Warpath

“Are you thinking he might have been beaten?”

“Or kicked, while he was down.”

She thought a moment, then said, “No, there was no indication of that. Are you . . . a policeman?”

“Just his friend and neighbor.”

“A rather good friend, I’d say, for him to ask for you.”

“That’s another question,” he said. “You told me I was his emergency contact. Did he have something on him, in writing, I mean, to that effect?”

“No,” she said, “he told me specifically to call you, and gave me your phone number.”

“Was he able to say anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Well, anything that might be helpful in figuring out who did this to him.”

“No,” she said, “nothing . . . but isn’t that the job of the police?”

“Yes, of course,” Sangster said, “I’m just trying to be . . . helpful.”

“Really?” she asked. “You seem to know what kind of questions to ask.”

“I read a lot of mysteries.”

She looked at the tiny watch on her wrist.

“I have to go back to work.”

“Of course,” he said, “thank you for talking to me.”

“No problem.” She stood there a moment more, then said, “Call me . . .”

“What?”

“. . . if you think of anything else you, uh, want to ask me,” she finished.

“Oh,” he said. “Yes, okay . . . thanks, again.”

She nodded. As she walked away he suddenly had the urge to see what she looked like with all those red curls down.

FOUR

He made sure the hospital had his phone number, in case anything went wrong, and left to drive back home to his house in Algiers. He’d return later in the day, during visiting hours, hopefully he’d find something out by then.

When he got home there wasn’t much to do except catch a few winks. He removed his shoes, laid down on the bed fully dressed and fell asleep.

He woke several hours later, ravenously hungry. He made himself an egg sandwich, washed it down with two cups of strong coffee. Finishing the last cup, he looked out the window at Burke’s house, next door.

Polly was a middle-aged woman who cleaned Burke’s house for him. As for his own house, Sangster cleaned it himself, not wanting anyone inside at any time, even though Burke had recommended Polly several times.

He sometimes saw Polly arrive in the morning between eight and nine a.m., other times saw her leave about three or four in the afternoon. However, he didn’t know her, or what her exact schedule was. So he wasn’t sure if she’d be cleaning Burke’s house on this day, but that was the only place he had to start.

He rinsed his empty cup out, grabbed the extra key Burke had given him some time ago, and went next door.

In the almost four years he had been renting his house on Algiers Point, across Lake Ponchartrain from the French Quarter, he had played chess with Burke at least three times a week. They alternated porches for their games, turning their matches into a home and away series.