Free Back from the Dead by Peter Leonard Page A

this as he drove back to Seabreeze, approaching Lynn Risdon’s house, when he saw police cars parked in front on the street, and a crowd standing behind yellow crime-scene tape strung across the outside perimeter of the property. Someone had discovered the body.
    Hess drove past the house and turned right on South Ocean Boulevard. It occurred to him the police would be looking for Lynn Risdon’s car. He cut over to Worth Avenue and parked the Mustang, got out, walked to a men’s store and bought new clothes, Palm Beach attire: light blue trousers, white belt and matching shoes, orange golf shirt, blue blazer, aviator sunglasses and golf cap. He paid cash and wore the new clothes out of the store. The old clothes were in a bag he dropped into a decorative Palm Beach trash bin on the street.
    He had to get off the island, but first he had to take care of some unfinished business. Hess went to a cafe across the street from Sunset Realty, sat at a table next to the window, sipped iced tea and glanced at the Palm Beach Post. He saw Joyce Cantor walk out of the office at 5:30 p.m., left a $5 bill on the table and followed her.

They had checked out of the motel and gone back to Harry’s place. First he made Colette wait in the car while he walked around the house with the .357, checking every room. Zeller’s clothes were gone, but nothing else was missing except his antique rug the rednecks wrapped Colette in and he knew where that was.
    Now they were in the kitchen having breakfast, scrambled eggs, English muffins and coffee. “Who do you think hired Zeller?” Harry said to Colette.
    “Any number of people. Hess’ wife. His mistress.”
    “I didn’t know he had one.”
    “Her name is Anke Kruger, a former model.” Colette poured herself a cup of coffee and stirred in some cream. “Would you like more?”
    Harry shook his head.
    “Or maybe the Christian Social Union hired him. Hess was well connected, politically important.”
    “Why would they want to find him? He’s an embarrassment to the Christian Social Union, to the whole country. This is the last thing the German government needs, a lunatic former Nazi going around murdering people, with the Olympics coming to Munich next year.” Harry took Hess’ locker key out of his pocket and handed it to Colette. “Remember this? Whatever is in the locker, I think Hess was going to bring it with him but changed his mind.”
    She held the key between her thumb and index finger, looking for a mark, something that would indicate where it came from.
    “Where is the locker, Harry?”
    “Who knows? How did Hess get to Detroit? There isn’t a direct flight from anywhere in Germany, I know that. So he had to make a connection. Find out what airline he flew and where he flew out of, and go to the airport. Find the locker and see if the key fits. I know someone who might be able to help us.” He’d call Bob Stark, his pit-bull attorney, put him on the case.
    “Soon as we’re finished I’m going back out to the farmhouse, get my rug and look around.”
    “What if they’re still there?”
    Harry pulled up in front thirty minutes later, sat for a while, watching the place. No cars or trucks in the driveway. No one around. He’d taken Colette to his niece Franny’s apartment. He pulled in the driveway and parked next to the house. Drew the .357 Mag from a coat pocket, turned the cylinder and put the hammer on a live round.
    He got out of the Mercedes, walked to the barn, opened the door and looked in at a tractor and a huge combine harvester. No sign of a green Ford pickup or Zeller’s Chevy Camaro or a white GMC van that said Acme Carpet Cleaning on the side.
    He walked to the house. The side door was unlocked. Went in the kitchen. There were beer cans on the counter, dirty dishes in the sink, the stale lingering smell of cigarette smoke in the air. He walked through the dining room into the semi-dark living room, shades pulled down over the windows, and saw his