A Dance at the Slaughterhouse Read Online Free Page B
more the expert than I. No, my point is that he acted prematurely. He should have waited."
"Why?"
"More money. Don't forget, I inherited the same amount Amanda did, and I can assure you I haven't pissed it away. Amanda would have been my heir, and the beneficiary of my insurance." He took out a cigarette, put it back in the pack. "I wouldn't have had anyone else to leave it to," he said. "My lover died a year and a half ago, of a four-letter disease." He smiled thinly. "Not gout. The other one."
I didn't say anything.
"I'm HIV-positive," he said. "I've known for several years. I lied to Amanda. I told her I'd been tested and I was negative, so I had nothing to worry about." His eyes sought mine. "That seemed like an ethical lie, don't you think? Since I wasn't about to have sex with her, why burden her with the truth?" He took out the cigarette but didn't light it. "Besides," he said, "there was a chance I might not get sick. Having the antibody may not necessarily mean having the virus. Well, scratch that. The first telltale purple blotch appeared this past August. KS. That's Kaposi's sarcoma."
"I know."
"It's not the short-term death sentence it was a year or two ago. I could live a long time. I could live ten years, even more." He lit the cigarette. "But," he said, "somehow I have a feeling that's not going to happen."
He stood up, got his topcoat from the rack. I reached for mine and followed him out to the street. A cab came along right away and he hailed it. He opened the rear door, then turned to me once more.
"I hadn't got around to telling Amanda," he said. "I thought I'd tell her at Thanksgiving, but of course by then it was too late. So she didn't know, and of course he wouldn't have known, so he couldn't have realized the financial advantage in delaying her murder." He threw his cigarette away. "It's ironic," he said, "isn't it? If I'd told her I was dying, she might be alive today."
Chapter 3
I got up the next morning and put Warriner's check in the bank and drew some walking-around money while I was at it. We'd had a little snow over the weekend but most of it was gone now, with just a little gray residue left at the curbs. It was cold out, but there wasn't much wind and it wasn't a bad day for the middle of winter.
I walked over to Midtown North on West Fifty-fourth, hoping to catch Joe Durkin, but he wasn't there. I left word for him to call me and walked on down to the main library at Forty-second and Fifth. I spent a couple of hours reading everything I could find about the murder of Amanda Warriner Thurman. While I was at it I looked for her and her husband in the New York Times Index over the past ten years. I read their wedding announcement, which had appeared four years ago September. She would already have come into her inheritance by then.
I had already learned when they were married from Warriner, but it never hurts to confirm things a client tells you. The announcement furnished me with other information Warriner hadn't given me- the names of Thurman's parents and others in the wedding party, the schools he'd attended, the jobs he'd held before he went with Five Borough Cable.
Nothing I turned up told me that he had or hadn't murdered his wife, but I hadn't figured to solve the case with two hours of library research.
I called Midtown North from a pay phone on the corner. Joe hadn't come back. I had a Sabrett hot dog and a knish for lunch and walked over to the Swedish church on Forty-eighth, where there's a twelve-thirty meeting on weekdays. The speaker was a commuter who lived with his family onLong Island and worked for one of the Big Six accounting firms. He'd been sober ten months and couldn't get over how wonderful it was.
"I got your message," Durkin said. "I tried you at your hotel but they said you were out."
"I was on my way there now," I said. "I thought I'd take a chance, see if I'd catch you in."
"Well, today's your lucky day, Matt. Have a seat."
"A fellow came to see me
"Why?"
"More money. Don't forget, I inherited the same amount Amanda did, and I can assure you I haven't pissed it away. Amanda would have been my heir, and the beneficiary of my insurance." He took out a cigarette, put it back in the pack. "I wouldn't have had anyone else to leave it to," he said. "My lover died a year and a half ago, of a four-letter disease." He smiled thinly. "Not gout. The other one."
I didn't say anything.
"I'm HIV-positive," he said. "I've known for several years. I lied to Amanda. I told her I'd been tested and I was negative, so I had nothing to worry about." His eyes sought mine. "That seemed like an ethical lie, don't you think? Since I wasn't about to have sex with her, why burden her with the truth?" He took out the cigarette but didn't light it. "Besides," he said, "there was a chance I might not get sick. Having the antibody may not necessarily mean having the virus. Well, scratch that. The first telltale purple blotch appeared this past August. KS. That's Kaposi's sarcoma."
"I know."
"It's not the short-term death sentence it was a year or two ago. I could live a long time. I could live ten years, even more." He lit the cigarette. "But," he said, "somehow I have a feeling that's not going to happen."
He stood up, got his topcoat from the rack. I reached for mine and followed him out to the street. A cab came along right away and he hailed it. He opened the rear door, then turned to me once more.
"I hadn't got around to telling Amanda," he said. "I thought I'd tell her at Thanksgiving, but of course by then it was too late. So she didn't know, and of course he wouldn't have known, so he couldn't have realized the financial advantage in delaying her murder." He threw his cigarette away. "It's ironic," he said, "isn't it? If I'd told her I was dying, she might be alive today."
Chapter 3
I got up the next morning and put Warriner's check in the bank and drew some walking-around money while I was at it. We'd had a little snow over the weekend but most of it was gone now, with just a little gray residue left at the curbs. It was cold out, but there wasn't much wind and it wasn't a bad day for the middle of winter.
I walked over to Midtown North on West Fifty-fourth, hoping to catch Joe Durkin, but he wasn't there. I left word for him to call me and walked on down to the main library at Forty-second and Fifth. I spent a couple of hours reading everything I could find about the murder of Amanda Warriner Thurman. While I was at it I looked for her and her husband in the New York Times Index over the past ten years. I read their wedding announcement, which had appeared four years ago September. She would already have come into her inheritance by then.
I had already learned when they were married from Warriner, but it never hurts to confirm things a client tells you. The announcement furnished me with other information Warriner hadn't given me- the names of Thurman's parents and others in the wedding party, the schools he'd attended, the jobs he'd held before he went with Five Borough Cable.
Nothing I turned up told me that he had or hadn't murdered his wife, but I hadn't figured to solve the case with two hours of library research.
I called Midtown North from a pay phone on the corner. Joe hadn't come back. I had a Sabrett hot dog and a knish for lunch and walked over to the Swedish church on Forty-eighth, where there's a twelve-thirty meeting on weekdays. The speaker was a commuter who lived with his family onLong Island and worked for one of the Big Six accounting firms. He'd been sober ten months and couldn't get over how wonderful it was.
"I got your message," Durkin said. "I tried you at your hotel but they said you were out."
"I was on my way there now," I said. "I thought I'd take a chance, see if I'd catch you in."
"Well, today's your lucky day, Matt. Have a seat."
"A fellow came to see me
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