Jeff Sherratt - Detour to Murder

“Hi, boss,” she said, setting her purse on Mabel’s desk. “My case is over. Bennie’s off the hook. The DA dropped the charges.”

“Really, why?”

“I demanded to see the evidence. You know, the marijuana plants he was accused of growing, but guess what, they’re gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yeah, somebody stole the seedlings from the evidence locker. So the Deputy DA had no choice but to dismiss the case. Then I took Bennie to Chris ’n Pitts’ Barbeque on Lakewood. Chris Pelonis-the owner-was there and I talked him into hiring Bennie as one of his dishwashers.”

“That’s great.”

Yeah, he’ll start paying us next Friday, his payday. Five dollars per week. Not bad, huh?” Rita picked up the empty coffeepot and asked, “Hey, where’s Mabel?”

“Ah…. she had to take care of some personal matters.”

Rita scooped a couple of heaping tablespoons of ground coffee into the pot. “I saw the Chevy in your parking spot. One of Sol’s?

“I borrowed it. Just until my Vette’s fixed.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, not much… I guess it needed a tune-up.”

She whirled around. “Why are you lying about your car…and about Mabel?”

“What… makes you say that?”

“I can tell when you’re lying. It’s written all over your face.”

I stood there in silence staring at the floor.

“What happened? Did you have an accident, or what?”

“No, it’s just…”

“You do that all the time, Jimmy. You don’t level with me and it’s getting old. I know that sometimes you try to shield me from the hard facts. You think it’s for my own good. I’d worry too much. But damn it, I’m a big girl. I can handle pressure. Maybe even better than you. So treat me like an adult, okay?”

“My car was repossessed in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, Jimmy… but if you needed a few bucks, you should’ve called. I could’ve-”

“No, it’s nothing like that, Rita.”

I walked to the window and looked out at the building across the street, a pink apartment house. I thought about my history of telling white lies to Rita. She was right, of course. I did try to shield her from the harsher realities of our profession, which wasn’t fair to her-or to me.

She was a lawyer now, my associate, and she deserved the truth. I turned and started talking. I told her the whole story. I told her about the meeting with Haskell, my aggressive behavior at the Reagan dinner, and how he was now getting back at me. I let the words escape, holding nothing back. I told her about the phone being turned off, the bank overdraft, and how Judge Balford removed my name from her list of court-appointed attorneys. I admitted that her client’s retainer had been canceled because of my less-than-stellar reputation.

I looked away but hesitated only briefly before I continued. I explained our precarious cash position and told her that if our business didn’t improve, we may have to close the firm.

Rita took in all in without interrupting, without a hint of shock or concern. She just looked at me, but she put me at ease with the warmth in her soft brown eyes. I didn’t want her to think I was losing it, that I was about to chuck it all and take a job selling shoes at Sears. But damn it, I didn’t know how much more I could take.

I wanted to get it all out, get it out of my system. So I continued to talk, telling her about the black Buick and the thugs. I even told her about the threats and how they’d ambushed me. I wanted someone to understand, to feel what I was going through. Finally I wound down like a spring-loaded toy and stopped talking.

Rita remained still for a long moment before she said, “The coffee’s been ready for a while. Shall I pour you a cup?”

We sat in the outer lobby, Rita behind Mabel’s desk and me across from her in the client chair quietly sipping our coffee. I wondered if she still believed in me, or trusted me. But she said nothing. She just sat and stared at her small hands curled around the coffee cup.

“Do you think you could do me a favor?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“We’re a team, you know,” she whispered, finally looking up. “Of course I will.”

“Do you think you could drive out to Woodland Hills and talk to Jerome again?”

“Sure, I’ll go out there and butter him up. What do you want me to talk to him about?”

After I told her my theory that Sue may be alive and Roberts might be hiding out with her, Rita stood, picked up her purse, and walked toward the door. But before leaving she turned and looked back at me.

“Jimmy, I meant it when I said we’re a team. If we have to close the shop, then so be it. We’ll start over again someplace, somehow. But we’ve been in tight spots before and you’ve pulled us through and you’ll do it again. I have faith in you. You know why?”

“No, Rita, at the moment I don’t know why. I don’t know if I even trust my own judgment anymore.”

“Look, Jimmy, you may be a little rash at times, a bit impetuous, but you care. You care and you fight for what’s right, and you don’t give up. No, we won’t have to close the office. Working together, we’ll get through this.” She gave me a tender smile. “And I don’t think some rich jerk playing childish games is going to put us out of business. He hasn’t got a chance. Bye.” She closed the door behind her.

I could’ve hugged her right then, and maybe I would have if she hadn’t already left.

What she said made sense, a lot of sense. We’re not through yet, not by a long shot. Screw that bastard, Haskell. I’ll get to the bottom of this case even if I have to take down the whole goddamned gang of them: Byron, the DA who lied about Roberts back in ’45; the woman in the miniskirt; and even the current District Attorney himself-that righteous bastard, Rinehart.

With friends like Rita and Sol at my side, how could I miss? But more important, because of their friendship, regardless of what happened, I knew I’d never be alone.

I started to walk into my office when the phone rang. It was Joyce, Sol’s secretary. “Jimmy, our man at the DMV ran the Mercedes plate number. Don’t know if it’ll do any good, though.”

“Didn’t the guy give you a name?”

“Yes, but the car is registered to a big industrial firm on the East Coast, an outfit called Federal Carbide Corp. I called them. But no one would speak with me about the car. Very close-mouthed about it.”

I’d heard of Federal Carbide. Any part-time do-it-yourselfer knew the name; their logo was embossed on the back of almost all the sandpaper sold on the planet.

Knowing who owned the car without knowing the name of the driver wouldn’t help. It just raised more questions. I wondered what a giant corporation like Federal Carbide had to do with all this. I didn’t think the company hired babes in miniskirts to run around in expensive sports cars peddling their products . Buy our sandpaper and as an extra added bonus the gal in the Mercedes will give you a little treat .

I sat at my desk and opened the drawer, eager to get started on the case again. I pulled out the Roberts file and thumbed through it, looking for something I may have missed, something that would give me a new lead to pursue.

Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe ESP, or maybe something else, because just as I got to the section in the police report regarding the bungalow where Vera had been murdered, the phone rang. “Is this Jimmy O’Brien?” a woman asked in a soft voice.

“Yes, I’m O’Brien.”

“My name is Gayle Goodrow. I’m Ida Hathaway’s niece. I’m her only living relative and I’m trying to put her affairs in order. I’m at the motel now.”

“I’m sorry about Mrs. Hathaway,” I said. “But how can I help you, Miss Goodrow?”