Jeff Sherratt - Detour to Murder

“But she got the same fate as Vera.”

“Yeah. Sims sent his goons, a couple of bruisers named Danny and Rollo, to the motel to find the newspaper and the page torn from the old guest register.”

“They killed her but didn’t find the stuff they were looking for,” Rita said.

“Hathaway’s niece had the papers the thugs were after all along,” I added. “Hathaway gave the items to her for safekeeping. And of course, her niece didn’t realize that the 1945 newspaper, which Vera had brought with her from back east, was such a big deal. She gave it to me. Sol Silverman, Rita, and I finally made the connection.”

“That’s all well and good, but an old newspaper article doesn’t prove Sims was impersonating Raymond Haskell.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t proved until Sol Silverman, the world’s greatest detective, asked the FBI to inspect the war records of the B-17 crew. He asked them to check Raymond Haskell’s and Earl Lee Sims’s fingerprints taken when they were inducted during the war, and compare them with Haskell’s prints on his current driver’s license. When the prints matched, we knew without a doubt that the man calling himself Raymond Haskell was actually Earl Lee Sims, and the rest of it fell into place.”

The party, held at Rocco’s a few weeks later, celebrated Al Roberts’s exoneration and improving health. It began in the afternoon and was in full swing by early nightfall. Groups huddled, waitresses worked the room carrying trays of appetizers, and the bartenders’ hands were a blur as they mixed cocktails and poured champagne. The disco hit “Rock the Boat” by The Hues Corporation played and people danced-if you want to call it that. It looked more like the loose-jointed gyrations of the gooney bird’s mating ritual.

But the guest of honor hadn’t arrived yet. Sol had left earlier in his limo to pick up Al Roberts. He said he’d have a surprise for us when he returned. Just like Sol.

After Earl Sims had made a full confession in hopes of getting a reduced sentence, all charges against Roberts had been dropped. Governor Ronald Reagan apologized on behalf of the State, and had even given him a good-citizen certificate, suitable for framing. I’d told Al if he wanted to sue the state for fraudulent conviction, I’d line him up with a good attorney who handled that sort of thing. He shook his head. “You’re my lawyer, Jimmy.”

Mayor DiLoreto was listening carefully to Laguna Beach police officers Sgt. Coleman, Captain John Russo, and the rookie who had accidentally shot Roberts, Officer Scott Bochar. From what I gathered, the mayor was picking up tips on Laguna’s fleet of new squad cars.

Captain Russo had kept his promise and gotten to the bottom of shooting. Apparently Al had left his hotel room in a hurry the night he was shot. He was just sitting down to watch television when he heard the cops outside. Without thinking, he ran out the back still holding the TV remote control. That’s what Bochar saw in his hand when Al turned and faced him on the beach that dark night. On his own time, Russo scoured the area and found the remote. Roberts didn’t hold a grudge. “Shit happens,” is all he said when Bochar apologized profusely.

I stood in a circle of people, munching a canape, Sol’s Delight-cooked lobster, Campbell’s mushroom soup, and a dash of Tabasco, smeared on a Ritz Cracker. In fact, everyone at the party was eating Sol’s Delight. Sol insisted. It was all right by me; I loved the stuff. We weren’t discussing the case. Mostly, the people in the group were asking my advice on legal matters. Since the story hit the papers and snippets of the news conference was shown at least a million times on television, I had picked up a reputation as a brilliant criminal defense attorney. I just hoped some of the publicity would translate into paying clients.

Captain Russo approached me. “Say, O’Brien, you wouldn’t know anything about a couple of bodies the Signal Hills Police found in an abandoned warehouse, would you? Before you answer, the prints on the knife were unreadable.”

I gave him my best dumbfounded look. “Nope, don’t know a thing about that.” Then I smiled.

“I didn’t think so.” He smiled back, shook my hand and wandered off.

Rita and Kathie were seated alone at a table, sipping champagne and having a serious discussion. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, and frankly, I didn’t want to know.

They turned when they saw me looking at them. Kathie winked. Rita frowned.

“Everybody, shut up and listen,” Sol shouted as he burst in through the doors. Andre, the manager of Rocco’s, and Al Roberts, looking thin and a little pale, stood at his side.

“I want to introduce Rocco’s new fabulous entertainment genius. Let’s hear it for Al Roberts, direct from New York’s Break O’ Dawn Club and a long engagement in Chino. That’s right-Andre has signed the one and only Al Roberts to an extended contract.” He patted Al on the back. “Take it away, maestro!” Nobody said that Sol wasn’t the Baron of Bullshit.

Al slid onto the piano bench and began to play-old favorites from the forties like “Stardust,” “As Time Goes By,” and “I’ll Walk Alone.” Everyone loved it.

A couple songs later, a hush fell over the crowd. People whispered, some pointing to the woman who had slipped into the room from a side door. She wore a cornflower-blue satin gown with heavy ruffles down the side and a big satin bow in front. Her makeup was perfection and her light grey hair was pulled back, highlighting her still beautiful face.

Without saying a word, she gracefully ascended the steps to the raised platform and stood next to Al. She looked down at him, seated on the bench, smiled, and placed her arm lightly on his shoulder.

Al stopped playing and looked up at Sue Harvey. He lingered for a moment before turning back to the audience. “After a slight detour of almost thirty years, my girl and I were married last night.”

He turned back to the piano keys. The lights dimmed and Sue beamed in the spotlight with an elegant radiance. She swayed with the music and started to sing: “Your eyes of blue, your kisses too, I never knew what they could do, I can't believe that you're in love with me…”