Free F Is for Fugitive by Sue Grafton Page A

do?"
    "She's a nurse's aide up at Community Hospital on the orthopedic ward, night shift. She'll work eleven to seven. Then she gets home and I take off, drop the kids at school, and swing back around to the station. We got a babysitter for the little guy. I don't know quite what we'll do when the new one comes along."
    "You'll figure something out," I said.
    "I guess," he said. He flopped the wallet shut and tucked it back in his pocket.
    I bought a round of beers and then he bought one. I felt guilty about getting the poor man sloshed, but I had another question or two for him and I wanted his inhibitions out of the way. Meanwhile, the population in the bar was thinning down from ten to maybe six. I noticed, with regret, that Shana Timberlake had left. The jukebox had been fixed and the volume of the music was just loud enough to guarantee privacy without being so obtrusive we'd be forced to shout. I was relaxed, but not as loose as I allowed Tap to think. I gave his arm a bump.
    "Tell me something," I said soddenly. "I'm just curious."
    "What's that?"
    "How much money did you and this Bailey fellow net?"
    "Net?"
    "In round numbers. About how much you make? I'm just asking. You don't have to say."
    "We paid restitution on two thousand some-odd dollar."
    "Two thousand? Bull. You made more than that," I said.
    Tap flushed with pleasure. "You think so?"
    "Even bumpin' off gas stations, you made more, I bet."
    "That's all I ever saw," he said.
    "That's all they caught you for," I said, correcting him.
    "That's all I put in my pocket. And that's the honest truth."
    "But how much else? How much altogether?"
    Tap studied up on that one, extending his chin, pulling at his lip in a parody of deep thought. "In the neighborhood, I would say, of... would you believe, forty-two thousand six hundred and six."
    "Who got that? Bailey got that?"
    "Oh, it's gone now. He never did see a dime of it neither, as far as I know."
    "Where'd it come from?"
    "Couple little jobs we pulled they never found out about."
    I laughed with delight. "Well, you old devil, you," I said, and gave his arm another push. "Where'd it go?"
    "Beats me."
    I laughed again and he got tickled, too. Somehow, it seemed like the funniest thing either of us ever heard. After half a minute, the laughter trickled out and Tap shook his head.
    "Whoo, that's good," he said. "I haven't laughed like that since I don't know when."
    "You think Bailey killed that little girl?"
    "Don't know," he said, "but I will tell you this. When we went off to jail? We give the money to Jean Timberlake to hold. He got out and next thing I know, she's dead and he says he don't know where the money's at. It was long gone."
    "Why didn't you get it when the two of you got out?"
    "Ah, no. Huh-unh. The cops prob'ly had their eye on us, waitin' to see if we'd make a move. Goddamn. Everybody figured he killed her for sure. Me, I don't know. Doesn't seem like him. Then again, she might of spent all the money and he choked her in a fit."
    "Naw. I don't believe that. I thought Pearl said she was knocked up."
    "Well, she was, but Bailey wouldn't kill her for that. What's the point? The money's all we cared about, and why in hell not? We done jail time. We paid. We get out and we're too smart to start throwin' cash around. We laid low. After she died, Bailey told me she was the only one knew for sure where it was and she never told. He didn't want to know in case he ever had to take a lie detector test. Gone for good by now. Or maybe it's still hid, only nobody knows where."
    "Maybe he has it after all. Maybe that's what he's lived on the whole time he's been gone."
    "I don't know. I doubt it, but I'd sure like to have me a little talk with him."
    "What do you think, though? Honestly."
    "The honest truth?" he said, fixing me with a look. He leaned closer, winking. "I think I gotta go see a man about a dog. Don't go "way now." He eased off the stool. He turned and pointed a finger at me solemnly like a gun. I