Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 11, November 1982

Doc got back to Steiner, fussed over him for a few minutes, then slowly closed his bag and climbed back up the hill.

“He’s dead,” he said to Huber.

An ambulance pulled up.

“No sweat,” Huber said to the driver. “Guy’s dead. Phil Steiner. Don’t know what we’ll do for rock ‘n’ roll music around here, now.”

The attendants laughed.

“Take him to the morgue,” Doc said. “I’ll want another look in the morning. But it’s fairly obvious what happened. I’m not going to suggest an inquest.”

“Should I tell his wife, Cass?” Huber asked.

“No need. I’ll tell her. She’s one of my patients.”

Cass skates mulled over what he had seen as he drove home. Steiner undoubtedly was boozed up, but he often was and still was able to drive. Fast. If he had mixed booze with drugs, for instance one of the benzodiazepines, he would have been in a stupor.

Steiner wasn’t a junkie, but tranquilizers were easy enough to get. Must be a bushel of ’em prescribed every year in the county.

Carrie answered her telephone on the second ring.

“This is Cass Skates, Carrie. I’m afraid I have some bad news. About Philip. He had an accident in his car and, yes... he’s gone. Nothing could be done for him... Are you OK?... Well, don’t hesitate to call. Good night.”

He wondered if she had any tranquilizers from her last prescription. Probably wouldn’t need any more, with that son of a bitch out of her life.

The funeral of Philip Steiner III Was not one of the major social events of the season. Carrie, his parents, a handful of other relatives and Cassius Skates were there. Deputy Huber, who had been assigned to escort the procession to the cemetery, was in a back pew.

The eulogy was short, even though Father Gilligan had spent the last two days trying to think of nice things to say about the departed soul (whose contributions to the church made the widow’s mite look lavish). But what with music and passages from the Scriptures, it was a respectable sendoff...

“ ‘He leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul...’ ”

Carrie Steiner, somehow managing to look chic in a dark suit and veil, kept her head bowed... It’s odd, she told herself, but I feel no remorse. I feel nothing. Maybe relief, that’s what I feel. Like I’ve been led beside still waters.

I tried to understand Phil and his drinking. And his women. I even tried after he struck me with his fist the first time. He was drunk. But he usually was, when he was with me. And then he’d get in that car and go tomcatting. He thought he had it made when I started making his drinks for him. He became accustomed to it. He didn’t notice when I started adding a new ingredient. I wonder if Doc Skates really knows how much his pills helped me?

Am I a murderer? Murderess?... I don’t even care. Maybe I should get a medal. I’m not going to worry about it...

Father Gilligan was still reading from the Bible...

“ ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...” ’

In his rear pew, deputy Huber thought it was ironic that the priest would mention valleys. That was some valley Steiner rode into. Bastard never would walk any place. He was out so cold in that Jaguar when I found him that I couldn’t slap him awake. Maybe. I should have hauled him off to the jail... But, no... he would have gotten off... Steiner money... Sonbitch didn’t even care that he got my daughter in trouble, didn’t know of the agony she went through after her visit to that quack abortionist he sent her to... No, I did the right thing. Just pushed good old Phil and his Jag over the edge into the “valley of the shadow of death.” That makes me a murderer, I guess. Hell, I should get a medal...

Cass Skates and his wife sat directly behind the family.

“ ‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life...’ ”

Lord help us all, thought Doc Skates. Poor Carrie, sitting there full of guilt, thinks her tranquilizers did him in. Sure had a load of ’em in his stomach. But she just put the poor boob to sleep.

And Huber, back there, thinks he finished the job. Should have been more careful about his car tracks, but by the time the ambulance guys finished, no one was to know. Except me.

Can’t say I can fault him for what he tried to do. I’ll never forget what a mess that abortionist made of his kid’s insides. And I saw others who had fallen for Steiner’s money and his damned car.

Tough buzzard, though. Cut all to hell in that valley and still alive when I got there. Probably could have pulled his through, although he was close to the edge. I thought I had messed it up when I had to go back for my bag... One extra little cut with a scalpel was all it took... Well, doctors hold lives in their hands every day. Maybe I can be excused for dropping one...

“ ‘...and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’ ”

The Method by Jackie Ritchie