C is for Corpse Read Free

far as they’re concerned, it was an accident. They have no evidence a crime was committed. Well, hit-and-run. They know somebody rear-ended me and forced me off the bridge, but premeditated murder? Come on. And even if they believed me, they don’t have manpower to assign. I’m just an ordinary citizen. I’m not entitled to police protection twenty-four hours a day.”
    â€œMaybe you should hire a bodyguard—”
    â€œScrew that! It’s you I want.”
    â€œBobby, I’m not saying I won’t help you. Of course I will. I’m just talking about your options. It sounds like you need more than me.”
    He leaned forward, his manner intense. “Just get to the bottom of this. Tell me what’s going on. I want to know why somebody’s after me and I want them stopped. Then I won’t need the cops or a bodyguard or anything else.” He clamped his mouth shut, agitated. He rocked back.
    â€œFuck it,” he said. He shifted restlessly and got up. He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and tossed it on the table. He started for the door with that lilting gait, his limp more pronounced than I’d seen it. I grabbed my handbag and caught up with him.
    â€œGod, slow down. Let’s go back to my office and we’ll type up a contract.”
    He held the door open for me and I went out.
    â€œI hope you can afford my services,” I said back over my shoulder.
    He smiled faintly. “Don’t sweat it.”
    We turned left, moving toward the parking lot.
    â€œSorry I lost my temper,” he murmured.
    â€œQuit that. I don’t give a shit.”
    â€œI wasn’t sure you’d take me seriously,” he said.
    â€œWhy wouldn’t I?”
    â€œMy family thinks I’ve got a screw loose.”
    â€œYeah, well that’s why you hired me instead of them.”
    â€œThanks,” he whispered. He tucked his hand through my arm and I glanced over at him. His face was suffused with pink and there were tears in his eyes. He dashed at them carelessly, not looking at me. For the first time, I realized how young he was. God, he was just a kid, banged up, bewildered, scared to death.
    We walked back to my car slowly and I was conscious of the stares of the curious, faces averted with pity and uneasiness. It made me want to punch somebody out.

 
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2
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    By two o’clock that afternoon, the contract was signed, Bobby had given me a two-thousand-dollar advance against fees, and I was dropping him off outside the gym, where he’d left his BMW before lunch. His disability entitled him to the handicapped slot, but I noticed he hadn’t used it. Maybe someone else was parked there when he arrived, or maybe, obstinately, he preferred to walk the extra twenty yards.
    I leaned across the front seat as he got out. “Who’s your attorney?” I asked. He held the door open on the passenger side, his head tilted so he could look in at me.
    â€œVarden Talbot of Talbot and Smith. Why? You want to talk to him?”
    â€œAsk him if he’d have copies of the police reports released to me. It would save me a lot of time.”
    â€œO.K. I’ll do that.”
    â€œOh, and I should probably start with your immediate family. They might have a theory or two about what’s going on. Why don’t I give you a call later and find out when people are free?”
    Bobby made a face. On the way to my office, he’d told me his disabilities had forced him to move back into the family home temporarily, which didn’t sit well with him. His parents had divorced some years ago and his mother had remarried, in fact, this was marriage number three. Apparently, Bobby didn’t get along with his current stepfather, but he had a seventeen-year-old stepsister named Kitty whom he seemed to like. I wanted to talk to all three. Most of my investigations start with paperwork, but this one felt different from