Steve Martini - Guardian of Lies

“I see you’re as sensitive as ever to the plight of the disabled.” Templeton leans back in his chair and smiles at him from behind a veil of cigar smoke. “You haven’t changed.”

“Show me someone who’s disabled and I’ll show you a tear,” says Harry. “But let’s not change the subject. I thought this was a no-smoking zone, county building and all.”

“They don’t ask and I don’t tell. Hope you don’t mind.” Larry doesn’t wait for an answer. He flicks a little ash into an open desk drawer on the other side. “I’d offer you one, but they’re too expensive.”

“What is it, administrative or criminal,” Harry says, turning toward me, “a violation of the no-smoking ordinance?”

“I’m not getting into this one,” I tell him.

“Smart man. Besides, it’s only an infraction. Insulting a midget, now that’s federal,” says Templeton.

“Which title is that?” asks Harry.

“When I find it, I’ll send you the citation.” Templeton reaches out and shakes my hand. “How come you were so blessed as to get this dip-shit as a partner?” he asks.

“Luck of the draw.” I settle into one of the chairs across from him. “You look as if you’re prospering,” I tell him.

“No lack of offenders to prosecute, if that’s what you mean. It’s a bumper crop.” He gestures toward the files stacked on the floor; off to one side of his desk, they climb the wall a good two feet.

Harry turns slowly in place, taking in the Dwarf’s new surroundings, his freshly decorated office. If you can get past the cigar, you can still catch a whiff of the paint. Templeton has moved up in the world since we last met. The office is twice as large and has a corner set of windows to boot.

Harry is busy checking out the Persian runner on the floor, lifting the corner and reading the label.

“Are you a collector?” says Templeton.

“No, but I’ve seen a few of these fenced for fees. This one looks expensive enough to fly,” he says.

“I’d be happy to put you out the window for a test drive,” says Templeton.

“Later,” says Harry. “After you bring in the belly dancers and we see the seven veils.”

“I’ll give you the name of my decorator,” says Larry.

“Don’t bother. I couldn’t afford it,” says Harry. “Just tell me where you keep the magic lamp. I may need to rub it to spring a client one of these days.”

“I hope it’s not this one,” says Templeton. “Because if it is, the genie’s gonna need a new battery. He’s definitely not going to have enough juice.”

“That bad?” I say.

Templeton takes a drag, looks at me, nods slowly and blows a smoke ring in my direction.

“You called the meeting,” I tell him.

“So I guess we should get down to cases.”

Harry picks up on the serious tone and waltzes over to take a seat.

Templeton leans forward, braces his hands, short armed on the surface of the desk, the cigar still between his teeth. “Before I go any further, I have to have your word that nothing said here will be repeated outside this room. Do I have your word?”

Harry and I look at each other. “What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I have to have your word.” He takes the cigar from his mouth.

“That would depend on what you have to say,” I tell him. “If you tell us you have hard evidence that somebody other than our client did the deed, you can be sure that before they strap her to the gurney and insert the needle I’m gonna mention it to somebody.”

“No, no. I don’t want you to misunderstand. You’re not going to be hearing that your client didn’t do the crime. Based on all the evidence we have so far, which is, in a word, ‘overwhelming’…”

“Please try not to scare us,” says Harry. “I break down easily.”

“I’ve noticed. No, everything we have points to your client. You’ve seen the prints on the dagger, the toxicology report, and the fingerprint evidence on the medication bottle. And there’s more, the coins she took, the pawn tickets in her purse.”

“What about the coin from the probate estate?” says Harry. “The seller on that one was a man. What do you have on this guy John Waters?”

“No doubt an alias,” says Templeton. “A dead end.”

“What do you mean a dead end? Have you checked it out?” I ask.

“We’re still looking at it. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. She could have passed the coin off to somebody else. Or had help at the house with the murders. The fact is that the only person who had any contact with this guy Waters was the purchaser of the coin and he’s dead. According to the executor the buy was made in cash, so there’s no check or account that we can trace. Like I say, a dead end. So let’s get back to the toxicology report,” says Templeton.

“What, now you’re going to show that she tried to poison him?” I say.

“I’ll concede the point; given the amount of the drugs in his system she merely tried to put him to sleep. Under different circumstances, given the evidence, we might even be talking today about reduced charges, dropping the special circumstances, something less than a capital offense.

“That would be pretty generous,” says Templeton, “considering that Pike’s murder took place during the commission of another crime, the robbery. If that was all there was, I might have entertained a pitch for something less. But we can’t forget the maid. We have multiple murders here. And that one is very hard to swallow.”

“How could we forget?” says Harry.

Templeton looks at both of us. “No, either Pike woke up after she medicated him or the medication didn’t work. At the moment we’re not sure. But either way, it’s clear. Pike stumbled in on them in the midst of the burglary, probably while they were in the process of stealing the coins. They killed him, took his computer and perhaps other items of personal property. At this point we can’t be entirely sure of what’s missing. We’re still looking, but you can be sure we’ll find it.”

“You keep saying ‘they.’” I tell him.

“Excuse me?” Templeton looks up at me.

“You said, ‘They killed him.’”

“Well, yeah,” says Templeton, “we haven’t caught up with the codefendant yet. But we will.”

“You’re telling us there was a second perpetrator?” says Harry.

“Well, yeah. You didn’t know that?”

Harry shakes his head.

“At first we thought she might have done it alone, but then a couple of weeks ago we figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” I ask.

“Whoever it was entered by way of the back door,” says Templeton. “It appears your client tried to unlock it for him, but the maid must have locked it again. Both sets of fingerprints were found on the knob. The lock was picked for entry, so her helper appears to have come prepared and had some skills. We found scratches on the tumblers, both the dead bolt and the door lock.

“And we’ve talked to some of the hired help and others who knew your client. It seems she was seen all over town, Del Mar as well as other places, almost always in the presence of other men, talking to them. Sooner or later we’ll find the right one.”

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“Well, you’ve seen the woman,” he says. “She’s gorgeous. Catch me at a weak moment and who knows, maybe even I would have helped her out.”

“She may be petite, but you’d need a ladder,” says Harry.

“Let’s not get personal,” says Templeton. “You can dress her like a nun when you bring her to court, but there’s no denying she’s knock-dead gorgeous. And if I can’t get at least half the judges in the county, the male half, to take judicial notice of her good looks I’ll quit.”