about what I shared with him. At the same time, I had to give him something to show him that I was making progress with the investigation.
âAnd youâve got no idea who killed him?â Gates said.
âNot yet. It could be anyone at this point, but Jason spooked whoever killed him.â
âSomeone turned over Jayâs flat,â Crichlow said.
I let Gates digest that for a moment. âI think Jason was collecting evidence against someone, but itâs gone. His computerâs been taken and his papers burned.â
âWhat was Jason playing at?â Gates said more to himself than to us. âHe shouldnât have been doing this alone. Why didnât he come to me for help?â
I dodged the question by shaking my head. Jason wouldnât have turned to his brother since there was a trust issue.
âSo weâve got nothing and theyâve got everything.â
âI wouldnât say that,â I said. âThe cops gave you back Jasonâs things, right?â
Gates capped the bottle and looked at me quizzically. âYeah.â
âDid they return his mobile?â
He was quiet for a moment. âNo.â
âCan I see what you got back?â
âYeah. Wait here.â
Gates returned with an expandable paper envelope and I used it to push my unwanted whisky aside. The sight of Jasonâs possessions emptied out over the bar affected Gates. His features slackened and tears welled in his eyes. He was human, after all.
I picked through Jasonâs things. It was the usual collection of items we carry with us. There was nothing that actually defined him. Just keys, loose change, a pen, a handkerchief, a cheap digital watch, a signet ring, a cross on a chain and a wallet stained with his blood.
âAnything missing?â I asked.
âBesides the phone? No, I donât think so.â
âDid the cops keep anything back as evidence?â
âNot as far as I know. Not that anyone would have said if they did. The bastards wouldnât tell me. Straight for over a decade, but they still see a villain.â
After the treatment heâd given me, he didnât deserve the benefit of the doubt.
âAre you looking for something specific here?â Crichlow asked.
âHard to say, but I thought there might be gloves or tools or something for breaking into the Ragged Racing transporter.â
Gatesâ grip tightened on his whisky glass. He looked disgustedly at it and tossed the contents down the sink. âTell me youâve got ideas.â
If Jason hadnât brought any tools to break into the transporter, how was he planning to get inside? I picked up Jasonâs keys. In addition to the keys to his flat and car, I recognized the red anodized keys to the Ragged Racing workshop. As a former employee, he shouldnât still possess them. So how had he come by them?
âI do. Can I borrow these?â
âYeah. Sure.â
I got up to leave. âAnd just so that weâre clear, Iâm going to find your brotherâs killer, not because youâre threatening me, but because your brother deserves justice, so donât ever pull a stunt like this again. And just so you know, if you lay a finger on my grandfather, Iâll cut you off at the knees. Got me?â
Lap Twelve
I left Gatesâ house in one piece. Heâd just smirked at my threat. Crichlow hadnât. Maybe he recognized the dangers of dealing with a cornered person.
As I drove back, I thought about Jasonâs mobile phone. That phone held a lot of potential in its memory. Any pictures or video could explain a lot of things. If there were ever any calls between the killer and Jason, the phone log could also prove damaging.
I played over the possibilities as I drove back to Archway. The noise of the road and existing in the limbo between places always soothed me. No matter how big the problem, there was always a big enough road to solve
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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