Read Online The Promise: An Elvis Cole and Joe Pike Novel by Robert Crais - Free Book Online

studied the card for a moment, then took a picture of it with my phone.
    “The ladies at work will need to see this to believe it, Imelda. Everyone is going to be so happy for her.”
    I pretended to be happy, too, but I wasn’t. I felt sad. Meryl Lawrence was right about a man, which meant she might be right about everything else.
    I watched Imelda tuck the card beneath the vase, then followed her out with a binder I didn’t need. When we reached the door, I looked back at Jacob, watching from the wall.
    “Did you know him?”
    She stared at the picture.
    “Oh, yes. He very nice. Like his mama.”
    “Good. That’s good to hear. You’ve been very helpful, Imelda. Thank you.”
    She didn’t look happy about it when she turned from his portrait. The smile was gone and now her eyes were troubled.
    “Sir? Please do not say I tell you about the gentleman.”
    I gave her an encouraging smile.
    “You didn’t. I found the card when I looked for the binder.”
    She nodded, but didn’t look any less worried.
    I stepped out into the sunshine and heard the door close.
    Everything about Amy Breslyn was Top Secret. Even her flowers.

9
    T HE E LVIS C OLE D ETECTIVE A GENCY was on the fourth floor of a four-story building on Santa Monica Boulevard. A man named Joe Pike owned the agency with me, but his name wasn’t on the door. His choice, not mine. Pike doesn’t do doors.
    The office was outfitted with a desk, a couple of leather director’s chairs, a small refrigerator, and a balcony with a nice view across West L.A. to the sea. The Pinocchio clock on the wall always looked happy to see me. His eyes swiveled from side to side as he tocked and he never stopped smiling. I thought he might get tired, but he didn’t. His faith was admirable.
    I put the yearbooks and photographs on my desk, and found a message on my voice mail.
    “Mr. Cole, this is Detective Stiles from last night. I’m sure you remember. We have a few more questions, so would you pretty please call to arrange a time?”
    Pretty please.
    Stiles had left her message at 7:28 that morning, only a few hours after I signed my witness statement. I expected Carter to make another run at me but not on the first morning after.
    I wondered if they had Lerner. Maybe Stiles had spoken with him and Carter knew I was lying. But maybe not. Carter wasn’t the type to bother with a courtesy call. He would break down my door.
    The Information operator found a Thomas Lerner listed in the 747 area code and two Tom Lerners in the 310. I called the 747 number first and got a man’s recorded voice mail. I left a message, asking for a callback even if he was the wrong Lerner. Another voice mail answered for the first 310 Lerner, but I had better luck with the second. I knew by the age in his voice he wasn’t the right Lerner, but at least a human being answered.
    “Mr. Lerner, I’m calling on behalf of Jacob Breslyn. Jacob was close with a Thomas Lerner. Would that be you?”
    “I’m Tom Lerner. I’m not a Thomas.”
    “Sorry. Would you have a relative named Thomas Lerner? He would be in his late twenties. A writer. He lived in Echo Park a few years ago.”
    “Well, now, I don’t think so. My uncle might have been a Thomas, but he’s been dead for years.”
    So much for calling.
    An Internet search showed ninety-seven Tom or Thomas Lerners in the United States, three of whom resided in the Los Angeles area. These were the three I called. Searches for ‘Thomas Lerner writer’ showed nothing on the Internet Movie Database, the membership of the Writers Guild, or various bookselling websites. If Thomas Lerner was writing, he wasn’t having any better luck with it than I was having with detecting.
    I opened the material I had about Amy Breslyn and studied her picture again. She didn’t look like a person who would embezzle four hundred sixty thousand dollars, but people can fool you. She looked like a sad version of someone’s marshmallow aunt: a kindly woman, slightly