Parting Shot
For Neetha
LINWOOD BARCLAY
PARTING SHOT
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Copyright
ONE
CAL WEAVER
I ran into someone on the street in Promise Falls the other day, a woman who knew me back when I was a cop here, before I left for Griffon, near Buffalo, and became a private investigator.
She said, “Oh, I didn’t know you’d moved back. How’s Donna? And your boy? Scott, isn’t it?”
I never quite know how to answer questions like this. But I said, “I’m kind of on my own now.”
She gave me a sympathetic look and nodded knowingly. “These things happen,” she said. “I hope it was all amicable, that you’re all still talking.”
I gave her the best smile I could muster. “We talk every night,” I told her.
She smiled back. “Well, that’s good then, isn’t it?”
TWO
Detective Barry Duckworth of the Promise Falls Police was sitting at his desk when his phone rang. He snatched up the receiver.
“Duckworth,” he said.
“It’s Bayliss.” Trent Bayliss, the sergeant on the desk where people walked into the station.
“Yeah.”
“I got a live one here.” Bayliss was unable to hide the amusement in his voice.
“What’re you talking about?”
“Guy got picked up wandering around downtown. Once they brought him in, he said he needed to talk to a detective. So I’m sending him your way. Says his name is Gaffney. Brian Gaffney. But he’s got no ID on him.”
“What’s his story?” Duckworth asked.
“It’s better if you hear it from him. I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” Bayliss hung up.
Wearily, Barry Duckworth cradled the receiver. Maybe Bayliss was amused, but Barry wasn’t. He didn’t view the job quite the way he used to. A little more than a year ago, he’d nearly died in the performance of his duties, and it had changed not only how he saw his work, but the world around him.
He liked to think he’d stopped taking things for granted. He knew it was something of a cliché, but he saw each day as a gift. Every morning, he thought back to those moments when he’d nearly had the life snuffed out of him. Took him a while to get back on his feet, too. There was a stint in the hospital, even a little plastic surgery on his face.