Free The Silent Hour by Michael Koryta

medication; another showed inmates who
participated in a gardening program had improved recidivism rates. Since she
couldn't get the support she wanted, she created the program of her desires on
a very small scale."
        "How
were the parolees chosen—" I asked.
        "The
Cantrells would review their files, their case histories, and then extend the
offer. The offenders were under no obligation to accept, but they always did.
The pay was good. The Cantrells had one stipulation: They'd only take violent
offenders. Preferably murderers."
        "That's
different from the requirements I've had for roommates over the years."
        "Not
a request you see in a lot of personal ads, either."
        "So
how many of these guys did they actually have out there, working for
them—"
        "Four,"
he said. "None of those have shown up back in prison—but one is
dead."
        "How'd
he go—"
        "Mysterious
death," he said. "Not long after leaving the Cantrells' care."
        It
was quiet for a moment, and then I said, "Seems like it was a hit-or-miss
program," and Ken's smile returned.
        "Yes.
Seems like it was. Apparently they were hoping to use the handful they'd worked
with to get a larger program going. Those first four were test subjects, I
guess."
        "Okay.
So you've got twenty-eight violent criminals who worked closely with the couple,
and you've got the daughter of a bloody mob legacy. Not hurting for
suspects."
        "No."
        "So
where did you get with it—"
        He
looked down at his glass. Empty again. We'd gone through a few of them by now.
I'd lost track. Bourbon with a beer back can do that.
        "Absolutely
nowhere, Lincoln. I got nothing. I wanted to pursue it, but the parents didn't
have much money, and they couldn't pay to keep me running back and forth from
Pittsburgh. Originally they hired me because they wanted someone they could
meet with face-to-face, someone local, but I blew through their budget and
didn't turn up a damn thing, and I couldn't justify taking more of their money.
They didn't have much."
        "This
was twelve years ago—"
        "Eleven
years ago, by the time they pulled the plug."
        "So
what the hell are you doing up here now—"
        His
easygoing humor had faded, and he seemed uncomfortable. "You want another
round—"
        "I
want you to answer the question."
        He
was quiet.
        "Who
told you about me—" I said.
        "That's
what you're worried about— It was your buddy Sanabria."
         "He hired you—"
        "Didn't
hire me. I'd crossed paths with him briefly when I got started on this years back,
and apparently he hadn't forgotten my name. Called me last week to ask if you
were working with me or for Cantrell's parents. I told him no way to the former
and no idea to the latter. He seemed dissatisfied with that."
        "I've
seen that reaction from him, yes."
        "So
that was how I got your name, and I was curious, right, because this case
hadn't left my mind over the years, and it really came back to me when Joshua's
body was found. I did a little research on you, saw that you've done some major
work—some serious, serious stuff—and I thought, what the hell, why not drive up
there and make a pitch."
        "I
don't understand the pitch."
        "I
want to work the case, man. With you, ideally. Without you, if you say no.”
        "You've
got no client, Ken. What's the point—"
        He
braced both forearms on the table and leaned closer. "The point is I've
been in this business for fourteen years and never investigated anything that
mattered. You know what I've done, year in and year out— Insurance work and infidelity
cases. That's it."
        "That's
how you pay the bills. Isn't that the goal—"
        "No!
Bullshit it's the goal." He slapped the table and leaned away again.
"You're doing this just to pay the bills— Really— That's why you got into
the