I sat on the blotch. “Oh, you want to talk?”
“I don’t want to, I have to. Peter Zov is the man who murdered Marko.”
I stared at him. “What is this, a hunch?”
“No. A certainty.”
“How come?”
He told me what the man in the chair had said.
XIII
I sat for a minute and chewed on it, squinting at the sun. “If you had told me before we walked in,” I said, “it would have taken just one more bullet.”
“Pfui. Could you have shot him hanging there?”
“No.”