by Sue Grafton
He lifted the lid. The beams from his headlights shone against his golden cheek. He glanced over at me. In his right hand was a butcher knife with a ten-inch blade.
I blew him away.
Epilogue
The Santa Teresa police conducted a brief investigation but in the end no charges were filed. The folder on Laurence Fife contains the report I sent to the chief of the Bureau of Collection and Investigative Services regarding the discharge of my firearm “while acting within the course and scope” of my employment. There is also a copy of the refund check I sent to Nikki for the unused portion of the $5000 she advanced on account. All together, I was paid $2978.25 for services rendered in the course of that sixteen days and I suppose it was fair enough. The shooting disturbs me still. It has moved me into the same camp with soldiers and maniacs. I never set out to kill anyone. But maybe that’s what Gwen would say, and Charlie too. I’ll recover, of course. I’ll be ready for business again in a week or two, but I’ll never be the same. You try to keep life simple but it never works, and in the end all you have left is yourself.
—Respectfully submitted,
Kinsey Millhone