My perished years.

And then I go

With the winds that blow

And carry me

There and here

Like a withered and sere

Leaf from a tree.—H.H.

Hoffman looked at me with one of his unfocused eyes."Isn't that beautiful poetry, Mr. Arthur?"

"Beautiful."

"I only wisht I understood it. Do you understand it?"

"I think so."

"Then keep it. Keep it in memory of poor littleHelen."

"I couldn't do that."

"Sure you can. Keep it." Hesnatched it out of my hands, rolled it up, and and thrust it into my jacketpocket, breathing whisky in my face.

"Keep it," Haggerty whispered atmy shoulder. "You don't want to cross him."

"You heard him. You don't want tocross me."

Hoffman grinned loosely at me. He clenchedhis left fist, examined it for defects, then used it to strike himself on thechest. He walked on spraddled legs to the roll-top desk and opened it. Therewere botfies and a single smeared tumbler inside. He half-filled the tumblerfrom a fifth of bourbon and drank most of it down. His son-in-law saidsomething under his breath, but made no move to stop him.

The heavy jolt squeezed sweat out onHoffman's face. It seemed to sober him a litfie. His eyes focused on me.

"Have a drink?"

"All right. I'll take water and icein mine, please." I didn't normally drink in the morning but this was anabnormal occasion.

"Get some ice and a glass, Bert. Mr.Arthur wants a drink. If you're too mucky-muck to drink with me, Mr. Arthurisn't."

"The name is Archer."

"Get two glasses," he said withhis foolish grin. "Mr. Archer wants a drink, too. Sit down," he saidto me. "Take the load off your feet. Tell me about poor littleHelen."

We sat on the couch. I filled him inquickly on the circumstances of the murder, including the threat that precededit, and Helen's feeling that Bridgeton was catching up with her.

"What did she mean by that?" Thelines of the grin were still in his face like clown marks but the grin hadbecome a rictus.

"I've come a long way to see if youcan help me answer that question."

"Me? Why come to me? I never knewwhat went on in her mind, she never let me know. She was too bright forme." His mood swayed into heavy drunken self-pity. "I sweated andslaved to buy her an education like I never had, but she wouldn't give her poorold father the time of day."

"I understand you had a bad quarrel and she leftborne."

"She told you, eh?"

I nodded. I had decided to keep Mrs.Hoffman out of it. He was the kind of man who wouldn't want his wife ahead ofhim in anything.

"She tell you the names she calledme, crook and Nazi, when all I was doing was my bounden duty? You're a cop, youknow how a man feels when your own family undermines you." He peered at mesideways. "You are a cop, aren't you?"

"I have been."

"What do you do for a living now?"

"Private investigation."

"Who for?"

"A man named Kincaid, nobody youknow. I knew your daughter slightly, and I have a personal interest in findingout who killed her. I think the answer may be here in Bridgeton."

"I don't see how. She never set footin this town for twenty years, until last spring. She only came home then totell her mother she was getting a divorce. From him." He gestured towardthe back of the house, where I could hear ice being chipped.

"Did she do any talking to you?"

"I only saw her the once. She saidhello-how-are-you and that was about it. She told her mother that she'd had itwith Bert and her mother couldn't talk her out of it. Bert even followed herout to Reno to try and convince her to come back, but it was no go. He isn'tenough of a man to hold a woman."

Hoffman finished his drink and set histumbler down on the floor. He remained slumped forward for about a minute, andI was afraid he was going to get sick or pass out on me. But he came back up toa sitting position and muttered something about wanting to help me.

"Fine. Who was Luke Deloney?"

"Friend of mine. Big man in town back before thewar. She told you about him, too, eh?"

"You could tell me more, Lieutenant. I hear you

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009