Chapter 29

 

Ron lay sprawled out on the kitchen floor, a white gauze square near his face. Apparently, Michael had planned to drug us and take us somewhere else for the kill. This neighborhood was far too quiet to get away with firing two gunshots. I reached for light switches. He was out, but breathing. I stepped over Michael, and went to the front door to let Rusty in. His neck fur bristled when he saw Michael on the floor. He hovered at attention over the inert form.

"Good boy," I told him. "Stay that way."

He sniffed Michael's face, and growled. A large red welt was rising behind Michael's ear, but I didn't see any blood. I left Rusty on guard while I went across the street to use a neighbor's phone.

I heard sirens just about the time Ron was beginning to rouse. Cold paper towels against his face were starting to work some magic on him. By the time Kent Taylor walked into the building, Ron was sitting up, his back against the cabinets. Michael, too, was awake but groggy. Rusty kept him from moving, though.

Kent's analytical stare took in the broken glass and the two barely conscious men.

"This your work?" he asked, looking at me.

I didn't feel much like conversation.

 

 

Two days later I was back at my desk trying to get some paperwork caught up. I had treated myself to a day of sleep, but I'm not one who can lie around too long. Our phones, now repaired, seemed to be making up for lost time. Sally had been busy all morning fielding the calls. The story of Michael's arrest for the murder of his cousin had made the lower section of the front page, and had been featured on two of the three local TV newscasts.

Sharon Ortega and Kent Taylor managed to show up in my office at the same time. I introduced them. After a few congratulatory words, Kent stepped across the hall to look in on Ron.

Sharon handed me an envelope. "I knew you wouldn't write one of these for yourself," she said.

Inside was a check for three more days investigative work.

"Your checking account balance didn't exactly allow for extras," I told her. "Are you sure you can afford this?"

"My insurance check came through." She smiled faintly. "It was a terrible price to pay, though, and if I could go back three weeks in time, I would."

Losing her partner had been tough, I realized. And it might not be over for her yet. I had a feeling that IRS man was going to have some questions for her.

"Wait here a minute," I said. I went into Ron's office and pulled the file I'd stolen from Ben Murray.

"You may be needing this," I said to Sharon as I handed it to her.

She looked puzzled.

"Never mind interpreting it. Just hang on to it for awhile. Consider it another insurance policy. And, in the meantime, get yourself a good accountant."