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.The killer had apparently dropped a Dallas Lights cigarette when leaving Bradley’s home.He had also dropped or discarded a Dallas Lights pack near the scene of Casey’s death.Shelby Williams’ story had checked out, eliminating him as a suspect.We now knew that Stone Hedrick was aware of the hidden papers, that he detested Arthur Liggett.And it was beginning to look like he had knowledge of what the papers contained.As I thought about Hedrick’s involvement, I recalled my discussion with Camilla Rottman Friday night.I had mentioned a case where a man was killed because he had something somebody else wanted.She had picked up on our comment the day before about going to the police regarding a murder.And as we were leaving, Jill told about our plans to attend Pierce Bradley’s funeral.Jill didn’t mention the name, but Camilla would have known the identity of the reference.She no doubt tied it to the case we were working.Which led to the question of Camilla’s involvement.Immersed as I was in my mental ramblings and lulled by the heat, I sat up, startled, when Jill opened the passenger side door and slid onto the seat.I glanced at my watch.She had been inside for almost half an hour.“You must have made some headway,” I said.“You’ve got that chessy cat grin.”“You want to know who Kayjay is?”“I believe that’s why we came here.”“Okay, Mr.Smarty Pants, it’s Kirk J.Rottman.”“Camilla’s son,” I blurted.Jill gave me a knowing look.“I notice you said Camilla’s, not Roger’s.”“She’s the one who seemed to be more concerned about him.”“Well, he’s the maintenance supervisor at the plant.He was Casey Olson’s boss.”I got a sudden feeling of apprehension.“You didn’t talk to him, did you?”“No.They said he wasn’t working today.Incidentally, several people from Samran plan to be at Casey’s funeral tomorrow.”How close was Kirk Rottman to Casey? I wondered.How much had they shared about each other’s lives? I decided Mickey Evans might be the key to answering those questions.I also wondered what Kelli had pumped out of her.I started the car.“Let’s pay a call on your young friend Mickey.I have several more questions that she might be able to answer, now that we have a better idea of what we’re looking for.”The grin returned.“Okay, dear.You’re going back into Trousdale County.Just remember to stay out of Sheriff Driscoll’s way.”I intended to.“Why don’t you get on your phone and find an address for Kirk.He could be in either Lafayette or Hartsville.”As we drove along, Jill got busy on the phone while I kept one eye on the road and one on the huge cloud formation with its anvil-shaped, flattened top.My pilot confidant had taught me this was a fellow you should avoid.However, it appeared to be moving on a track that would soon intersect with ours.By the time we reached Highway 25 on the outskirts of Hartsville, I had to switch on my headlights.The clock on the dash glowed 3:00 p.m.but the sky looked more like eight or nine at night.Huge raindrops soon began to pelt the windshield, almost with the force of hailstones.“You’d better take it easy, Greg,” Jill said.“This looks like it could be a doozy of a storm.”I slowed to 25 as we entered the town and took the cutoff that would become Main Street.We passed few cars as the rain battered down in torrents, creating impromptu streams along the roadside.Streaks of lightning burned jagged holes in the darkened sky, and thunder rumbled like a series of explosive eruptions that shook the earth.Wind gusts made bushes along the street sway like dancers in a bizarre choreographed routine.We finally made it up the hill to Mickey Evans’ house, where I was relieved to see her small Ford in the driveway.I knew we should have called or checked the restaurant first, but I didn’t relish the thought of making more than one trip out in this deluge.Ruts in the driveway had already become mini-ponds.“Want to try the umbrellas?” I asked.The small collapsible jobs were stashed behind the front seat.“This wind would blow them apart.We might as well run for it.”I jumped out and made a dash for the porch, not in my best form with the weight of the ankle holster.Jill came behind me.She huddled close to the wall in an attempt to avoid the gusty sheets of rain.The screen stood open, blown back against the wall, it’s spring hanging down, stretched out of shape.I pounded on the door loud enough to wake the dead.No answer.“Maybe she’s in the back and can’t hear with all the racket this storm is making,” Jill said.“Try the door.”I turned the knob and pushed.The door opened.I tugged at Jill’s arm.“Get in there before you drown.”I followed her inside and closed the door.Apparently the storm had knocked out the electricity as no lights showed anywhere.With the shades drawn, I could barely see.“What’s that smell?” Jill asked.I didn’t answer.The odor had assaulted my nostrils as soon as the door closed.It was a smell you never forgot, once you’d experienced it.Shifting my eyes about the room ahead, I stepped back with one leg, went into a half-crouch, and pulled the Glock from its holster at the other ankle.I detected no movement [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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