Inherit the Dead

who he likes sleeping with, and you can tell Angel’s lying because she’s breathing. I swear to you, Henry, it’s like that entire family has DNA that’s ninety percent bullshit.”
    “And you know this because—”
    “Because . . . ” Because of the way both Angel and her fatherkept changing their stories: she didn’t know about her inheritance, then she did; Loki didn’t write the trust papers, then he did. The way Angel shifted so easily between wrath and seduction. The way Loki shifted between drunken fool and savvy lawyer. They were up to something. Maybe together. Maybe each of them alone. Perry couldn’t say. He just knew it, felt it in his gut.
    “I can’t arrest people for lying,” Watson said.
    “You don’t seem that keen to arrest anyone for murder, either.”
    “Don’t push it—”
    “It’s about the money—”
    “What’s that thing they tell us about at the police academy? It’s on the tip of my tongue . . . oh yeah, evidence .”
    “So . . . find some.”
    “Find some, that what you’re saying? Or invent some? You’re really the last person who should be talking to cops about cutting corners, all things considered.”
    Perry pushed his chair back hard. “You got something to say, Henry?”
    “Just that you don’t have too many people on your side anymore.” Henry stabbed a finger against his own chest. “Maybe just this idiot. So if you want to lose the only friend you’ve got around here, go right ahead and continue doing what you’re doing. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
    Neither of them spoke for a long few seconds, and the only sound in the room was the gentle shushing of hot water in the radiator pipes.
    Perry stood up and walked to the door. “Your client dies, and you’ve got an obligation,” he said. “That’s how it works. I need to know how Julia Drusilla died and who was responsible. I care about that, okay? Even if you don’t.”
    “Get out, Perry . . . ” Watson let out a long sigh, the breath rattlingin his chest. He lowered his head and began scratching at the edge of the table.
    Perry did as he was told.

    The city lights turned the night sky slate gray above, the sullen gray smear of the river away to his right, and the dirty gray trunk of the Buick that stayed just a few feet ahead as Perry crawled slowly through the traffic on the FDR.
    His frustration quickly blossomed into anger. He muttered curses then shouted them. He slammed his palms against the wheel and leaned on his horn, but it did nothing to speed his progress and only tightened the knot of guilt and confusion in his gut.
    There was only one way to unravel it. One place to go, if he ever got there.
    He leaned on his horn one more time, for the hell of it.
    It was like he’d told Watson; they were all lying, but somebody was telling lies a damn sight less white than the rest of them. It was time to find out who that was. And to find out how Julia Drusilla had died and why.
    Was Norman Loki hiding more than just his sex life?
    Was Angel really capable of setting up her own mother’s murder?
    Were they in it together? Was this whole thing a ruse?
    He’d been a cop and a PI long enough to know when the pieces didn’t fit, and these didn’t even come close.
    As the gray Buick accelerated away from him and the traffic began to move a little faster, he thought, too, about his argument with Henry Watson. His friend had been angry, obviously. Perry had pushed all his buttons and had known damn well he was pushing them.
    It was more than anger, though, or impatience.
    Maybe just this idiot . . .
    Sitting there in that sad and stuffy interview room, shoulders slumped on the other side of the table, Henry had looked . . . disappointed. Convinced that Perry was out of line. That he was being stubborn only because the case had got away from him, that he had everything the wrong way up.
    Perry put his foot down.
    He decided that he would prove Henry Watson wrong. That he would prove them all wrong. He had to.
    He was still in the outside lane when saw the sign for the Queens–Midtown Tunnel. He sped forward, only inches from the car ahead then swerved hard and fast across two lanes. An old man at the wheel of a Subaru sounded his horn.
    Perry gave him the finger as he hit the off-ramp.

20
LAWRENCE BLOCK
    A ngel and her father had close to an hour’s lead, but it didn’t matter. Perry knew where they were going. He just had to get there before they had time to bury any