Free Harmless by Ernie Lindsey Page B

where he’ll
propose and be rejected.  Those guys are coming back from a weekend golf
outing.  It’s the same thing.
    Call it manipulation if
you must (you shouldn’t), but I felt that these facts about Thomas might come
in handy one day.  I’ve experienced some psychic tendencies before, but I never
would’ve thought that I’d have to bring up his flaws during the course of a
murder investigation.  My objective was to use it as a way to get him to pick
up a bar tab or pay for a round of golf.  How does the death of an officer
compare to picking up a check, you ask?  Well, if you need to ask, you
haven’t been paying attention.
    ***
    Thomas seethed.  Was it
undue?  Yes, from my standpoint.  “That has nothing to do with this.”
    “I think it absolutely
does.”
    “How?  Explain to me
how Carter dying has anything—and I mean anything —to do with you.”
    “I’m under fire here. 
I need help, and this is your chance at redemption.”
    “You son of a bitch. 
Don’t you dare.  I’ve paid for that already.  Leave it alone.”
    I could see his armor
weakening, but it wasn’t quite enough.  I stood up.  “You can choose not to
believe me—you have that right—and I get how complicated this must be for you…
I said the same thing to Shayna when she didn’t want to let me inside my own
house.  Schott and Berger, those guys are going to mess this up, big time, and
I’m trusting you because that thing with Carter was a one-time fluke.  You’re
better than that, and I’m asking a better man for help.  Don’t let something
like the law get in the way of good judgment.  I loved Kerry, and she loved
me—honest to God, she did—and this needs to be made right.  Not by them.  By
me, by us.  Can you do that for me?  Just this one time, ignore whatever oath
you took and help a guy out.”
    He paced down the porch
and back.
    Then I offered
something that he couldn’t resist.  It pained me but sometimes you have to give
to get.  (Like the old saying, “If you love something, set it free,” and blah
blah blah .)  I said, “Help me and I promise—with the rock-solid word of a
Pendragon—I promise that you’ll never have to see me or hear from me again.”
    He stopped so suddenly,
I heard his shoes squeak.  “Is that legit?”
    You could probably
describe what I did next as “hemming and hawing” and then eventually, I said,
“Yes.”
    “If I help you, we’re
done for good?”
    “On my honor.”
    “That’s not saying
much.  Jesus—okay.”
    “Okay…as in, okay
you’ll help?”
    “If it means I never
have to see you again…yeah.”
    I can’t say that it
didn’t hurt.  I mean, how would you feel if someone so willingly tossed away a
friendship?  And the look he gave me—I can only describe it as the same look
you give a short-legged dog after it makes several attempts to hop up on the
couch and you eventually relent and help the pathetic bastard up.
    That was it.  I’d
reduced myself to nothing more than a Dachshund with poor vertical leap.
    “Good.  Thank you.”
    “Don’t thank me yet. 
I’m still on the fence.”
    “But you said—”
    “Forget it.  Just tell
me exactly what happened and what you found.  Every single detail you can think
of.”
    I don’t need to
reiterate all the details here because you already know what happened and what
I saw and what I found.  I’ll spare you the repetition—you’re busy, I know how
it is. 
    I really should mention,
however, that I left out the part about the diary.  I did feel a slight twinge
of guilt about that, but I wanted to save it for myself.  I needed to look it
over in a private moment so I could have one last piece of Kerry, one last
moment with just the two of us.
    And really, you can’t
look at it like it was an invasion of privacy.  She would’ve wanted it that
way.  She would’ve wanted me to use it for clues.  I know it, you know it.
    We’ll get to the
contents later, though I will