Jeff Sherratt - The Brimstone Murders

I glanced at my watch and started to fold the printout. “Yeah, I guess that happens,” I said, more concerned about the rush hour traffic than Grundy’s droning commentary on a small-time college TV station. There was nothing here that would help me with Robbie’s defense.

“Until the ten-million dollar offer came in.”

I looked up. “What?”

“They offered ten-million dollars.”

“Ten million bucks for a losing money station? Who’d make such a crazy offer?”

“Who, indeed? That’s when Dick’s… Ah, Professor Carmichael’s nascent hostility materialized. He went on a rampage.”

“A rampage?”

“Well, figuratively a rampage. He emphatically fought the sale. Dick was determined that the station would not be sold to the network making the offer. He announced the station’s license had been issued for the purpose of broadcasting media developed solely for the collective good of our community. The trustees tried to assuage his concerns, but Carmichael would hear nothing of it.” Grundy held his silence for a moment. “Nothing could quell his ardor,” he said, then added, “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“What’s ironic?”

“The station being sold and Dick saying it would only be sold over his dead body.”

I dropped the printout. “Who made the offer?” I asked in a quiet voice.

“Why, it was from the Holy Spirit Network. You know, the network owned by J. Billy Bickerton.”

With traffic, it was latewhen I arrived back at the office. Mabel and Rita had already left for the day, but a note rested in the center of my desk. The note was from Rita.

I got a continuance for Danny, my other client, and now I’m working full time on your case. Jimmy, I think I’ve bought us another week. After all, the cops still haven’t found the gun, which surprises me. You’d think they’d have searched the office by now. But, anyway, I talked to Webster…

The gun flashed in my mind. I felt a twinge of guilt for not leveling with Rita about Mabel hiding it prior to the cops’ search. But, as we had decided at the time, it was better not to compromise Rita’s position. I continued reading:

…I’m excited. It’s just as we discussed. Webster has agreed to drop the Section 32 thing if we can persuade Robbie to turn himself in. Now, that won’t stop Hammer’s murder investigation of course, but if we bring Robbie in there is no reason to connect you with the murder. The only possible motive goes out the window .

Yeah, Rita, that sounds terrific, I mused. All I have to do is find Robbie. But I knew I would. Especially with Sol working on the FBI, getting them to raid the base.

I sat at my desk for a moment, tapping my fingers, and wondered how long it would be before they raided the Rattlesnake Lake compound. Sol had powerful friends and he would light a fire, but there was no telling when the FBI would move. For my sake, it had to go down fast. Rita bought me a week-not much time-and there was nothing I could do but wait.

Rita was now full time on my case, meaning she wouldn’t be bringing in any revenue, and Mabel had said we were short on cash again. On top of my own legal problems, I needed clients. I knew if I didn’t start looking for new blood right away, I’d be out of business. But how could I show a bright and smiling face, a lawyer with confidence and ability, at the service clubs around town-Kiwanis, Elks, Rotary, and the rest-with a murder rap hanging over my head? I couldn’t even troll the court hallways. Everyone knew about the investigation, and I’d be like one of Father Damien’s outcasts. They’d think being accused of a crime was contagious, like leprosy.

My stomach gave a growl, rumbling about food, so I decided to head to Foxy’s Coffee Shop on Paramount. I’d order the burger combo plate with fries. I figured it was about time I had a decent meal; all of those donuts weren’t doing anything for my waistline.

I turned out the lights and left the office.

Foxy’s was built to look like a ski chalet, an A-frame building with a high peaked ceiling, open exposed wood beams, and a red metal fireplace off in the corner. The architectural style would look great up at Lake Arrowhead, or maybe Big Bear. It would be a warm and inviting place to come in from the snow and sit by the fire with a hot toddy in your hand. But in Downey, on smoggy Paramount Boulevard, it looked like what it was: a burger joint.

I sat at the end of the counter. I liked a little elbow room while dining. Helen, the waitress, whose eyes followed me from the time I walked in the door, had a cup of coffee and a menu in front of me by the time I sat down.

“Good evening, Jimmy. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“It hasn’t been that long.”

Helen, fiftyish, was a little stocky. Her cone-shaped hair, lacquered in place, climbed from the top of her head like a black frizzled beehive. She stood before me with one hand resting on her jutting hip.

“It’s been a few months,” she said. “Let’s see, you were here with your girlfriend, that flight instructor. Susie, wasn’t it? Yeah, that’s it. You two were dressed up in cowboy outfits. Cute little thing.” Helen had the memory of a Univac.

“She liked to square dance. We were going to the Clod Hoppers Promenade Ball, do-si-do, allemande left, and all of that,” I said.

I thought back four months earlier. It was the last time I saw Susie. I’d picked her up at her work and took her to my apartment where we changed into our cowboy costumes. Then we stopped at Foxy’s for a bite before we went to the dance. After the ball, we popped into Rocco’s for a few more laughs.

I smiled, remembering how everyone had howled when we sashayed in, doing a little sidestep, wearing our cowboy and cowgirl outfits. I was dressed up like Hopalong Cassidy and Susie was Annie Oakley. At one point, she pulled the gun out of her holster and dazzled the crowd with her tricks. I remembered how pretty she looked when she stood with her legs wide and drew the pistol lightning fast, twirling it around her finger before plopping it back smoothly into its holster. She did it all in a single swift motion. Thank God the gun wasn’t loaded; she could have shot someone. Susie was a talented girl: airplane pilot, fast gun artist, and a real spitfire in the lovemaking department. In spite of the square dance, I had a fun time. After we left Rocco’s, we’d driven to her place, a condo in Long Beach, where I’d spent the night.

The next morning, Susie was packing her bags. She’d received an early phone call from Piedmont Airlines. They had an immediate right-seat opening and offered the co-pilot job to her if she could report to their eastern headquarters within twenty-four hours. To a young pilot, a call like that was like winning the Irish Sweepstakes. A job offer from a real airline was the dream of every flight instructor.

I’d quickly dressed and driven her to the airport. I’d offered to forward her belongings. She thanked me and said the job might not be permanent, but if it turned into a long-term affair, then the airline would take care of the move. I’d kissed her goodbye at the gate. We talked on the phone a few times after that, but I hadn’t spoken with her since the last call a couple of months ago, when she told me about the new man in her life.

Helen interrupted my thoughts. “Are you ready to order, hon? By the way, are you still seeing the young lady?”

“No, we broke up. Anyway, bring me the burger combo with fries, thousand on the salad.”

She scribbled on her pad and without looking up, said, “Jimmy, if you took her someplace decent for dinner, instead of this joint, she might not have dumped you.”

In a few moments, my food arrived. I slipped a greasy limp fry in my mouth and took a bite of my hamburger. As I chewed, my mind drifted to the case. I set the hamburger down, pulled a pen out of my jacket pocket, and jotted a few notes on a paper napkin. I drew a diagram and connected the dots. Robbie was obviously connected to Professor Carmichael and his mother was connected to Elroy Snavley, the pastor of Divine Christ Ministry Church. Elroy Snavley was connected to J. Billy Bickerton, the owner of the Holy Spirit Network, which was buying the TV station at the college. And the professor was killed by Robbie while fighting against the sale. I sat hunched over the counter, my burger getting cold, and appraised my scribbles for a few minutes. A neat little circle, but what did it prove? Nothing.