“Cowboy Hovde now has egg all over his ugly face. I wish I had been there to see it.” I held my tongue. “Another dead end,” he said. “Dennis,” I explained to him patiently, “most of the murder cases I worked on were loaded with dead ends. They are not credit checks or divorces or guard duty, like Arden handles. They are dead ends and blind alleys.” He said nothing. “Don’t sulk,” I said. “That will be your lecture for today.” “I think I’ll go home,” he said wearily. “I’ve cost you too much and delivered too little.” “That’s not true. You’ve been a big help. Back to credit checks now?” He shook his head. “I still have a few days of vacation left. If you need me, holler.” It was a quiet trip to the hotel. When I reached into the backseat for my purchases, he said, “Take the gun, too. Consider it a present from my wife. She insisted that I get rid of it. One of my macho uncles gave it to me when I started to work at Arden.” “Thanks,”
