He talked it over that night with Sleepy, but his grin-faced partner had no ideas on the subject, except the local thought that Len had killed him.
“Some folks think he done the right thing,” said Sleepy.
“Yuh can’t justify murder, Sleepy.”
“I ain’t tryin’ to. Anyway, it wasn’t my funeral.”
“Did Len strike you as a man who would call a man to his door and kill him?”
“I dunno, Hashknife. Readin’ human bein’s is like dopin’ out a race horse from a form-chart. They never run the way they should. I’d hate to think he would, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. What’s yore opinion?”
“The key to the whole thing is this, Sleepy: find the man who wanted to kill Prentice.”
“Yeah, I know that. But Prentice was well liked by most everybody. He never hurt nobody—except Len Ayres. Ask anybody and they’ll tell yuh the same thing. I’ve talked with a lot of ’em.”
“That’s what made it easy for somebody else to kill him, and get away with it, Sleepy.”
Sleepy laughed softly.