A Vineyard Killing by Philip R. Craig Page B

town for their convention.”
    â€œSomething like that. And there’s another thing.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œFor the past couple of days two guys who work for Saberfox have been tailing me. It’s occurred to me that they may be doing it because I might lead them to someone else whom they can’t find. It’s also occurred to me that that someone might be you.”
    The smile fled from his face. “Do you know their names?”
    â€œWall and Reston. Ring any bells?”
    He drank the last of his coffee and held the empty cup in both hands. “You sure they’re not cops?”
    â€œLike I said, they work for Saberfox. This is the second or third time you’ve been worried about the cops. If you’re worried about the cops, maybe Maria Donawa is right to be worried about you.” He said nothing, but only looked thoughtful and sad. I pushed on. “What’s your concern with the police? Are the cops the reason you live in this cave?”
    He nodded. “Yes.” Then he seemed to come to some agreement with himself. He looked at me. “Forty years ago I killed a man.”

14
    There are killings and there are killings, and they’re not all the same. I should know.
    â€œDo you want to tell me about it?” I asked.
    â€œYou don’t look shocked.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnother coffee?”
    â€œSure.”
    When he came back from the kitchen, he began:
    â€œIt was a long time ago. There was a woman. The man and I were full of piss and vinegar. All of us were young. The man and I fought what some thought was a fair fight, though I knew it wasn’t. Afterward the woman held his body, not me, in her arms. I ran before the police got there. I became John Reilley.”
    When I said nothing, he went on. He seemed glad to talk.
    â€œI had good hands, so I became a carpenter. It was a kind of work far removed from what I’d done before the killing, and I chose it in part so people who knew me before would probably never meet me. I grew this mustache. Not too big and not too small. Just enough to change my face a little. I’ve been careful to be friendly but not too friendly, and I always live alone. I want people to like me in a casual way, but not get so close that they’ll pry into my background.
    â€œI never stayed anywhere for long until I came here, but even here I didn’t want to be too much in the public eye. I had too little money to buy a house, and I didn’t want anyone, bank or credit company, for instance, checking into John Reilley’s past.
    â€œBut I took to the Vineyard. It’s beautiful and it’s got a population that makes it easy to get lost: a few thousand people in the winter, a hundred thousand during the summer. People coming and going all the time. There’s a lot of the kind of work I do and the money’s good and people don’t ask too many questions as long as you do your job. Everything is in flux, like it is out in northern California, where people are all from somewhere else and probably won’t be doing what they’re doing now for very long.”
    â€œI’ve never been to northern California.”
    â€œPretty country. Lots of energy in the air. I was there before I came here, and I came here because it was as far from there as I could get and was a place I’d never been. I liked the island, so I rented that apartment and stayed in it long enough to get John Reilley a post office box and to start building this place. I’ve been here ever since, and somewhere along the line I realized I was tired of moving. Then I met Dodie and was even surer of that. I’m sixty years old, and for forty years I’ve been on the run. The only women I’ve known have been the touch-and-go kind. I want to settle down, but I guess that may not happen now that you’re here. I’ll be moving on if the police don’t nail me first.”
    His face had a