The Emerald Cat Killer Read Free

bedside clock, and waited for Richelieu to say what he had to say.
    â€œLindsey, I need you back on board.”
    â€œI’m retired, Mr. Richelieu.” He couldn’t bring himself to call his old chief Ducky, the name that everyone used when Richelieu was out of earshot.
    â€œI know that. You get a fat check every month for not working.”
    â€œMr. Richelieu, I earned it.”
    â€œAll right, look … wait a minute, where the hell are you, Lindsey?”
    â€œDon’t you know? You called me. I’m at home.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, vegetating. I’m still working, why aren’t you?”
    Lindsey didn’t even try to answer that, didn’t bother to remind Richelieu that he’d been downsized out of his job and forced into early retirement. “Look, Chief, I’m sure you called me for a reason. You realize it’s an hour earlier here in California than it is there in Denver. Did you just want to wake me up, or is there some ulterior motive?”
    â€œYou’re getting feisty in your old age, Lindsey.”
    â€œYep.” He stretched, stood up, started toward the kitchen. Thanks be given for cordless telephones!
    â€œYou were always the go-to guy on wacko cases. I’ve got your file right here on my monitor. Comic books, that Duesenberg with the solid platinum engine, Julius Caesar’s toy chariot. You were always the oddball. Maybe that’s why you were so good at the loony cases.”
    â€œThanks, Chief. You should have said that at my retirement banquet when they gave me the gold wristwatch and the fond farewell. Oh, wait a minute, I didn’t get a retirement banquet, gold wristwatch, or fond farewell. I got a fond Don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out. Look, I am longing for a cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs, and since there’s nobody here to make them, I need to get off the phone and do it myself. Unless there’s something you want.”
    â€œYou know about the consulting fee account.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œI can offer you some nice bucks for a few hours of easy work.”
    â€œRight. And there’s a really nice bridge you’d like to sell me.”
    â€œNo, I mean it.”
    â€œOkay, hold on.” He laid the phone on the counter, turned on the coffeemaker, got a couple of eggs out of the fridge and set them where he could keep a watchful eye on them, and plopped himself in a chromium-rimmed kitchen chair.
    Desmond Richelieu’s voice came squirming out of the telephone. “Are you there? Are you there? Damn you, Lindsey, where the hell did you go?”
    Lindsey picked up the phone. “Sorry ’bout that, Chief. Now, what were you saying?”
    â€œYou ever hear of Gordon Simmons, Lindsey?”
    Lindsey frowned. “I don’t think so.” The coffeemaker was grunting and chugging like a happy little steam locomotive.
    â€œYou don’t keep up with things, do you?”
    â€œChief, please. He’s not related to Flash Gordon on the Planet Mongo, is he? I’ve always had a fondness for old Buster Crabbe.”
    â€œDon’t joke, you. Listen, don’t take it for granted that your pension is guaranteed, Lindsey. Don’t get me peeved.”
    â€œChief, it is guaranteed. Who is Gordon Simmons?”
    â€œNot is. Was. He died a year ago. Murdered.”
    â€œSorry, Chief. Deponent knoweth not. You want to tell me more, or let me scramble my eggs. I’m hungry this morning.” He looked out the kitchen window. Beyond gauzy, pale blue curtains the sky was a vivid shade, almost cobalt, and the sun was bright. “Did we cover the decedent? Is there a problem with the claim? Why is this a case for SPUDS? I’m sorry Mr. Simmons was murdered but why are you calling me about it? Especially a year after his death.”
    â€œIt’s not about the death claim. We paid that off. No problem.”
    Lindsey sighed. “Can I call