Velocity

sun.”
    “Even on the sides of the house where the sun doesn’t hit.”
    “On a day this bright,” Billy said, “dodging a whiskey headache, you want soothing gloom.”
    “He’s been tapering off the booze all morning,” Sobieski told Napolitino, “trying to ease his way sober and avoid a hangover.”
    “Is that the trick?” Napolitino asked.
    Billy said, “It’s one of them.”
    “It’s nice and cool in there.”
    “Cool helps, too,” Billy said.
    “Rosalyn said you lost your air conditioning.”
    Billy had forgotten that little lie, such a small filament in his enormous patchwork web of deceit.
    He said, “It conks out for a few hours, then it comes on, then it conks out again. I don’t know if maybe it’s a compressor problem.”
    “Tomorrow’s supposed to be a scorcher,” Napolitino said, still gazing out across the valley. “Better get a repairman if they aren’t already booked till Christmas.”
    “I’m going to have a look at it myself a little later,” Billy said. “I’m pretty handy with things.”
    “Don’t go poking around in machinery until you’re full sober.”
    “I won’t. I’ll wait.”
    “Especially not electrical equipment.”
    “I’m going to make something to eat. That’ll help. Maybe it’ll even help my stomach.” Napolitino finally looked at Billy. “I’m sorry to have kept you out here in the sun, with your headache and all.” The sergeant sounded sincere, conciliatory for the first time, but his eyes were as cold and dark and humbling as the muzzles of a pair of pistols.
    “The whole thing’s my fault,” Billy said. “You guys were just doing your job. I’ve already said six ways I’m an idiot. There’s no other way to say it. I’m really sorry to have wasted your time.”
    “We’re here ‘to serve and protect.’” Napolitino smiled thinly. “It even says so on the door of the car.”
    “I liked it better when it said ‘the best deputies money can buy,’” said Sergeant Sobieski, surprising a laugh from Billy but drawing only a vaguely annoyed look from Napolitino. “Billy, maybe it’s time to stop the tapering off and switch to food.”
    Billy nodded. “You’re right.”
    As he walked to the house, he felt they were watching him. He didn’t look back. His heart had been relatively calm. Now it pounded again. He couldn’t believe his luck. He feared that it wouldn’t hold. On the porch, he took his watch off the railing, put it on his wrist. He bent down to pick up the pint bottle. He didn’t see the cap. It must have rolled off the porch or under a rocker.
    At the table beside his chair, he dropped the three crackers into the empty Ritz box, which for a while had held the .38 revolver. He picked up the glass of cola.
    He expected to hear the engines of the patrol cars start up. They didn’t.
    Without glancing back, he carried the glass and the box and the bottle inside. He closed the door and leaned against it.
    Outside, the day remained still, the engines silent.
     
     
     

Chapter 31
     
    Sudden superstition warned Billy that as long as he waited with his back against the door, Sergeants Napolitino and Sobieski would not leave.
    Listening, he went into the kitchen. He dropped the Ritz box in the trash can.
    Listening, he poured the last ounce of whiskey from the bottle into the sink, and then chased it with the cola in the glass. He put the bottle in the trash, the glass in the dishwasher.
    When by this time Billy had still heard no engines starting up, curiosity gnawed at him with ratty persistence.
    The blinded house grew increasingly claustrophobic. Perhaps because he knew that it contained a corpse, it seemed to be shrinking to the dimensions of a casket.
    He went into the living room, sorely tempted to put up one of the pleated shades, all of them. But he didn’t want the sergeants to think that he raised the shades to watch them and that their continued presence worried him.
    Cautiously, he bent the edge of one of the shades back from the window frame. He was not at an angle to see the driveway.
    Billy moved to another window, tried again, and saw the two men standing at Napolitino’s car, where he’d left them. Neither deputy directly faced the house.
    They appeared to be deep in conversation. They weren’t likely to be discussing baseball.
    He wondered if Napolitino had thought to search the woodworking shop for the half-cut, one-by-six walnut plank with the knothole. The sergeant would not have found