FOURTEEN
Frank Oliver sat on the edge of his bed, laid back, and stared at the ceiling fan. When he heard the news about Ken’s death, mixed feelings coursed through him. On one hand, that meant a thorn in his flesh had been removed. On the other, he knew damn well the detective had more than a casual interest in talking to him. Just because he and Hargrove had not gotten along, you could bet your bottom dollar that people were going to accuse him of the murder. People were always after Frank Oliver. Always.
As he lay there, he tried to think back to the night before. He had seen Hargrove, all right, but the fat prick had been breathing when he left him. Hadn’t he? Truth was, the whole thing was a little fuzzy. He remembered exchanging harsh words with Hargrove, or did he? They always exc
