The Shoulders of Giants by Jim Cliff

turned, and looked at me for a moment, trying to place me, trying to remember...
    “Jake, isn’t it?”
    I smiled. “That’s right.”
    “I knew you’d be back,” he said. I didn’t know quite what to make of that. “The shiner threw me for a minute.” I self-consciously touched my black eye, which had now added some yellow to the purple. “What happened to you?”
    “Occupational hazard,” I said. “So how about that drink?”
    “Sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
    I ordered him a Budweiser, and got myself another. When they arrived he clinked the neck of his bottle against mine.
    “Bottoms up!” he said.
    “Once again, I’m afraid I’m here on business.”
    “Oh yes, still looking for that girl?”
    “No. She turned up. Unfortunately, we were too late.” He looked appropriately saddened. “But you may still be able to help.”
    “Fire away.”
    Frank looked deep into my eyes, and I wondered if he was fully paying attention. I took the folded page from my pocket and showed it to him.
    “I was wondering if you’ve ever seen any of these people in here. Or for that matter, anywhere else.”
    He looked at the pictures in turn, and I watched his face for any reaction. When he got to Grant Foster’s picture, he arched his eyebrows, and I got a small rush of adrenaline.
    “He’s kind of cute.”
    “Ever seen him before?” I asked, hopefully.
    “I wish. Sorry, I can’t help you.”
    “Would you mind showing these to your friends? Maybe someone else has seen them around. I’d appreciate a call, if you hear anything.” I handed him one of my business cards.
    “Jake,” he said, smiling, “It would be my pleasure. You want to dance?”
    “No, thanks, I have to go and eat. But I’ll see you around. And thanks.”
    I drained the last of my beer and left before they played any more Abba songs. When I got home I fried some chicken with some chopped peppers and onions and I added a few ripe tomatoes. I let it simmer while I dropped some noodles in a pan of boiling water. When I was done, and I’d doused the whole lot in soy sauce, it actually tasted fairly good.
    I watched a documentary on black holes on the Discovery Channel until it was time to go to bed, but I wasn’t tired, and I didn’t want to lie in bed trying to sleep, so I started looking for things to do. I flipped through the TV Guide, and read an article on the demise of sitcoms since Seinfeld finished. I started watching Twelve Angry Men on TCM for about the millionth time, but I fell asleep somewhere near the end of the film, and didn’t wake up until after ten the next morning.
    I showered and shaved, and thought about eating breakfast. At the moment, I didn’t seem to know very much. With six victims and a possible Mob connection there were a lot of people to talk to and things to know, and I didn’t want all my eggs in one basket. I decided I would keep speaking to people who knew Susan, since she was my connection to the case, and I’d look into two of the other victims to see if I could find a link between them, to the Mob, or to Susan. If I didn’t find anything I’d move on to two more victims, and then two more. The obvious one to choose first was Calvin Walsh, since he was probably the first victim, and according to Silence of the Lambs that’s a good place to start – “What do we begin to covet? We covet what we see every day.” I didn’t know if there was any coveting going on in this case, but maybe Walsh was the first victim because he knew the killer. There were no signs of forced entry into his apartment, suggesting he let his killer in. Come to that, Grant Foster was also killed in his apartment, and his door hadn’t been forced either. Maybe they both knew the killer. I decided to start with these two and look for where their lives might have overlapped.
    I called the zipper factory where Calvin Walsh worked, and spoke to his boss, Mr Perry. Perry seemed excited at the prospect of my coming