor squeaked. Scottie said, “I ride a bicycle in the District. Sometimes I get out of work late. I need the protection.”
    I put the gun away without saying anything. I didn’t mention the tourist map I’d seen in the pocket, folded into a tight square centered on the neighborhood where Eric Russo lived.
    My friend Tim was a lawyer. I’d have to call him in the morning. Any conversation Scottie had with the FBI was going to be a disaster.

EIGHT
    A t first light, I woke and went to the kitchen to make coffee. The French doors