The Emerald Cat Killer Read Free Page A

you back after I’ve had my scrambled eggs? I think I’m going to have an English muffin and orange marmalade with them.”
    â€œNo, damn it, no! I don’t give a damn about your breakfast. Now listen. The guy lived in Berkeley. Simmons. He had a policy with us. Beneficiary was his wife. Walnut Creek office handled the claim. They paid the claim and we closed the case. This is a new case.”
    â€œYou’ll have to enlighten me, Chief.” Lindsey clutched the telephone between his jawbone and his shoulder, pulled apart the English muffin, and dropped the pieces into the chrome-plated retro toaster on the counter. Except that the toaster wasn’t retro; it was original stock. It had stood on that counter for as long as Hobart Lindsey could remember.
    â€œWe’ve got a potential lawsuit on our hands. Mrs. Simmons is threatening to sue a publisher called Gordian House. It’s a plagiarism suit. She has a co-plaintiff, a publisher called Marston and Morse. Gordian House has kicked it over to us. If the case gets to court and they lose we have to pony up. And the Widder Simmons and M-and-M want big bucks. Big bucks, Lindsey.”
    The toaster popped. Lindsey clutched the phone again between jawbone and shoulder. He spread some marmalade on one half of the English muffin, butter on the other half, and closed it up. He opened the fridge and put away the eggs.
    â€œLindsey, here’s what I want you to do. The case file is on the SPUDS server. Get into the Walnut Creek office and read through it. Nobody there has enough brains to pour piss out of a boot with the instructions on the heel. Just read the file and call me back and tell me you’ll handle this one.”
    Lindsey poured himself a cup of coffee, added some half-and-half, took a generous bite of English muffin, and washed it down with coffee. He didn’t say anything.
    There was a lengthy silence. He could hear Richelieu breathing, knew he was waiting for Lindsey to say he’d take the case. Lindsey was determined to outwait his onetime boss. After all, it was the company’s dime, not Lindsey’s.
    Finally, Desmond Richelieu said, “Please.”
    It was the first time Lindsey had ever heard him say that word. True, Lindsey could tell, even from the distance of a thousand miles, that Richelieu said it through clenched teeth and very nearly with tears in his eyes. Still, he said it.
    To Lindsey, that constituted an offer he couldn’t refuse.
    *   *   *
    The Walnut Creek office of International Surety occupied a suite in a modern high-rise building across North Main Street from City Hall. Lindsey left his Dodge Avenger in the parking garage beneath the office building. He liked everything about the car, especially its safety features, except for the name. Why name a car after a World War II torpedo bomber?
    He rode up in an elevator full of hard-strivers half his age.
    The receptionist at International Surety looked up from her monitor screen and stared at him as if she feared that he would die on the spot of superannuation. He said, “I’m from SPUDS. Need to talk with the branch manager about the Simmons case.”
    The woman hit a buzzer on her desk and Elmer Mueller emerged from somewhere. He’d gained weight and lost hair since Lindsey had seen him last. And how long had that been? Lindsey wondered.
    Elmer Mueller offered a reluctant handshake and ushered Lindsey into his private office. Behind Mueller’s desk and across North Main, City Hall gleamed in the March sunlight. Mueller gestured Lindsey to a chair.
    The décor was modern. Elmer Mueller’s desktop was clear except for a keyboard and monitor. That seemed to be the standard of the day. But the portraits on Mueller’s wall were of President Richard Nixon and Governor Pat Brown. Lindsey wondered if Mueller’s intention was ironic.
    â€œRichelieu e-mailed me about you, Lindsey.” Elmer Mueller