Free Paint It Black by P.J. Parrish

the end of the day, he had done something right. He missed all of it, despite everything that had happened in Michigan.
    â€œThought you were long gone.”
    Louis hadn’t heard Wainwright come out the door. “Evening, Dan.”
    â€œYou look like you were a hundred miles away.”
    â€œYeah.” Louis rose and took a deep breath. “I think you did the right thing droppping the charges against Roberta Tatum.”
    â€œYou’re probably right,” Wainwright. “But I still got some concerns about the brother. I think it’s possible Levon got pissed enough at Walter to kill him, and maybe that pushed him off the deep end and he took it out on Anthony Quick, too.”
    â€œMaybe,” Louis said. “Roberta told me something interesting. Walter Tatum threw Levon out once for stealing from the store.”
    â€œLevon did some jail time here and there for assault and he got into some court-ordered drug rehab program. I didn’t know about the stealing though. It adds to motive.”
    â€œIt still doesn’t explain why Levon would kill Quick. He was a stranger,” Louis said.
    â€œDrugs can mess up your head,” Wainwright said.
    Wainwright was staring off down the street, his brows furrowed. “Roberta put up a reward,” he said finally.
    â€œShe told me,” Louis said.
    â€œDo you know what that’ll do? The screwballs are going to come out of the woodwork now. People would turn in their mother if they thought they’d get some bucks out of it. Not to mention the reporters and PI’s. Goddamn amateurs.”
    Wainwright looked quickly at Louis. “Didn’t mean you, Kincaid. You’re not a real PI anyway.”
    Louis forced a smile. He guessed that was a compliment.
    Wainwright cleared his throat. “So, when you heading back to Michigan?”
    â€œSoon,” Louis said.
    â€œI guess that means you didn’t send away for that PI license application then.”
    Louis shook his head. He knew it was time to say his good-byes and walk away, but he didn’t.
    Wainwright leaned against the railing, looking out at the parking lot. Across the street, some people were coming out of the Lazy Flamingo, laughing as they piled into a car.
    â€œWhoever it is, I don’t think he’s finished,” Wainwright said.
    Louis nodded. “I had the same feeling.”
    Wainwright looked at him. “You ever work a case like this before?”
    Louis shook his head. The car peeled out of the Flamingo’s lot, trailing laughter in the warm night air.
    â€œYou don’t realize at first what it can do,” Wainwright said. “You’re working, trying to catch the fucker, doing your job, and you don’t even notice what it’s doing to you. It gets inside you until one day you realize looking at stiffs isn’t any harder than cleaning up cat shit.”
    Louis stared at him. Ask me to stay.
    The moment lengthened. “I better get going,” Louis said finally.
    â€œYou wanna go across the street and get a beer?” Wainwright asked.
    â€œMargaret locks up at ten. I’d better go.”
    Wainwright nodded and started up the steps. Louis turned to the parking lot.
    â€œHey, Kincaid. Have a nice flight,” Wainwright said.

Chapter Ten
    Wainwright sifted slowly through the autopsy photos. Tatum’s battered face. Quick’s bloated body. Two men. Two strong, healthy men without enemies. Men from different states and different professions. And nothing to link them but the color of their skin.
    Across from him, Officer Greg Candy craned his neck to look at them. Wainwright noticed Candy made no move to turn them around for a better viewing.
    â€œThe doc call yet with his final report?”
    â€œNo, sir,” Candy said. “You want me to try him again?”
    Before Wainwright could answer, there was a knock. Wainwright hollered, “Come in” and a man entered. He wore a