He squinted at me. "I don't know whyyou're so interested in Deloney. He's been dead for twenty-two years.Twenty-two years and three months. He shot himself, but I guess you know that,eh?" A hard intelligence glinted momentarily in his eyes and drew theminto focus on my face.

I spoke to the hard intelligence:"Was there anything between Helen and Deloney?"

"No, she wasn't interested in him.She had a crush on the elevator boy. George. I ought to know, she made me gethim the job. I was sort of managing the Deloney Apartments at the time. LukeDeloney and me, we were like that."

He tried to cross his second finger overhis forefinger. It kept slipping. He finally completed the maneuver with thehelp of his other hand. His fingers were thick and mottled like uncookedbreakfast sausages.

"Luke Deloney was a bit of awomanizer," he said indulgently, "but he didn't mess around with thedaughters of his friends. He never cared for the young stuff, anyway. His wifemust of been ten years older than he was. Anyway, he wouldn't touch mydaughter. He knew I'd kill him."

"Did you?"

"That's a lousy question, mister. IfI didn't happen to like you I'd knock your block off."

"No offense."

"I had nothing against Luke Deloney.He treated me fair and square. Anyway, I told you he shot himself."

"Suicide?"

"Naw. Why would he commit suicide? Hehad everything, money and women and a hunting lodge in Wisconsin. He took me upthere personally more than once. The shooting was an accident. That's the wayit went into the books and that's the way it stays."

"How did it happen, Lieutenant?"

"He was cleaning his .32 automatic.He had a permit to tote it on his person—I helped him get it myself—because heused to carry large sums of money. He took the clip out all right but he mustof forgot the shell that was in the chamber. It went off and shot him in theface."

"Where?"

"Through the right eye."

"I mean where did the accident occur?"

"In one of the bedrooms in hisapartment. He kept the roof apartment in the Deloney building for his privateuse. More than once I drank with him up there. Prewar Green River, boy."He slapped my knee, and noticed the full glass in my hand. "Drink up yourdrink."

I knocked back about half of it. It wasn't prewarGreen River. "Was Deloney drinking at the time of the shooting?"

"Yeah, I think so. He knew guns. He wouldn't ofmade that mistake if he was sober."

"Was anybody with him in the apartment?"

"No."

"Can you be sure?"

"I can be sure. I was in charge of theinvestigation."

"Did anybody share the apartment with him?"

"Not on a permanent basis, you mightsay. Luke Deloney had various women on the string. I checked them out, but noneof them was within a mile of the place at the time it happened."

"What kind of women?"

"All the way from floozies to onerespectable married woman here in town. Their names didn't go into the recordthen and they're not going to now."

There was a growl in his voice. I didn'tpursue the subject. Not that I was afraid of Hoffman exactly. I had at leastfifteen years on him, and a low alcohol content. But if he went for me I mighthave to hurt him badly.

"What about Mrs. Deloney?" I said.

"What about her?"

"Where was she when all this was going on?"

"At home, out on Glenview. They were sort ofseparated. She didn't believe in divorce."

"People who don't believe in divorce sometimesbelieve in murder."

Hoffman moved his shoulders belligerently. "Youtrying to say that I hushed up a murder?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything,Lieutenant."

"You better not. I'm a cop, remember,first last and always." He raised his fist and rotated it before his eyeslike a hypnotic device. "I been a good cop all my life. In my prime I wasthe best damn cop this burg ever saw. I'll have a drink on that." Hepicked up his tumbler. "Join me?"

I said I would. We were moving obscurelyon a collision course. Alcohol might soften the collision, or sink him. Ifinished my drink and handed him my glass. He filled it to the brim with neatwhisky. Then he filled his own. He sat down and stared into the brown liquid asif it was a well where his life had drowned.

"Bottoms up," he said.

"Take it easy, Lieutenant. You don'twant to kill yourself." It occurred to me as I said it that maybe he did.

"What are you, another pussy willow?Bottoms up."

He drained his glass and shuddered. I held

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009