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Kevin forced himself to smile. “Yes, I know.”
He’d been a good detective but in truth sometimes the answers
came down to luck. New evidence surfacing, an unknown witness
stepping forward, a street camera catching a license plate. In this
case the lead came from a woman in black named Karen Feldman,
who crossed the street on a morning he’d been drinking and told
him about her dead sister.
Even though his head still ached, he poured the vodka down the
drain and thought about Erin and the Feldmans. Erin knew them
and visited them, even though she’d never mentioned going to
their house. He’d called her and dropped by unexpectedly and
she’d always been home, but somehow, he’d never found out.
She’d never told him and when he’d complained that they were
bad neighbors, she’d never said a word.
Erin had a secret.
His mind was clearer than it had been in a long time and he got in
the shower and washed and put on a black suit. He made a hamand-turkey
sandwich with Dijon mustard and ate it, then made
another and ate it as well. The street was filled with cars and he
watched people walking in and out of the house. Karen came
outside and smoked another cigarette. While he waited, he tucked
a small pad of paper and a pen in his pocket.
In the afternoon, people started filing toward their cars. He heard
the engines start up and one by one they began to pull away. It
was past one o’clock and they were going to the service. It took
fifteen minutes for everyone to leave and he saw Larry Feldman
being helped to the car by Karen. Karen got in the driver’s seat
and drove off, and finally there were no more cars on the street or
in the driveway.
He waited ten more minutes, making sure everyone had left
before finally walking out his front door. He crossed his lawn and
paused at the street and headed for the Feldmans’ house. He