Chapter 16

10:30 PM Saturday: I stood waiting in the light rain outside the warehouse. I had been waiting over a half hour for the lights inside, visible through a dirty little window, to go out. I wanted to surprise Mr. Moore.

I could probably have parked my care on the street, and sat inside and stayed dry, but I wanted to take no chances. Besides, being outside gave me a better view. I had chosen the corner of the empty warehouse directly opposite Moore’s home and furthest from the center of town. The streetlights on the wet pavement looked like mercury beads on an onyx slab. Earlier I had watched the General store on Moore’s side of the street close itself down: it now lay dark and silent. Leaning out I could see the town hall. All its sections were quiet too, except the sheriff’s office. A light had been burning in it all evening.

I started to stretch, when I heard a thump from the warehouse beside me. I knew I hadn’t bumped the building. I was considering wasting a few minutes hunting for a cat to pin it on, when the window went dark.

I took a deep breath. My plan was to wait about fifteen minutes, let him get a start on some sleep before I rudely intruded, but such was not to be.

The door to the warehouse clattered open, obviously as quietly as possible. A thin figure stepped from the doorway, glanced left, then right, and started into the street. I had no doubt. It was Moore. The idea of following him briefly blazed in my mind, but the thought of my question snuffed it out.

What happened next happened so quickly, I can’t be sure of the sequence... but this is my version: I stepped into the street; I called Moore’s name; Moore turned back around toward me, but only got halfway; there was a sound like a very large balloon bursting; Moore crumbled to the street.

At the sound of the shot, I’d dived into shadow. But when no more sounded, I got to my feet and backed into the street toward Moore.

The blood pumping into the street left no doubt about Moore’s condition. I knelt beside him. As my hand touched his neck in search of a pulse, his eyes fluttered open. His face was twisted in pain. "It’s Stack," I said. "Don’t move."

His lips parted, and he spoke, each word drenched in pain. "Go—get—Gas." His hand trembled and it clawed close to mine. I picked it up gently and held it. His grip tightened. "Get—Gas!" he repeated insistently.

"Don’t worry, I’ll get him. Just relax." His hand went limp: he tried to smile, but pain snarled it into a grimace. His eyes closed.

I’m no doctor, but I could see that neither Gas, nor any doctor or hospital in existence would do Moore any good. He was my only hope for a lead, and in a minute the hope would be gone. I reached over and lightly slapped the side of his face. He didn’t respond. I took off my jacket and wrapped it around him as best I could, and slapped him again, a little harder. "David!" I slapped again. "David, talk to me!" Again. His eyes fluttered, but did not open. "David, tell me about Mary Cole’s killer!" His eyes opened slowly: they were glassy. "David, David I need to know something about Mary Cole…" I cut it off when I saw his lips move. I bent near.

"Mary… take care of killer… look… " His whisper faded away. His face contorted worse than ever, and his eyes seemed to focus on something far beyond me. "The second death," he whined, and tears came to his yes. "The second—death." Then his face muscles went slack, and I knew he was dead.

# # #

Before I made it to the sheriff’s office, the door opened, and out stepped Sheriff Gas, buckling a gun belt around his waist. I ran the rest of the way up to him.

"Did you hear a shot?" he asked me before I could speak. I nodded while gasping for air.

"Moore—David Moore--- shot, in the street—I saw it, I think he’s dead." Gas started off in a trot toward where I was pointing. "He was asking for you," I added, and he stopped and turned back.

"For me?" he said, then began to run. I sank down onto the steps outside the building. I knew he’d be back soon enough.