“Hate to disappoint you. It’s just me.” Another chair, this one a little less familiar than the one I knew so well, creaked in the background. “Helen,” a little warily. “David, I’m sorry I’ve been so mental lately. Can you really blame me for the stress of all of this wearing me down?” “I don’t blame you. That didn’t make your accusations more palatable. I’ve done nothing but support you and try to make sure that the truth of what happened to Rick Hamilton isn’t obscured by some bastard looking to cut a better deal.” Bile bubbled in my belly. I noticed that he was careful not to say the truth of Rick’s suicide. “I know. I’m sorry.” “Johnny warned me that you’d probably call in the throes of remorse eventually.” “Did he now,” I filed that tidbit for a later skirmish. “Well, in this instance, he’s right, and I am sorry about my unfounded paranoia.” “Apology accepted, though I know you too well to believe that’s the only reason you called me.”
