Read Online JO03 - Detour to Murder by Jeff Sherratt - Free Book Online Page A

What am I missing here? Wait a minute! Roberts also knew. Maybe he told his cellmate and the word got out through the prison pipeline. No, that would take too long. The dark-haired beauty had to be waiting for me at the prison. She had to have followed me to the In-N-Out from there. But what about the thugs in the Buick? They showed up at the burger joint, too. And that had to have been pre-planned. They had to know about me taking Roberts as a client even before he signed the form. These people had to be mind readers. My God, who were they?
    Mabel also left a note next to the mail. I glance at it and nodded. In her hasty scrawl she had written that Schlereth’s secretary called to let us know that the board had turned down Roberts’s parole. No surprise. A formal down letter would be sent to the prison authorities within a few days. The warden would’ve received a phone call about the decision, as well. He must’ve told Roberts the bad news by now. When it came in the mail, the official letter would go in his file and be buried there with the rest of the detritus of a failed life.
    I got up and started for the door, but stopped when the phone rang. I picked it up. Sol was on the line. Background noise, ice cubes rattling, and the sound of a piano told me he was at a bar, probably Rocco’s. I knew he would ask me to join him and he could be persuasive, but I was too tired and had a migraine coming on. And I’ll admit it, the mystery woman with the face of an angel and those thugs in the Buick had me bugged. I wanted to head to my apartment, take some aspirin, and soak in a hot tub for a couple of hours. I’d take a pass with Sol and see him tomorrow. Yeah, I’ll tell him that I’ll catch him tomorrow, maybe for lunch.
    “Jimmy, I’m at Rocco’s. Come on over. I have news about your case.”
    “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” The guy had a certain way about him. I couldn’t turn him down.
    Everyone who walked into Rocco’s was hit immediately with music coming from the bar, located two steps down and to the right of the maître d’ station. And tonight was no exception.
    The piano player, a short, spunky black guy, pounded the ivory and sang Gershwin classics, murdering them. When he sang “I’ve Got a Crush on You” it sounded like a steamroller crushing rocks.
    I sat at Sol’s table and pulled my chair in close, leaning into him, so I could hear his voice above the racket.
    “Isn’t the guy terrific?” he said, indicating the piano player. “When it comes to Gershwin the guy’s magic.”
    The entertainer’s fingers were okay, playing George Gershwin’s music, but again, his voice pulverized brother Ira’s timeless lyrics. I wanted to say, “It ain’t necessarily so,” but in lieu of that I said, “S’wonderful. How long has this been going on?”
    “Since a foggy day.”
    “Fascinatin’ rhythm.”
    “Nice work if you can get it.”
    “But not for me,” I said.
    “Well, Porgy, there’s a boat dat’s leavin’ soon.”
    “Okay, Sol, I give.” We both laughed and the laughter chased my migraine away.
    After a few more Gershwin numbers the piano player took a break and we moved into the dining room. We slipped into Sol’s private booth. Jeanine appeared, bearing two tall glasses of ice water. She whisked away the reserved sign and handed us menus. Sol ordered the rack of lamb. I ordered a hamburger.
    “Chazerai ,” Sol said. “Do you live on hamburgers? Maybe I should call you Wimpy.”
    “Nah, I eat pizza, too.”
    “And donuts?”
    “A few.”
    After Sol finished his lamb and I’d eaten my hamburger, I sipped coffee while Sol worked on his dessert. Between bites of crème brûlée Sol told me his news about the Roberts case. “I’ve located Frank Byron, the DA who put your guy behind bars in ’45. He’s agreed to see us.”
    “Hey, that’s great. When?”
    “He’s retired, has a small ranch in Santa Barbara. We’ll drive out together tomorrow morning. One