by Gil Brewer
“Yeah. I know.”
“She’s over there. I’m not sure whether she wants to see you, though. Can’t say as I blame her.”
Bess was standing there by the royal palm at the near corner of the sign. She was watching me. I lifted one hand toward her and let it drop. She didn’t move.
Three officers came across the lawn.
The one who’d been picking up the money went over by the dead man and got the briefcase loose from his fingers. He began packing the money inside the case, still whistling through his teeth.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come along with us,” Gant said. “We know Teece killed the girl and Radan killed Teece, all that. We couldn’t move in any quicker because we didn’t really have anything on Radan, see? We’ve wanted him for a long while, Nichols. As I say, you’ll have to come along, too. There’ll be some sort of a trial. Maybe you’ll get a suspended sentence. Maybe not.”
I turned and walked over by Bess. There was just nothing left inside me, but her. And she didn’t want any part of me.
We looked at each other.
“Lieutenant Gant says the highway’s coming through,” she said. “He told me that tonight, when we were talking about you. Why you did all this.”
“I’m sorry, Bess.”
She looked up at me. We stood that way for a second or two. Then I saw Gant coming toward us.
“It’s all right, Roy.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was all over.
“It’s all right. I’ll be here, Roy.”
Gant touched my arm. “Coming, Nichols?”
We started off across the lawn toward the curb. “There’s a few things you’ll have to clear up,” Gant said. “I don’t exactly get it all yet.”
“Me either, Lieutenant.”
As we got into the car, I looked over across toward the sign. Bess was still standing there. She waved her hand.
Gant slammed the car door. His voice reached me through a haze. “You care for a cigarette, Nichols?”