Amos Walker: The Complete Story Collection Read Online Free Page A

the original from all the copycats?”
    “Call John Alderdyce. He’ll tell you I sit on things till they hatch.”
    “Oh, hell.” He dropped his little cigar half-smoked and crushed it out. “The guy clobbers his victims before he strangles them. One blow to the left cheek, probably with his right fist. Keeps ’em from struggling.”
    “Could he be a boxer?”
    “Maybe. Someone used to using his dukes.”
    I thanked him for talking to me. He said, “I hope you are working for the family of a victim.”
    I got out of there without answering. Lying to a cop like DeLong can be like trying to smuggle a bicycle through Customs.
Four
    It was coming up on two o’clock. If the killer was planning to strike that day I had three hours. At the first telephone booth I came to I excavated my notebook and called Constantine Xanthes’ home number in Royal Oak. His wife answered. She had a mellow voice and no accent.
    “Yes, Connie told me he was going to hire you. He’s not home, though. Try the restaurant.”
    I explained she was the one I wanted to speak with and asked if I could come over. After a brief pause she agreed and gave me directions. I told her to expect me in half an hour.
    It was a white frame house that would have been in the country when it was built, but now it was shouldered by two housing tracts with a third going up in the empty field across the street. The doorbell was answered by a tall woman on the far side of 40 with black hair streaked blond to cover the gray and a handsome oval face, the flesh shiny around the eyes and mouth from recent remodeling. She wore a dark knit dress that accentuated the slim line of her torso and a long colored scarf to make you forget she was big enough to look down at the top of her husband’s head without trying. We exchanged greetings and she let me in and hung up my hat and we walked into a dim living room furnished heavily in oak and dark leather. We sat down facing each other in a pair of horsehair-stuffed chairs.
    “You’re not Greek,” I said.
    “I hardly ever am.” Her voice was just as mellow in person.
    “Your husband was mourning the old Greektown at lunch and now I find out he lives in the suburbs with a woman who isn’t Greek.”
    “Connie’s ethnic standards are very high for other people.”
    She was smiling when she said it, but I didn’t press the point. “He says you and Alexander have never been friendly. In what ways weren’t you friendly when he was living here?”
    “I don’t suppose it’s ever easy bringing up someone else’s son. His having been deserted didn’t help. Lord save me if I suggested taking out the garbage.”
    “Was he sullen, abusive, what?”
    “Sullen was his best mood. ’Abusive’ hardly describes his reaction to the simplest request. The children were beginning to repeat his foul language. I was relieved when he ran away.”
    “Did you call the police?”
    “Connie did. They never found him. By that time he was eighteen and technically an adult. He couldn’t have been brought back without his consent anyway.”
    “Did he ever hit you?”
    “He wouldn’t dare. He worshiped Connie.”
    “Did he ever box?”
    “You mean fight? I think so. Sometimes he came home from school with his clothes torn or a black eye, but he wouldn’t talk about it. That was before he quit. Fighting is normal. We had some of the same problems with our son. He grew out of it.”
    I was coming to the short end. “Any scrapes with the law? Alexander, I mean.”
    She shook her head. Her eyes were warm and tawny. “You know, you’re quite good-looking. You have noble features.”
    “So does a German Shepherd.”
    “I work in clay. I’d like to have you pose for me in my studio sometime.” She waved long nails toward a door to the left. “I specialize in nudes.”
    “So do I. But not with clients’ wives.” I rose.
    She lifted penciled eyebrows. “Was I that obvious?”
    “Probably not, but I’m a detective.” I thanked