Judge Prescott is removing his tan raincoat when Dorothy opens the door for me. From his frosty expression, I can tell he isn’t pleased to see me. He doesn’t understand my urgency; Paddy isn’t going anywhere, he assures me. The judge thinks I’m completely insensitive to add this to Paddy’s grief right now.
“The cemetery workers haven’t even covered her casket, Hank.”
“Judge, Paddy doesn’t need to grieve. He needs to be arrested. He can grieve while he’s doing time.”
Judge Prescott frowns, hands Dorothy his raincoat, and motions me into his study. He turns to me, sees my hand extending with the warrant. The judge frowns, then grabs the warrant from me. He studies my request and shakes his head, then removes a Mont Blanc from his pocket and scribbles his signature across the bottom of the warrant, his hand trembling. Then he thrusts it back at me as though it were a death sentence.
I thank him and charge for the door.
“You tell Paddy I didn’t want to do this,” he calls out after me.
The warrant is barely dry from the judge’s pen when I reach Salty’s. At least Paddy had the decency to honor his wife’s death by not opening the bar, though I’m told the difference between an Irish funeral and wedding is one less person. Perhaps Paddy hadn’t heard that one.
In any event, the bar is dark but the door is open, so I slip inside and find my favorite bartender holding a Guinness in his hand. Paddy hoists the bottle as I approach him. “To Sheryl.” He then removes a cold one from behind the bar and watches me as he removes the cap. “It’s safe,” he says, setting it down.
I don’t drink on the job, but I make an exception this time, take the bottle, and lift it in his direction. “To Sheryl. Maybe she’s in a better place.”
He blinks hard, takes a slug. “Anywhere is better than here, Hank.”
“You got that right, Paddy.”
“You’ve got your own demons, I’m sure,” he says. His eyes weigh heavily on mine, waiting for my reaction. He doesn’t get one.
“Hunter ruined this town. You, me, Sheryl, Susan.”
He’s taunting me, but I don’t take the bait.
“I thought Hunter was screwing only my wife,” he says with a sense of calmness. “Guess I was wrong. To Susan,” he says without malice. “But I guess you already knew that.”
I still don’t fly into his web.
“Am I talking out of turn?” he asks. “Or are you and Susan separating ’cause of political differences?” He takes a quick gulp, wipes his mouth with his hand.
“You tell me. You seem to know more about my life than I do.”
He offers a tight smile. “Fact is, Hunter and Susan were going at it after he had his fill of Sheryl.”
I stiffen. No matter how many times I hear it, my reaction is the same.
“Guess you didn’t know,” he says. “That Hunter was quite a guy.”
“Who told you this?” I demand.
“About Susan? Hell, Hunter was doing half the town. Women, that is.” He smirks.
“Then how come that rumor never circulated around the stationhouse?”
Paddy downs his beer, places it on the bar. “Easy. Hunter was discreet. At least I’ll give him that much. Otherwise, he would have had a bunch of angry husbands after his ass.”
“Like you?”
“Or you, Hank.” He opens another Guinness, takes a long belt. “It certainly wasn’t Peter Hopkins,” Paddy says, deadpan. “My guess is that Hunter killed himself before any of us had a chance.”
I snort. “You’d like me to believe that, wouldn’t you?”
He hunches his shoulders. “Hey, it’s your investigation. You wanna waste everyone’s time, go ahead.” He pauses, shows some teeth. “Although I’m told they’re thinking about holding elections for your job. You might want to hurry up and find your killer.”
I point the long neck bottle in Paddy’s direction. “I already have.”
His eyes lock on mine. “Prove it!”
“I intend to. And if you think once Wayne takes over my job, the investigation is dead, you’re wrong. I’ve got connections with the county. I worked homicide, remember? All I have to do is pick up the phone and tell a sympathetic ear the investigation is being stymied.” I wink. “You’ll have detectives living in your pants.”
Paddy doesn’t reply. He’s probably wondering if I’m blowing smoke up his ass. “To the investigation,” I say and treat myself to the rest of the Guinness.
“Yeah, well they might just go after you as well. You’re as much a cuckold as I am.”
My calm expression belies the anger inside me. “Since you seem to know what went on, why don’t you tell me about Susan and Hunter?”
Paddy stares down at his beer. “I found some love letters in Sheryl’s closet.” He glances over at me. “They belonged to Susan. When I confronted Sheryl about them, she told me that Hunter and Susan were having an affair. She begged me not to tell you.” Paddy shrugs. “I would have kept the promise if you hadn’t pressed me.”
My eyes hold steady on Paddy.
“You look like you can use another drink.”
I nod as Paddy scoops another beer from the ice chest under the bar. He removes the cap and hands me the beer. “You see, Hank, either of us could have killed the bastard. We both had motive.”
“Like I said, I didn’t know about it at the time.”
Paddy shrugs. “That’s what you say now.”
I don’t believe for a moment that Sheryl told Paddy anything. Yet Paddy knows about Hunter and Susan.
He picks up on my silence. “I think about it all the time, too, Hank. Makes me crazy.”
“Enough to kill her,” I accuse.
“You’re wrong, and you’ll never prove it.”
I take one long gulp from my Guinness, remove the warrant from my jacket pocket, slap it on the bar, then place my half-empty bottle on top. “Let’s find out.”
Paddy tugs at the warrant, knocking over the bottle and sending beer streaming down the bar. “You fuck! You couldn’t wait.”
I point a finger at him. “The sooner I get you, the better.”
“Go ahead, search the bar! You’re not gonna find anything. I promise.”
Paddy’s remark makes me uneasy. “I’ll start inside.” I leave Paddy, storm into his office, and flip on the light. This, too, is unsettling, since the light was on when I rifled through his desk yesterday. I hadn’t turned it off.
Rather than waste anyone’s time, I go directly to his desk, remove a pair of elastic gloves from my jacket pocket, and fit them over my hands. I force the drawer open like I had yesterday and find the envelopes where I left them. I then help myself to a slight grin.
I search for the can of strychnine, but it’s missing. I get on my hands and knees and reach inside the drawer, but the poison is gone.
The letters will have to do. I slide myself into a chair, open the top letter, and begin reading. I stop, drop the first letter on the desk, and search the next one. These aren’t the love letters I found yesterday. These are typed. And they don’t belong to Sheryl. And the joint suicide note is missing!
“Is that what you were after, Hank?”
My head shoots up. Paddy is leaning against the door, beer in hand. He’s savoring a big smile, the grieving husband.
“You bastard!” I leap over the desk and fall short of him, pick myself up, and grab him by the throat, swearing, threatening. Paddy’s face is turning blue, his hands are on mine, but my grip is too powerful. He’s trying to say something, but my hands are clamped around his neck and squeezing. Every part of me is burning inside; my head is pounding. I want to kill someone for the hell I’ve been through, and Paddy is gonna be the one.
Someone is shouting behind me, but I can’t stop; I’m blinded by rage. My hands won’t let go of the killer.
“Murderer!” I scream.
Wayne’s arms are locked in mine as he pulls me off Paddy, who drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He’s gasping for air, then vomits on his leg.
“You’re crazy, Hank!” Paddy forces out. “He tried to kill me, like he did the others.”
I’m sitting on the floor next to Paddy, my head spinning. My world is coming to an end. I feel the butt of my .38 inside my jacket and for a split second, I’m thinking of blowing everyone away.
Wayne is attending to Paddy, helping him off the floor.
“Crazy,” Paddy growls, holding his throat. “It’s a good thing I called the stationhouse.”
I gaze over at my deputy, then back to Paddy.
“He already threatened me once.” Paddy shoots a look over at Wayne for approval.
Wayne dismisses Paddy’s comments and turns to me. “What happened, Hank?”
How do I explain what I’ve been feeling these past few weeks?
“I oughta sue you for this. I just buried my wife,” Paddy moans, holding his throat. “You got what you wanted. Now leave me alone.”
“What’s he talking about, Hank?”
I ignore Wayne. “I’m gonna get you, with or without the evidence you destroyed.”
“Yeah, well maybe you oughta check with your office. I had a break-in yesterday, or didn’t you know? That’s the guy you need to go after.”
I wipe Paddy’s sweat and grime on my pants, then pull myself off the floor. The bastard knows I’ve already been here.