At the end of the stand of trees, I paused, my left hand still clutching the raincoat collars tight, wondering what my next move should be.

Knock?

And when Strutt answered the door, with his guests hiding out somewhere, upstairs maybe, give the guy a story and talk myself inside? But Harry just might recognize his unexpected guest—from my notoriety in the media, or maybe knowing I was involved in the Vincent Colby affair. I was the guy who found his pal Roger Kraft’s body, after all.

Or, hell—when he answered, I could just shoulder in with my gun, ready for whatever might happen!

Neither was much of a plan. Strutt could come to the door with a gun at the ready himself, and his guests could be nearby, also armed and poised to respond. I would never get across the threshold without assembling an impressive collection of slugs of various calibers in assorted locations in my body.

The sun was up there somewhere, but you’d never know it, the growly grayness invaded by swarming black clouds turning late afternoon into near midnight. And the yellow glow from the windows said the lights were only on toward the front of the house, and along one window on this side of the house, at the rear.

I did some recon.

Moving quickly, staying low, hugging the house as best as I could, keeping below the windows, I made my way around the entire structure. Finally I sneaked up onto the typical farmhouse front porch, happy to get out of the rain. The windows were tall with curtains that didn’t quite meet, allowing me to peek in.

The living room was sparsely furnished in a bachelor pad style not suited to the age of the house or its somewhat rundown condition. An overhead light fixture was dim, and an end table lamp didn’t add much. Riding a wall was a velvet painting based on a Playboy centerfold, and hugging that same wall was a projection TV.

No humans present, not even loosely defined.

The only illumination elsewhere was in the kitchen—from a window alongside the rear of the house I could get a low view, looking up, of some appliances and cupboards. And I could hear talk in there, normal levels of speech made murmurs by the pounding rain and occasional thunder. Taking off my hat, I risked standing on tiptoe and doing the window-peeking bit for a few seconds, getting a quick but complete eyeful before ducking back down.

Slamming the porkpie back on, wiping the rain rivulets from my face, I took stock of what I’d seen.