“Obviously, I should have, but I could tell the kid had no intention of using it.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“I was closer. Believe me, he was more scared than Feif.”

“You know what kind of gun it was?”

“I don’t know guns, Barney.”

“Can you describe it?”

“I barely looked at it. In fact, I made it a point not to. I tried to pretend that me and Walker were just two people having a conversation. Ignoring the gun made that a lot easier.”

“You know any reason Michael Walker or Dante Halleyville might want to kill Feifer, Walco, or Roche?”

“No. There isn’t any.”

“Why’s that, Tom?”

“They barely knew each other.”

The young detective pursed his lips and shook his head. “No one’s seen them since the murder.”

“Really.”

“Plus, we got reason to think Dante and Walker were at the scene that night.”

I start shaking my head a little at the news. “That makes no sense. There’s no way they’d go back there after what happened that afternoon.”

“Not if they were smart,” says Van Buren. “But, Tom, these boys weren’t smart. They could be killers.”

Chapter 20. Tom

WOW! HALF AN hour after Barney Fife Van Buren leaves with his little orange notebook in hand, Wingo sounds the alarm again. More company.

When I look through the front-door window, all I see is torso, which means it’s Clarence, and that’s not good news either.

Clarence, who drives a cab in town and does some college scouting, has been a close friend since he steered me to St. John’s fifteen years ago. Because there’s as much downtime for a Hampton cabbie as for a Montauk lawyer, he comes by my office two or three times a week. The six-foot-six Clarence is also Dante’s cousin, and I know from his worried expression that’s why he’s here. This cannot be good.