G is for Gumshoe Read Free Page B

Tyrone Patty, believed to be in this area. An armed robbery suspect named Joe-Quincey Jackson had been arrested and charged with attempted murder in the shooting of a liquor store clerk. Jackson was claiming that Tyrone Patty wasthe triggerman. Galishoff was very interested in talking to him. Patty was rumored to have fled to Santa Teresa, and when the local police weren’t able to locate him, Galishoff had contacted the investigator for the Santa Teresa public defender’s office, who in turn had referred him to me. He filled me in on the situation and then sent me the background information on Patty, along with a mug shot from a previous arrest.
    I traced the subject for three days, doing a paper chase through the city directory, the crisscross, marriage licenses, divorce decrees, death certificates, municipal and superior court records, and finally traffic court. I picked up his scent when I came across a jaywalking ticket he’d been issued the week before. The citation listed a local address—some friend of his, as it turned out—and Patty answered my knock. Since I was posing as an Avon sales rep, I was fortunate I didn’t have to deal with the lady of the house. Any woman in her right mind would have known at a glance I didn’t have a clue about makeup. Patty, operating on other instincts, had shut the door in my face. I reported his whereabouts to Galishoff, who by then had found a witness to corroborate Jackson’s claim. A warrant was issued through the Carson City district attorney’s office. Patty was arrested two days later and extradited. The last I’d heard, he’d been convicted and was serving time at the Nevada State Prison in Carson City.
    Galishoff came on the line. “Hello, Kinsey? Lee Galishoff. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” His voice was booming, forcing me to hold the receiver eight inches from my ear. Telephone voices are deceptive. From his manner, I’d always pictured him in his sixties, balding andoverweight, but a photograph I’d spotted in a Las Vegas newspaper showed a slim, handsome fellow in his forties with a shock of blond hair.
    â€œThis is fine,” I said. “How are you?”
    â€œGood until now. Tyrone Patty’s back in county jail, awaiting trial on a triple murder charge.”
    â€œWhat’s the story this time?”
    â€œHe and a pal of his hit a liquor store up here and the clerk and two customers were shot to death.”
    â€œReally. I hadn’t heard that.”
    â€œWell, there’s no reason you would. The problem is, he’s pissed at us, claims his life was ruined the day he was put away. You know how it goes. Wife divorced him, kids are alienated, the guy gets out and can’t find a job. Naturally, he took to armed robbery again, blasting anybody in his way. All our fault, of course.”
    â€œHey, sure. Why not?”
    â€œYeah, well, here’s the bottom line. Apparently, couple weeks ago, he approached another inmate on a contract murder plot involving the two of us, plus the DA and the judge who sentenced him.”
    I found myself pointing at my chest as I squinted into the receiver. “Us, as in me?” My voice had gotten all squeaky like I was suddenly going through puberty.
    â€œYou got it. Fortunately, the other inmate was a police informant who came straight to us. The DA put a couple of undercover cops on it, posing as potential hit men. I just listened to a tape recording that would chill your blood.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œIt gets worse,” he said. “From the tape, we can’t tell who else he might have talked to. We’re concerned he’sbeen in touch with other people who may be taking steps we don’t know about. We’ve notified the press, hoping to make this too hot to handle. Judge Jarvison and I are being placed under around-the-clock armed protection, but they thought I better pass the