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showing him a karate hold.”
    “Yeah,” J. T. confirmed. “Thanks,” he said and retreated into the house, still kneading his shoulder. The administrator watched him go, not believing a word of it.
    “Holland Taylor,” I repeated.
    This time he took my hand. “Elliot Seeley. Now tell me what really happened.”
    “Nothing much,” I said. “He merely took exception to my looks. He’s not the first.”
    “I’m truly sorry,” Seeley said and I had the impression he was. “J. T. has had a difficult time adjusting, more difficult than most. He’s been in and out of prison nine of the past eleven years; I think he’s more comfortable inside than he is outside. Anyway, that’s my problem. What can I do for you?”
    I showed him my license. He wasn’t any happier to see it than J. T., but at least he didn’t poke me in the chest.
    “I’m looking for information about John Brown.”
    “What kind of information?”
    “When did you see him last?”
    Seeley sighed heavily, like he was repeating a story that already bored him. “Saturday night, about six-thirty.”
    “Where was he …”
    “He left here with Joseph Sherman in Sherman’s four-by-four,” Seeley said, anticipating my question.
    “Wait a minute …”
    “They said they were going to meet a man about a job. I didn’t believe them, but I didn’t stop them. And no, I haven’t seen or heard from Sherman since, and no, I can’t say where he might be hiding.”
    “Who is Joseph Sherman?”
    Seeley sighed again. “He was one of our residents. He was paroled to us about three weeks ago after doing six in Oak Park Heights. He and Brown roomed together while they were here.”
    “What was Sherman in for?”
    “Criminal vehicular homicide, same as Brown.”
    “Tell me about his vehicle?”
    “It was red.”
    “That’s it?”
    “I don’t know cars. All I know is he bought it a week after he got out with the money he made in prison.” Seeley shook his head in disgust. “He was paid seven bucks an hour, plus commissions, plus bonuses, plus college courses to do telemarketing work for companies like 3M. I guess he was a superb salesman. He walked out of the Heights with a check for sixty-eight thousand dollars and a bachelor’s degree.”
    I was just as annoyed as Seeley. “Who says crime doesn’t pay?” I asked, slipping the notebook from my pocket. “What can you tell me about him?”
    “Mr. Taylor, I’ve already told you more than I should; I hope you understand.”
    I tried to protest.
    Seeley said, “Why don’t you ask the police? They know everything I know.”
    “The police?”
    “The St. Paul police,” Seeley repeated. “I told the two detectives everything when they were here.”
    “When was that?”
    “Early Sunday morning.”
    “The cops … a salt and pepper team named McGaney and Casper?”
    “That sounds like them.”
    “Sunday morning?”
    “I’m sorry. If you want to know anything more, talk to the police.”

    I slapped the dashboard of my Chevy Monza, then apologized to her. She had served me faithfully for fifteen years and one hundred sixty-two thousand miles; she didn’t deserve the abuse.
    The first step in any murder investigation is always to contact the last person to see the victim alive. The last person to see Brown alive was Joseph Sherman. Brown was killed in Sherman’s vehicle and now Sherman was missing. So why aren’t the cops looking for him , I wondered. Why did they bust my door at 6:00 in the A.M. if Sherman was such an obvious suspect? Why did they drag me to the stationhouse only to let me go a couple of hours later?
    “The cops are messing with me,” I told the Monza. “And this BS about Annie refusing to see me … All right, I’ll play.”
    I fired up the Monza and steered her toward downtown Minneapolis. A blue Ford parked several car lengths behind me pulled out at the same time. I nearly lost him at the light and had to slow down so he could catch up.
    “Come along,