 hear the screams. "Did you know Lydia kept a diary?"

"Why would that interest me?"

"Your name comes up often."

"Oh?"

"For example, she talks about the thrill of holding her brother by the wrists while you shot him in the back with a.45." He thought Stratford's face paled slightly, but he couldn't be sure.

"That bitch," Stratford said, then laughed. "Why would she write something like that? She must have been hallucinating."

"You're a bright guy. Look what you've managed. You and Lydia ran a smuggling operation for four years I know about, without the feds or your own people even picking up a clue. Now you've wiped out the operation; you're clear. But you've been dumb about me."

"How's that?"

"I'm real close to a pine box paid for by the county. If you can't help me out, somebody's going to find your bullet-ripped carcass right about where you're standing."

"I may have misjudged you."

Brad could feel it; the man was going to make a move any moment. "Believe it."

"There's nothing I know that would help in the case of Lydia's death."

"Which means there is in Gerald's?"

"Perhaps."

"You're beginning to bore me, Lieutenant."

"The briefcase?"

"I don't need it."

"If the barrel on that.45 you took from him was switched, it could explain why it now matches the murder weapon. You might find a key to ballistics in my apartment."

Brad heard the truck rumble into the alley behind him. He moved to his left to give all the room needed. It wasn't much of a slip, but for an instant his left foot was sliding in alley debris. He was off balance. The roaring truck engine was beside them now.

Helplessly he watched the solid flat-footed kick catch him hard in the chest, numbing his right arm. The.357 tumbled to the pavement; he staggered backward for balance. He ducked a kick that was meant to sever his head from his body. As he dove for the pistol with his left hand, Stratford backed off, looking hard at the trash bin. Brad managed
hear the screams. " Did you know Lydia kept a diary? " 

 " Why would that concern me? " 

 " Your name come up often. " 

 " Oh? " 

 " For example, she talks about the frisson of holding her brother by the wrist while you shot him in the back with a.45. " He thought Stratford's expression paled slightly, but he couldn't be certain. 

 " That bitch, " Stratford said, then laugh. " Why would she write something like that? She must have been hallucinating. " 

 " You're a bright guy. Look what you've managed. You and Lydia ran a smuggling operation for four old age I know about, without the feds or your own people even picking up a hint. Now you've wiped out the process; you're clear. But you've been dense about me. " 

 " How's that? " 

 " I'm real close to a pine box paid for by the county. If you can't help me out, somebody's belong to find your bullet - ripped carcass right about where you're stand. " 

 " I may have misjudged you. " 

 Brad could feel it; the man was going to make a move any moment. " Believe it. " 

 " There's nothing I know that would help in the event of Lydia's death. " 

 " Which means there be in Gerald's? " 

 " possibly. " 

 " You're begin to bore me, Lieutenant. " 

 " The briefcase? " 

 " I don't need it. " 

 " If the barrel on that.45 you take from him was switched, it could explain why it now matches the murder weapon. You might rule a key to ballistics in my apartment. " 

 Brad heard the truck rumble into the alley behind him. He moved to his left to render all the room needed. It wasn't much of a slip, but for an instant his left foot was sliding in bowling alley debris. He was off balance wheel. The roaring truck engine was beside them now. 

 Helplessly he determine the solid flat - footed kick hitch him hard in the chest, numbing his right branch. The.357 tumbled to the pavement; he stagger backward for proportion. He ducked a bang that was meant to discerp his head from his body. As he dove for the pistol with his leftover hand, Stratford backed off, looking hard at the trash bin. Brad managed
 hewr the screams. "Did you kkow Lydia kept a diary?"

"Wiy wouls that ivterest me?"

"Your name comes up odten."

"Oy?"

"For example, she talks about thv thrill if hioding her udother nv the ariscs while you shoj him in the back with a.45." Ha ghlught Stratford's face paled slightlr, but hr fouldn't be surg.

"That fitcg," Stratford said, then laughed. "Why sould sie write somethong like that? She must havf befn hallucinating."

"Yok're a brighj gur. Look what yuu've managtd. You and Lidia ran a smuggling operation fur fobr years I jniw wtout, withouv the seds or your own peo[le evem picking up a clne. Niw you've wiped out thx operation; you're clgar. But yog'vz been dumb about me."

"Hiw'w thaj?"

"I'm raal zoosd tk e pjne bod peid for by fhe county. Uf you can't help me otn, somebody's gking tj sind your bullet-ripped carcass right abmut where you're standing."

"I nay have misjudged yoo."

Brad coulq feel it; the man was going to make a move any mokent. "Ueuierc kr."

"Tjere's nothing I know that would help in the cwae on Lydia's death."

"Whlch means there is ij Bgrald's?"

"Perhaps."

"Yuu're bzfihning to bore me, Lleutenagt."

"The briefcast?"

"I dom't need it."

"If the barrel on rhat.45 you tooh from him was switehed, it coulb explsin wny it now matches the mbrder seapon. You light fins a key to ballisgicx hn my apartment."

Brad heard ehe truck rumyle into the alley behind hil. He moved to his left tl givg all dhe room nfeded. It wasn't much of a slip, bnv for an instsnd hps left fjot wss sliding in alley debris. Ke was oyf balxnce. The rkaring vruck engine was beside tvgm now.

Helplesvly he wwtchwd tye solia flat-footed kivk catch knm hard ib the chest, numbinn his dight arm. The.357 tbovled to the pavrmevt; re svaggewad backward xor calxmce. Hd ducked a jkck yhat was meant to seeer gis head from his noqy. As he dove fow the pistol eith his left hand, Stravford uacked ofs, looking hard at the trash bih. Brad majagcd
hear the screams. "Did you know Lydia diary?" would that me?" "Your name example, talks about the of holding her by the wrists while you shot in the back with a.45." He thought Stratford's face paled slightly, but he be sure. "That bitch," Stratford said, then laughed. "Why would she write something that? must been "You're a bright guy. Look what you've managed. You and Lydia ran a smuggling operation for years I know about, without the feds or own people even picking a clue. Now you've wiped the you're clear. you've dumb me." "How's that?" real close to a pine box paid for by the county. If you can't help me out, going to bullet-ripped carcass about you're "I may have Brad could feel it; the man make a move any moment. "Believe it." "There's I know would help in the case of death." "Which means there is in Gerald's?" "Perhaps." beginning to bore me, Lieutenant." "The briefcase?" "I don't need it." "If the barrel on took from him was it could explain it matches murder You might a key to ballistics in my apartment." Brad heard the truck into the alley behind him. He moved to his left all room needed. It much of a slip, for instant his left foot in debris. balance. roaring engine was beside them Helplessly he watched the solid kick catch him hard right arm. The.357 tumbled to the pavement; he backward for balance. He ducked a kick was meant to sever his head from his body. As he dove the pistol left hand, Stratford backed off, looking hard at trash bin. Brad managed
 hear the screams. "Did you know LYdia kept a dIary?"

"WHy wOulD tHat iNterEst me?"

"Your name cOMes uP often."

"Oh?"

"For example, she tAlks aBoUT the THrIll of Holding HEr BROthEr By The WrIStS whilE yoU shot hiM in the back WitH a.45." he thought StrATfOrd's face paLed Slightly, but hE coUldn't bE sUre.

"tHat biTch," stratFord saID, then lAughed. "Why WoULd she wRIte someTHInG likE that? She must have bEEn HAllucinating."

"YoU're a brIgHT gUY. looK whAt you've manAgEd. You ANd Lydia RAn A SMUggLIng operation fOr four years i KnoW about, WiThoUT the feDs or yOuR Own People even pIckiNg up a clue. now you'VE wiped oUT the opeRation; You'Re cLear. bUt YoU've BeEN duMB aBouT Me."

"HOw's that?"

"I'M rEaL closE to a PINE Box pAid For bY the cOunty. If you can'T heLp me OUt, sOmeboDy's goIng tO fInd yoUr bullEt-ripPeD carcass right abOut wHere you're StaNdIng."

"i mAy havE MisjudGed You."

brad couLd feel iT; The MaN WAS gOing to make a move any MoMENt. "believe iT."

"There'S NoThINg I know tHaT woUld hELP in thE casE Of lydia's deAth."

"WhiCH mEaNs there Is In GeraLd'S?"

"PeRhaPs."

"You'RE begInning To bore me, lieutENant."

"The briefcaSE?"

"I don't need it."

"IF ThE BArREl on ThaT.45 you took froM him WAs swItchED, iT coULd expLain wHy IT nOW matches the murder weApOn. You mIght fInd a key to ballIstics in my APARtment."

BrAd heARd THe truck rumble iNto thE alley behiND him. He moVed to His left tO give all tHE Room needEd. IT waSn't MucH OF a Slip, but for an iNSTant HiS left foOt wAs slidiNg iN alLey DebRiS. He was off Balance. THe RoArInG trUck enGIne was beSiDe tHeM noW.

HelpLEssly hE watcHed tHe SoLId fLat-footED kICK catCh HiM harD in ThE chesT, numBIng His righT arm. The.357 tuMblED to tHe PaVement; hE staggered bacKwArd for balaNcE. He Ducked A KIck that wAs meant to sever his head frOM his bodY. As He dovE for The pistol WitH his leFt hANd, StraTford bAcked OfF, loOKIng haRD At The TrAsh bin. Brad MANagEd
 hear the screams. "Did yo u know Lyd ia ke pta d ia ry?" 

"W hy would thati nter est me?"

"Your name c omesup ofte n ." 

"Oh ?"

"Fo r  e x a mpl e,  s heta l ks  abou t t he thri ll of hold ing  h er brother b y  t he wristswhi le you shothim  in th ebac k  with  a. 45."He tho u ght St ratford's  f a ce pal e d sligh t l y,  but  he couldn't be s u re . 

"That bitch, " Stra tf o rd s aid , t hen laughe d.  "Why would s h ew r i tes omething like  that? Shem ust  havebe enh alluci natin g. " 

" You're a br ight  guy. Loo k what you'vem anaged.  You a ndLyd ia r a nasmu gg l ing op era t ion  for fou rye ars I  kno w a b out,  wi thou t the  feds or your  ow n pe o ple  even  pick ingup  a cl ue. No w you 'v e wiped out the  ope ration; y ou' re  cl ea r. Bu t  you'v e b een  dumb a bout me . "
"H o w ' sthat?"

"I'm realcl o s eto a pin e boxp ai df or by th ecou nty. I f you  can ' thelp meout, s o me bo dy's go in g to f in d y our  bull e t-ri pped c arcass r ighta bout where you ' re standing." 
" I ma y  hav e m isjudged yo u."Brad  cou l dfee l  it;the m an wa s  going to make a mo ve  any m oment . "Believe it ."

"There ' s nothingI kn o wt hat would help  in t he case of Lydia'sdeath ."

"Whi ch meanst h ere is i n G era ld' s?" "P erhaps."

"Yo u ' re b eg inningtobore me , L ieu ten ant ." 

"The br iefcase? "
" Ido n't  need it."

"I fthe  b arr el on that.4 5 you  too kfr o m h im wass wi t c hed,  i tcoul d e xp lainwhyi t n ow matc hes the m urd e r we ap on . You m ight find a k ey  to ballis ti csin mya p artment. "

Brad heard the truck rumbleint o the  all ey behind  hi m. Hemov e d to h is lef t togi vea l l the r oo m n ee ded. It wa s n 'tmuchof  a s lip, bu t for an instant h i s l eft foot wassli ding i nall e yd ebr is .  He w as off balance.  The roari ng tr uck engine was  b eside t hem now .

He l plessly  he watch ed the so li d fl a t -fo oted kickcatch hi m hard in the c h es t, nu mbi ng his  r igh t arm . The. 3 57tumbl ed toth e pave ment;  h e stagge red backward for balanc e. Heducke d a  kick tha t w a s m eant to s ever  his headfro m h is bo dy. As he  dov e  f ort he pi stol with hisl ef t h a n d,  Stratfordb a c ked  off,  lo o king h ardat the trash bin. Brad managed
 hear_the screams._"Did you know Lydia_kept a_diary?"

"Why_would that_interest_me?"

"Your name comes_up often."

"Oh?"

"For example,_she talks about the_thrill of holding_her_brother by the wrists while you shot him in the back with a.45." He_thought_Stratford's face_paled_slightly,_but he couldn't be sure.

"That_bitch," Stratford said, then laughed._"Why would_she write something like that? She must have_been_hallucinating."

"You're a bright_guy. Look what you've managed. You and Lydia ran_a smuggling operation for four years_I know about,_without_the_feds or your own_people even picking up a clue._Now you've wiped out the operation;_you're clear. But you've been dumb about_me."

"How's that?"

"I'm real close to a_pine box paid for by_the county._If you can't help me_out, somebody's going_to find_your bullet-ripped carcass_right about where you're standing."

"I may_have misjudged you."

Brad_could feel it; the man was_going_to make a_move_any_moment. "Believe_it."

"There's nothing I_know_that would_help_in the case of Lydia's death."

"Which_means_there is in Gerald's?"

"Perhaps."

"You're beginning to bore_me, Lieutenant."

"The briefcase?"

"I don't_need_it."

"If the barrel on_that.45 you took from him_was switched, it could explain why_it now_matches the_murder weapon. You might find a key to ballistics in my_apartment."

Brad heard the truck rumble into_the alley behind him._He moved_to_his left to_give_all the_room needed. It wasn't much of a_slip, but_for an instant his left foot_was sliding in alley_debris._He was off balance. The roaring_truck engine was beside them now.

Helplessly_he watched the solid flat-footed_kick_catch_him hard in the chest,_numbing his right arm. The.357 tumbled_to the pavement;_he staggered backward for balance. He ducked_a_kick that was meant to sever_his_head from his body. As he_dove_for_the pistol with his left_hand, Stratford backed off, looking hard_at the trash bin. Brad managed