Two hours later on Thursday, after a quick trip home to change into his full sergeant's uniform, Goddard was across town at Memorial Park, standing stiff as a statue, as expected of an ex-marine-officer. Among the mournful dignitaries at the crowded final ceremony for State Senator Albert Towson, were state and federal politicians, including the governor, a U.S. senator, two U.S. representatives, and a former cabinet member. Other expected familiar faces were present-and one that wasn't expected.

Goddard nudged the chief and now neither was listening to the cleric. They exchanged a quick do-you-see-who-I-see glance. They were looking beyond the casket at Sonny Barner, alive and looking uncomfortable in his Sunday best. Goddard was relieved. He didn't need a second murder.

"Reporters are here," the chief whispered, "so pick him up without tipping them off."

Within the hour, Goddard had changed back into civilian clothes and sat across the table from Barner in the interrogation room. Moran and the chief watched through the glass in the adjoining room.

Barner was a tall, scrawny character who had never quite caught on to the fundamentals of socializing. It didn't help that his yellowish crooked teeth, big ears and too-long face made him seem unapproachable. Regardless, Barner had made it on his own for some fifty years. Just now, his finger was pulling at the tight collar of a wrinkled, white dress shirt.

He claimed he didn't know anyone was looking for him. "Against the law now for a businessman to travel to Vegas?"

"Business must be good to fly off to Vegas for a few days. You left town in a hurry, didn't you? Didn't change your answering machine. No note on the door. What was the rush?"

"Yeah, the idea just came to me sudden like."

"Where'd you stay?"

"Caesar's Palace."

"Cheaper places than Caesar's Palace. You a big spender? Where'd you get the money?"

"I'm a businessman, I have resources."

"Does one of your resources shoot bullets?"

"I know why I'm here. You're not sure who killed him and you're fishing around." Barner leaned back in the chair. "Forget about me."

"You own any guns?"

"Yeah, a couple of pumps. Want to buy one?"

"Any handguns?"

He locked his hands behind his head. "No, but I got a Uzi SMG I use to plink tin cans around the backyard."

"You're sort of flip with this, Barner. You've done this police routine before haven't you? You ever do any big time?"

"You've already checked my record, you know I'm clean. I just don't like to spend time with cops, no offense." He made a half smirk. "Oh, now I see your problem. You've got the wrong sonafabitch in jail!"




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