When he got out of the limousine Brightwater asked him if he was going to keep the case and find Al’s killer. Harry simply mumbled he had to think about it, and shut the door.
Buteski was right. Leave it to the police. He would call him later, and tell Buteski about Jennifer and Brightwater.
Maybe then, the bad dream would go away, and he could go back to chasing lost cats.
Like all good private detectives, he sometimes slept at his office, having a sofa that doubled as a bed. One more comfortable, he thought, than the bed at home.
He used his night pass to get into the building and walked slowly up the back stairs, water dripping from his clothes, leaving a trail of water on the carpet.
It took only a moment to unlock the door and go in. He hesitated to turn on the harsh neon light, and instead switched on the table lamp, letting it cast an eerie glow over the office.
Then, looking in the direction of the sofa he noticed someone had beaten him to it. Dressed in red. A woman.
She rolled over, opened her eyes and looked at him. "You took your time, didn't you?"
First the shock of seeing her, second considering how she got into the building let alone his office. Security was supposed to be state of the art.
“Just who the hell are you?” Harry was in no mood for anything and resisted his first urge to throw her out. He would get some answers first.
“I’ve told you already.”
“And I don’t believe you. The cops told me you’re dead. Your mother confirmed it; said your father has something to do with it.”
Her expression changed, but just a little. To Harry, it was an indication she might be lying. “He did.”
© Charles Heath 2016-2019
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