Chapter 1

Captain Mike Williams, a criminal investigator for the Phoenix Police Department, pulled in behind a squad car in front of one of the units of the Bel-Plaines Motel on East Washington Street. There were about a dozen units in the compound, several facing the street, and the rest around a corner, well away from the sound of traffic. There were better motels on East Washington, but the Bel-Plaines was popular for certain purposes because it was out of the way and was not too expensive (seven dollars a night for two, which is cheap in Phoenix).

The captain walked along the gravel drive, around a corner, toward a small crowd of people who were clustered about one of the far-end units. He shivered as a cool breeze sent a blanket of dampness over the air from the irrigation canal beyond the buildings. Daylight was breaking through a grey mist that was cold and uncomfortable. As he walked he felt the dizziness that comes from too much coffee and not enough sleep.

He pushed through the crowd and stepped onto the small wooden stoop in front of one of the cabins. He pushed open the door, then shut it behind him. He looked at the officer who stood at the door, then looked at Bernie Evans.

He moved across the room to the single bed and looked down at the body that lay on it. It appeared to be a man sleeping soundly, except that the eye cavities were filled with blood that had oozed from a small puncture between the brows.

"Right between the eyes," the captain said, "Just like in the storybook."

Discoloration had already begun and the flesh around the eyes was almost black. The body had begun to swell because of gases escaping inside the frame, making the man look even bigger than he had been when alive.

Captain Williams glanced around the room. There were several whiskey bottles on the table beside the bed. One of them was empty, the other partly empty. There was still some liquor in a glass beside the bottles. On the floor beside the bed lay a wallet. The captain bent down and looked at it, not touching it. His eyes moved up to the large hand that dangled over the side of the bed. The fist was clenched and sticking out of it he could see the corner of a ten-dollar bill.

The captain finally turned to Bernie Evans.

"What happened here?" he said.

"I killed him," Bernie said. He was sitting in a chair near the door, his hands folded in front of him. His face was pale and his eyes were frightened, though he looked steadily at the captain.

Captain Williams moved to the officer who was standing in front of the door. He squinted at the man, weighing him, and the officer frowned uncomfortably.

"You must be Patowski," Williams said finally, glancing into his notebook.

"Yes, sir," the younger man said.

"Well, Mr. Patowski," the captain said, and he pointed at Bernie. "Did you hear what that boy just said?"

"Yes, sir," the officer said.

"Good. You remember it." He grunted and the officer nodded. "And I want you to take down everything we're going to say. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have a notebook?"

The officer nodded and produced a notebook from the blouse pocket of his uniform. The captain moved to Bernie again. He studied Bernie's face while Bernie stared down at his hands.

"You killed him, huh?"

"Yes."

"I see." The captain glanced at a .22-calibre rifle that was lying on the small bureau. "Where did you get the gun?" he said.

"It's mine," Bernie said. "I brought it with me."

"I see," the captain said. "Then you know who he was?"

"Oh, yes," Bernie said. He looked up from his hands and found the captain's eyes fixed on him. Bernie stared back for a moment, then looked down again. He shook his head in a futile gesture and his lips began to tremble. He clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking, but he couldn't stop them. The vibrations passed to his legs, which moved convulsively while Bernie cleared his throat, desperately trying to gain control.

"You realize what you're saying?" the captain said.

Bernie opened his mouth to speak, found he couldn't. His breathing was short and audible, and the trembling increased and spread to his shoulders. Through the convulsions he managed to nod.

Captain Williams put a hand under Bernie's chin and tilted his head back. He frowned into the large eyes that darted uncertainly, trying to avoid the captain's look. Then the captain pressed a hand against Bernie's forehead. Bernie shook his head in protest, but Williams hooked a hand under Bernie's arm and pulled him up, then guided him to the small bathroom and waited in the doorway while Bernie was sick.

"Feel better?" he asked when Bernie finally came out.

Bernie nodded. The captain took his arm again and guided him to the door.

"Better give this man your car-keys," he said to Bernie. Bernie frowned and shook his head as if he didn't want to. But he obeyed and handed the ring of keys to the officer at the door.

They moved out of the cabin then, pushing through the crowd toward the captain's car. Bernie stopped suddenly in the midst of the people crowding around him. There was quite a mob gathered, most of them attracted by the flashing red lights atop the squad cars. Men, women, children, even dogs. Some whispered, some pointed, some stood at the edge of the crowd and looked frightened. All of them stared at Bernie.

The captain felt Bernie going rigid and tightened his hold on Bernie's arm. But as he did so Bernie jerked free. Suddenly he was yelling, and he darted forward, throwing himself against the people, his arms flailing the air.

"I'll kill you!" he shouted.

He struck out blindly, catching a woman on the shoulder with one of his fists. She screamed and tried to run away, but was pinned in the crowd that churned without direction, striking back at Bernie. In-a moment the captain was beside him and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back. At the same time the officer at the doorway elbowed his way through the crowd and grabbed Bernie's other arm.

"Let me go, goddamn you!" Bernie yelled. "I didn't do anything! I didn't do anything!"

The captain held him while the officer reached into the squad car for a pair of handcuffs. He moved beside the captain to put the cuffs on Bernie's wrists.

When Bernie saw the cuffs, he frowned and suddenly he stopped struggling. He jerked around to face the captain.

"Please, don't!" he whispered harshly. "I'll be good! Don't put those on me! Please! I'll be good!"

The captain signalled the officer away, then let go of Bernie.

"Get in the car," he said and Bernie obeyed.

The car edged forward and the people gave way before it. Bernie looked back at them as the car moved along the gravel drive toward the turn that led to the street. How funny! he thought, and then he grinned.

He turned around again and stared at the street. He rubbed his wrists. He had avoided the handcuffs. It was a foolish thing he had done. Stupid! But it wouldn't happen again. He'd see to that. They mustn't tie his hands. It was important that his hands be free!

Bernie felt better as they picked up speed. He breathed deeply, catching at the cool, morning air that streaked in through the side wing of the car window. His trembling had subsided somewhat and being away from the murder room seemed to calm him down. In his mind he was still trying to think back, to re member, to fill in a blank spot. But it was useless.

All the while he had sat there staring at the big man, lying senselessly, harmlessly on the bed, he had tried to move back, to filter out the make-believe, to reconstruct as they do in murder mysteries. Once in a while he had laughed. Once he had even talked to the big man. As if the big man could tell him anything! He had pleaded with him, but the big man only lay there, his eyes clouded over with big red tears-as though he were sorry. Bernie felt sorry too.

Bernie thought about Mike. Why hadn't he stayed home? "I told him to stay there and wait for me! In one ear and out the other. Didn't I tell him to stay home? I would have done it!"

"It takes a man to pull a trigger," the big man had said. Then he'd laughed. "And I don't see no man around here!" He'd poked his head around the tiny motel room and it was a game. "I swear I don't!"

"Like hell!" Bernie said and suddenly he was aware of Captain Williams staring at him through the rear-view mirror over the windshield between them. Bernie smiled. It was a slight smile, but he had a reason for it. He rubbed a hand across his face, pushing himself up, gathering his strength for what he knew was coming.

He glanced out the window at the great desert buttes that chiseled away at the skyline, looming up at the edge of the city like giant watchdogs standing silent, trying to be cold, but giving in to warmth as the first rays of the desert sun streaked between them. He smiled.

He smiled because he was moving. At last he was moving ...!