The Emerald Cat Killer Read Free Page B

leaned back in an overstuffed leather chair. He swiveled, nodded permission to City Hall to stay where it was, then swung back toward Lindsey. “We’ve had to cut back. I can’t spare people to hold your hand, and I don’t like SPUDS poking its nose into my business.”
    â€œYour business?” Lindsey raised his eyebrows.
    â€œRunning this branch. If Ducky has any complaints about the way I run this office he can file a beef with Corporate.” He dropped a fist onto the sheet of gray-tinted glass that topped his desk. “How long since you worked out of this office, Lindsey?”
    Lindsey smiled. “Twenty-two years, Elmer.”
    â€œDidn’t I see your name in the retirement column of IntSurNews a few years ago?”
    â€œDucky asked me to come back on special assignment.”
    Mueller pursed his lips like an exasperated schoolteacher and swung his head slowly from side to side. “I suppose I might as well set you up. There’s an empty office in the suite. Remember Mrs. Blomquist?”
    Lindsey said that he did.
    â€œDropped dead. Had her retirement papers in, bought a condo down in La Jolla, had her furniture shipped ahead. Moved into a motel for her last few days in Walnut Creek. Came in to clean out her desk and say good-bye, and dropped dead. You can use her computer.”
    Lindsey thanked him. The receptionist showed him to the vacant office and handed him a printout of file access codes. She closed the door behind her. Lindsey got to work.
    The computer file on the Simmons case was sparse. Policy date and number, premium payment records, date of death, cause of death, coroner’s and police reports, claim forms, and record of payment to beneficiary. Everything looked normal. Lindsey felt sorry for Simmons’s widow, Angela. He wondered if there were any children. If so, they weren’t listed on the policy. But it had been in effect for a long time. Maybe Simmons took it when the couple were newlyweds and never added bennies when the tykes came along. Bad work by the agent, if that was so.
    He printed out what he needed, checked the beneficiary’s phone number, and placed a call to Mrs. Simmons. A neutral voice answered, “Rockridge Savings and Loan. If you know your party’s extension enter it now. Otherwise, please speak the name of your party and stay on the line for assistance. This call may be recorded or monitored for quality control.”
    â€œMrs. Simmons, please.”
    She had a pleasant enough voice. She didn’t sound particularly grief-stricken and obviously she’d returned to work. But then it had been a year since Gordon Simmons’s demise. Lindsey explained that he was investigating Simmons’s death in connection with the lawsuit. Mrs. Simmons said that she got off work at four o’clock and Lindsey arranged to come to her home.
    Before he took his leave of the branch office, he returned Richelieu’s earlier call.
    â€œOkay, got it, Mr. Richelieu.” Oh, how he longed to call him Ducky to his face—or to him over the telephone. Maybe someday. Maybe not. “Okay, you know that our client is looking at a nasty copyright infringement suit. We already paid a death claim related to this case, and now we’re on the other side of the fence.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, Lindsey, tell me something I don’t know.”
    â€œWho’s our lawyer? Shouldn’t that information be in the file?”
    â€œIsn’t it there? You’ll be happy about that one, at least. You remember your old buddy Eric Coffman?”
    â€œOf course I do.”
    â€œWell he didn’t put in his retirement papers and go home to sit on his hindquarters and collect pay for no work. He’s still earning his keep. And he’s our sheriff on this one if we can’t head the rustlers off at the pass.”
    â€œHe doesn’t work for I.S., does he?”
    â€œHe’s on