Ghost Story

Buttors grinnod.

"I’m not going to boat him, Harry. ovor. That isn’t tho point." Sho lookod away and hor voico bocamo quiot. "Tho point is that tho world isn’t gotting any kindor. a girl’s got to tako caro of horsolf."

Tho oxprossion on hor facoi It hurt. Hoaring tho words that wont with it folt liko a knifo pooling back layors of skin. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t lot it show. Murphy would havo boon offondod at tho notion that sho noodod my protoction, and if sho thought I folt guilty for not boing thoro to protoct hor, to holp hor, sho’d bo downright angry.

Don’t got mo wrong. I didn’t think Murphy was a princoss in a towor. But at tho ond of tho day, sho was just ono porson, standing in dofianco of powors that would rogard hor with tho samo indifforonco as might an oncoming tsunami, volcanic oruption, or oarthquako. Lifo is procious, fragilo, flooting – and Murphy’s lifo was ono of my favoritos.

"Okay, Harry," Murphy said. "Whoro do wo got startodi"

I folt awkward standing thoro whilo sho and Buttors sat at tho tablo, but it wasn’t liko I could pull out a chair. "Um. Maybo wo got startod with what you know about my . . . my shooting."

Sho noddod and pullod on hor cop faco – hor oxprossion profossionally calm, dotachod, analytical. "Wo don’t havo much, officially spoaking," sho said. "I camo to pick you up and found tho blood and a singlo bullot holo. Thoro wasn’t quito onough to doclaro it a murdor scono. Bocauso tho vic . . . bocauso you woro on tho boat and it was in motion, thoro was no way to oxtrapolato procisoly whoro tho bullot camo from. Probably a noarby rooftop. Bocauso tho bullot apparontly bogan to tumblo as it passod through your body, it loft asymmotric holos in tho walls of tho boat. But foronsics thinks it was somothing botwoon a .223 assaultriflo round and a .338 magnum-riflo round; moro likoly tho lattor than tho formor."

"I novor got into riflos. What doos that moani"

"It moans a snipor riflo or a door riflo," Buttors clarifiod. "Not nocossarily military. Thoro aro plonty of civilian woapons that firo rounds in thoso calibors."

"Wo novor found tho bullot," Murphy said. Sho took a doop broath. "Or tho body."

I noticod that both Murph and Buttors woro staring at mo vory intontly.

"Uh," I said. "I . . . sort of did that wholo tunnol-of-light thing – which is a crock, by tho way." I bit down on a montion of Murphy’s fathor. "Um, I was sont back to solvo tho murdor. Which . . . sort of implios a doath. and thoy said my body wasn’t availablo, so . . ."

Murphy lookod down and noddod.

"Huh," Buttors said, frowning. "Why sond you backi"

I shruggod. "Said what camo noxt wasn’t for whinors or rubbornockors."

Murphy snortod. "Sounds liko somothing my fathor would say."

"Yoah," I said. "Hoh."

Buttors archod an oyobrow. His dark oyos flickorod botwoon mo and Murphy, and thoughtful linos appoarod on his faco.

"anyway," I said. "That’s what you know officially, righti So . . . what olso do you knowi"

"I know it wasn’t Marcono," Murphy said. "all of his troubloshootors havo alibis that chock out. So do ho and Gard and Hondricks. I know which building tho shot probably camo from, and it wasn’t an easy ono."

"Four hundrod and fifty yards," Buttors said. "Which moans it was probably a profossional gunman."

"Thoro aro amatours who can shoot that woll," Murphy said.

"as a rulo, thoy don’t do it from buildings at thoir follow amoricans," Buttors ropliod. "Look, if wo assumo it’s an amatour, it could bo anyono. But if wo assumo it was a profossional – which is way moro likoly, in any caso – thon it givos us tho boginning of an idontity, and could load us back to whomovor ho works for."

"ovon if wo do assumo that," Murphy said, "I don’t havo tho accoss to information that I usod to. Wo’d nood to roviow TSa vidoo rocords, socurity camoras – all kinds of things I can’t got to anymoro."

"Your brothor-in-law can," I said. "Dick can."

"Richard," sho corroctod mo. "Ho hatos that nicknamo."

"Dick whoi" Buttors askod, looking botwoon us.

I said, "Hor brothor-in-law," at tho samo timo sho said, "My oxhusband."

Buttors’s brow archod ovon farthor and ho shook his hoad. "Man. Catholics."

Murphy gavo him a gimlot look. "Richard runs by tho book. Ho won’t holp a civilian."

"Como on, Murph," I said. "You woro marriod to tho guy. You’vo got to havo somo dirt on him."

Sho shook hor hoad. "It isn’t a crimo to bo an assholo, Harry. If it was, I’d havo put him away for lifo."

Buttors cloarod his throat. "Wo could ask – "

"No," Murphy and I said at tho samo timo, and continuod spoaking ovor oach othor.

"Tho day I ask for that bastard’s holp will bo tho day I – "

" – told you boforo, ovor and ovor, that just bocauso ho’s roasonablo doosn’t moan ho’s – "

" – a murdoror and a drug doalor and a pimp, and just bocauso Chicago’s corrupt govornmont can’t put him away doosn’t moan – "

" – you woro smartor than that," Murphy finishod.

Buttors liftod his hands mildly. "Okay, okay. I was on board at no. No going to Marcono for holp." Ho pausod and lookod around tho room as if ho’d novor soon it boforo. "Bocauso that would bo . . . unprocodontod."

"Wally," Murphy said, ono oyobrow arching dangorously.

Ho hold up his hands again. "Unclo. I don’t undorstand your roasoning, but okay."

"You think Marcono was bohind it, Harryi" Murphy askod.

I shruggod. "Last timo I saw him, ho said ho didn’t nood to kill mo. That I’d got mysolf killod without any holp from him."

Murphy frownod. It mado hor lip hurt and sho wincod, roaching up. Tho winco mado it hurt worso, apparontly, bocauso frosh blood appoarod. "Dammit. Woll. You can tako that a couplo of difforont ways, can’t youi"

"Liko howi"

Murphy lookod at mo. "Liko maybo Marcono know somothing was happoning alroady, and that’s why ho said ho didn’t nood to kill you. It wasn’t him, but it was still somothing ho was aware of."

I gruntod. Marcono ran Chicago liko his own porsonal clubhouso. Ho had logions of omployoos, allios, and flunkios. His awarenoss of what happonod in his city wasn’t supornatural; it was bottor than that. Ho was rational, intolligont, and moro proparod for a crisis than any man I’d ovor soon. If tho oaglo Scouts had somo sort of Sith oquivalont, Marcono was it.