I wondered if I’d be able to sleep in the room. I could always get them to change it, but I’d been here a few years now and I’d grown accustomed to it. Chance had said it suited me, and I suppose it did.

How did I feel about having killed him?

I thought it over and decided I felt fine. I didn’t really know anything about the son of a bitch. To understand all is to forgive all, they say, and maybe if I knew his whole story I’d understand where the blood lust came from. But I didn’t have to forgive him. That was God’s job not mine.

And I’d been able to squeeze the trigger. And there’d been no ricochets, no bad bounces, no bullets that went wide. Four shots, all in the chest. Good detective work, good decoy work, and good shooting at the end.

Not bad.

I went downstairs and around the corner. I walked to Armstrong’s, glanced in the window, but went on walking to Fifty-eighth and around the corner and halfway down the block. I went into Joey Farrell’s and stood at the bar.

Not much of a crowd. Music on the jukebox, some baritone crooner backed up with a lot of strings.

“Double Early Times,” I said. “With water back.”

I stood there, not really thinking of anything, while the bearded barman poured the drink and drew the chaser and set them both before me. I had placed a ten dollar bill on the counter. He cracked it, brought my change.

I looked at the drink. Light danced in the rich amber fluid. I reached for it, and a soft inner voice murmured Welcome home.

I withdrew my hand. I left the drink on the bar and took a dime from my pile of change. I went to the phone and dropped the dime and dialed Jan’s number.

No answer.

Fine, I thought. I’d kept my promise. Of course I might have misdialed, or the phone company might have fucked up. Such things have been known to happen.

I put the dime back in the slot and dialed again. I let it ring a dozen times.

No answer.

Fair enough. I got my dime back and returned to the bar. My change was as I’d left it, and so were the two glasses in front of me, the bourbon and the water.

I thought, Why?

The case was finished, solved, wrapped up. The killer would never kill anyone again. I had done a whole lot of things right and felt very good about my role in the proceedings. I wasn’t nervous, I wasn’t anxious, I wasn’t depressed. I was fine, for Christ’s sake.