Read Online Open and Shut by David Rosenfelt - Free Book Online

place, he would be reassured as he took a ticket from the machine. A computer-generated female voice would say to him, “Welcome to Markham Plaza. Please take a ticket. Have a good day.”
    “Thank you, I will,” I reply graciously when the machine welcomes me. I think that perhaps this particular computer-generated female might have a crush on me, but when I pull into the lot I hear her welcoming the guy in the next car just as warmly. Women.
    I take the elevator up to the lobby, which is large enough for the Knicks to play their home games. I enter another elevator, and this time a computer-generated male voice addresses me. “Welcome to Markham Plaza. Please press the floor of your choice.”
    “Will do,” I say. “By the way, there's a gal in the parking lot you might like. Short, a little metallic-looking, but a good personality.”
    Unfortunately, a couple is getting on the elevator behind me, and they hear my conversation.
    I smile lamely at them. “The elevator talks.” Heh, heh.
    They don't respond, and we have an uncomfortable ride up, especially for them. They're the ones trapped in an elevator with a lunatic.
    The reception area outside Victor's office is nothing short of spectacular. I'm pondering the cost of the paintings on the walls, when I realize that I could probably afford them. I've got to get used to the concept; I am the most nouveau of all the nouveau riche in the country.
    Victor's secretary, Eleanor, appears to have a permanent scowl on her face. Clearly her job is to protect Victor, and I doubt that Norman Schwarzkopf could lead a battalion past her without an appointment. Fortunately, I have one, and she buzzes me through.
    I enter Victor's office, which makes the reception area look Third World. Victor is at his desk. He's tall, graying at the temples, wearing a three-piece suit which strains slightly to contain his rather bulky midsection. I don't think I've ever sat at my desk without taking off my jacket, but there's Victor wearing all three pieces, sitting back in his deep leather chair, staring out at the world as if he hasn't got a care in it. And there's really no reason that he should.
    “Mr. Markham, my name is Andy Carp—”
    He cuts me off. “I know who you are. I'm sorry about your father. Good man.”
    “Yes, I wanted to talk—”
    He does it again. “You wanted to talk about that killer.” He means Willie Miller, but I doubt he even knows his name. “I won't help you with that,” he goes on. “You shouldn't have gotten a new trial. It's a waste of taxpayer money. End of discussion.”
    Since this hasn't really been a discussion, I consider his announcement of its ending to be premature. “Actually, I thought that since—”
    And again. “Since I have influence, and since the victim was my son's girlfriend, I could talk to the governor, get that scum's sentence reduced to life in prison. Forget it. As I said, end of discussion.”
    This is getting annoying. “I like beer,” I say quickly.
    “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demands.
    “Nothing. I just wanted to see if I could get in one complete sentence without you interrupting, and ‘I like beer’ was the quickest sentence I could think of.”
    This is the point where the gruff, overpowering type usually laughs grudgingly and warms up. Victor, unfortunately, doesn't seem to be familiar with that stereotype. He looks at me with the same respect he would a roach that he just found in his Rice Krispies.
    “You're as big a wiseass as I've heard.”
    “Thank you very much.” That's my second sentence in a row, so I'm feeling pretty chipper.
    “What do you want? I'm a busy man.”
    I had been planning to talk to him about the Miller case, but he's made it clear that the only way I'll get any answers about that is to take his deposition under oath. I smoothly switch to plan B, taking out the photograph and laying it on his desk. “I was curious about when and where this picture was