The Dead Man (40 page)

My parents lived in Dallas when I was assigned to the FBI office there. My dad and I had lunch together every Friday. The best part of lunch was arguing over whose turn it was to pay, each of us trying to convince the other to pick up the check. He and my mother stopped by our house one Sunday morning and the conversation turned to whose turn it was to buy, my dad reminding me that he'd bought the week before. I said he would have to pay because I was broke and turned one pant pocket inside out to show that it was empty. He pointed to the other pocket and I turned it out. It was as empty as the first. He looked at me and said wear a different pair of pants, telling me not to make excuses when it was my turn to step up.

I told Kate that story when we had lunch at the end of May. We were sitting at a table on the sidewalk at Axios. It was my way of explaining why I had gone with Joy to her doctor appointments, sat in the waiting room during her surgery, and moved her into the house Lucy and I shared when she came home from the hospital. Joy's surgery had gone well but she was struggling with chemo and radiation. Her hair was falling out and she was losing weight and hope.

"What's your relationship with her now?" Kate asked.

"I'm taking care of her. When we were married, she went through some pretty hard times when I didn't do that."

"What's that mean for us?"

Sherry Fritzshall had been true to her word, reaching an agreement with Kate to compensate her for the damage Milo Harper had caused her firm. After the ink was dry, she tried to recruit Kate to the institute but Kate told her she had accepted a job in California.

"I don't know. You're moving to San Diego next week so you can take care of Brian. We're both doing what we need to do."

Kate finished the last of her wine, setting her glass down and folding her hands on the table. "Will you come see me?"

"When I can."

She rose from the table. "Don't wait too long."

I watched her drive away. My cell phone rang. It was Lucy.

"It's after one o'clock. Are you planning on coming in to the office today?"

I never asked Lucy or Simon about the money that showed up in Kent's and Dolan's bank accounts and they never said a word about it. Some things are better left unknown and unsaid.

"You and Simon are the partners. You're supposed to be in the office. I'm just a consultant and consultants don't punch a clock."

She laughed. "Well, try to work us in to your schedule. You won't believe who just hired us."

Thanks for adding The Dead Man to your digital library. The ebook revolution has opened new doors. Thanks for walking through one of mine.

Find out more about Joel Goldman at
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Thanks to Jim Born for his help with firearms, to Doug Lyle for his help on forensic matters, to Doug Stone for his explanation of parabolic curves, and to Rick Shteamer for reminding me that the more you do the more you do. Thanks also to Starbucks for reserving my table and not raising my rent and to Jott.com for helping me remember all the brilliant insights that came to me when I was walking instead of writing.

This book, like everything in my life, would not be possible without my wife, Hildy, whose love, support, patience, and encouragement spring from a bottomless well. As always, my agent Meredith Bernstein gave invaluable advice and my editor, Audrey LaFehr, sharpened, shaped, and shepherded the story, both making a good book better. I am grateful to all of them.

Joel Goldman is an Edgar and Shamus nominated author who was a trial lawyer for twenty-eight years. He wrote his first thriller after one of his partners complained about another partner and he decided to write a mystery, kill the son-of-a-bitch off in the first chapter and spend the rest of the book figuring out who did it. No longer practicing law, he offices at Starbucks and lives in Kansas City with his wife and two dogs.

If you like the knockout suspense of Michael Connelly and the gritty "who done its" by Linda Fairstein, you'll love Joel Goldman's
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Lou Mason is back and this time it's personal when his surrogate father, Homicide Detective Harry Ryman, arrests his best friend, Wilson "Blues" Bluestone, Jr., for murder. Mason unearths secrets someone will do anything to keep as he closes in on a desperate killer, setting himself up as the next target. Goldman goes Grisham one better!

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Move over John Grisham! Joel Goldman is in the courthouse!

Copyright © 2009 Joel Goldman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.