Read Online The Detective & the Chinese High-Fin by Michael Craven - Free Book Online

puka-shell necklace, which was troubling. The man was in his early thirties.
    â€œSo. What do you want to know?” he asked.
    He said it in a way that suggested he would actually be helpful. “Anything you think might help. I have the police case file, so I’ve read your previous statements.”
    Greer nodded and said, “So you know what I said before. That Keaton was my big brother, but that he was a really lazy, disrespectful guy who pretty much pissed off everyone he came in contact with eventually.”
    â€œYes,” I said. “I’m aware that you said something to that effect before. But let me ask you this. Who was he pissing off right around the time he got shot?”
    A concerned look fell over his face. “You know—”
    â€œYes. You were on a sailing trip in the British Virgin Islands when it happened.”
    That was Greer’s alibi. On a boat. In the ocean. Out of the country. He had left the United States one week prior to the murder. Had flown to Puerto Rico, then to Tortola, and had embarked from there on a sailing trip through the British Virgin Islands and the US Virgin Islands with a college friend who had relatives in Tortola. Delta Air Lines had verified his presence on the flight from L.A. to Puerto Rico. Cape Air had verified his presence on the flight from Puerto Rico to Tortola. On the day of the actual murder, he was in the middle of the ocean east of Tortola, near Anguilla. This was confirmed by his friend, by the first mate on the boat, by the staff at the marina in Tortola they’d departed from, by the friend’s family in Tortola. Of course, all this doesn’t rule out some kind of involvement in the murder, but on the day of the killing, he himself was in fact a few thousand miles away, roasting in the sun and gliding through Caribbean waters.
    Greer’s helpful expression reappeared and he said, “You know what, John? When Keat got killed, we weren’t very close. At all. We were talking on, like, birthdays and holidays. Maybe. If he remembered to call me on my birthday,and if he showed up to Christmas at my parents’ house. So I honestly don’t know who he was pissing off around the time he got killed.”
    I said, “Sounds like you and Keaton had fallen out a bit. Why did that happen? Was it something specific?”
    It was a question that might have offended some people. It implied that even though Greer had a really good alibi, I might still be looking into him.
    It didn’t seem to bother him. “No. It wasn’t something specific, or any one thing, really. You’ll have to talk to some of the other people that I’m sure are in your case file to get those stories. His ex–business partner, Craig Helton. Who I like. Craig’s a good guy. And I don’t think he had anything to do with it. But he does have a specific reason for not liking Keaton.”
    I nodded.
    â€œFor me and Keat, it was just . . . Keaton always let you down. Always. My mom, my dad, me. Everyone. He was just one of those people who don’t give a shit about anyone other than themselves. You almost couldn’t believe it. If he told you he’d be at your graduation to support you, he wouldn’t show up. If he told my parents he’d pay them back for something, he wouldn’t. If my dad had a birthday party, he’d show up and get wasted and be really rude to people. Just on and on.
    â€œWith me, specifically? No, it wasn’t one thing. It was a hundred things. He blew off my high school graduation, which, for some reason, was important to me at the time. And I know that doesn’t sound like that big a deal, and it wasn’t. But when you add it to all the other stuff . . .Like, he was rude to some of my girlfriends. He’d borrow money from me and not pay me back. It wasn’t just my parents he stiffed. He wrecked my car once and never really apologized. Just kind of said,