Read Online Matters of Doubt by Warren C Easley - Free Book Online Page B

at a little past eleven, after warning us both to stay in town.
    As I was walking back to my car, my cell chirped. It was Nando. “What is going on, Calvin? I just heard you and some young fellow with a snake tattooed on his neck are being entertained by Portland homicide.”
    I had to chuckle. There wasn’t a lot that happened in Portland that Nando didn’t eventually hear about. I didn’t bother to ask how he found out. “Yeah, it’s true. The young artist you helped locate and I are witnesses in the murder of his mother’s boyfriend. The guy got his head drilled this afternoon up in the West Hills. Picasso found the body, and I came on the scene right after that. ”
    â€œWitnesses, not suspects?”
    â€œWell, there haven’t been any arrests, put it that way. The police just finished up a search of Picasso’s place over here at Dignity Village. They came up empty.”
    â€œPerhaps we need to talk?”
    â€œThat would be good.”
    Twenty minutes later, Nando and I sat in the apartment above Caffeine Central. He’d brought a cold six-pack of La Tropical, his favorite Cuban beer, mail ordered from Miami. Nando was slumped on a couch, and I was pacing the floor in front of him. I said, “Going disco dancing later tonight?”
    A questioning look morphed into a smile as he reached down and fingered the heavy gold chain around his neck. “Disco was huge in Havana, but in those days, I couldn’t afford a chain like this . What can I say? The gold just feels good against my neck.” He dropped the smile and picked the thread of our conversation back up. “So, how can you be so sure the young man’s innocent?”
    I took a pull on my beer. “It was gut feel at first, and the more I pushed him, the more I believed his story. Look at it this way—Picasso’s a bright kid. If he wanted to kill Conyers, do you think he’d announce to the world he was going to his house, stab him in the head, then jump in the pool and pull him out? I don’t think so. And to top it off, I’m pretty sure the medical examiner’s going to conclude the killer was right handed. Picasso’s a south paw.”
    Nando smiled without showing his teeth and swung his left arm away from his body as if stroking a tennis shot. “Perhaps he has a wicked backhand.”
    â€œI don’t think so. Someone dealing a death blow is going to go for maximum power. Forehand, for sure.”
    Nando eyed me skeptically. “What if they struggled and Conyers pulled him into the swimming pool before Picasso hit him?”
    I shook my head vigorously. “No way. There was a blood spray pattern on the deck consistent with a single, sharp blow to the head. That blow put Conyers in the pool, I’m sure of it. And he didn’t take anyone with him.”
    Nando smiled again, a fleeting gleam of white teeth. “I know you are familiar with forensic evidence, but so much information from so little blood? As for the rest of your argument, you know and I know, my friend, that passion and anger can cause a man to do crazy things. It is not like you to make such a snap judgment.”
    I pushed down a surge of irritation at Nando’s skepticism, although deep down I knew he had a point. The little voice in my head reminded me of that. “It’s the way I see it.”
    He nodded at my hand holding a beer bottle. “You’re right handed. I’m sure this fact is not lost on the investigating officers.”
    I forced a smile as a tiny flame of anxiety lit in my stomach. “Who knows? If they give up on Picasso, they might turn on me.”
    Nando nodded. “You are a material witness to a brutal murder of a well known Portland business man. It would be easy for the police to drag you into this.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “Your defense of the young man is admirable, but do you think it is wise, Calvin? Perhaps