“Star Wars fan fiction?” I repeated incredulously.
“Yeah,” she snorted. “Some of those tapes are him reading his stories. The guys say these stories are better than the prequels. Jerry left the last one on a cliffhanger, so everybody’s waiting to find the next one. It’s like a treasure hunt back there.”
I laughed heartily. “Well, I didn’t expect that, but I’ll take it.”
“Go on in to see Durant,” she said as she picked up the phone. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks, Bernice,” I replied and headed off in the direction of Durant’s office. Along the way, I passed some kind of makeshift room, with a bunch of officers on WWII decryption duty over our eight tracks. None of them looked too terribly delighted, but I still smiled as I passed them.
I got to Durant’s office and found him sitting at his desk in full uniform.
“Irving,” he barked as soon as he saw me. “I heard you were here. Come on in.”
“Hello,” I greeted calmly as I entered the police chief’s office. It was neat to a pin, with a mahogany desk, a massive credenza with medals, trophies, a couple of American flags across the top, and a full sized Arizona state flag on a post in a corner. The walls were bare, and Durant sat in a leather chair and looked me over.
“Have a seat.” He gestured toward a vinyl leather visitor’s chair.
I sat down and held up the flash drive.
“Whatddya got there?” he asked.
“This is the evidence for the Steele case,” I told him with a smirk. “I found your smoking gun.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?” Then he motioned with his hand and brought his desktop to life. “What’s on there?”
“Well,” I said as I handed him the drive, “it’s a digital audio file, dated two days before Steele’s death. Here’s the original tape.” Then I tossed the eight track in the case on his desk, and Durant glanced at the date.
“The conversation,” I went on, “is between Allison Pierce and Jerry Steele.”
“Go on,” Durant grunted as he stuck the drive into his computer.
“Well,” I continued, “as it turns out, they had a mutually beneficial arrangement based on lies and sex. When it went bad, she tried to kill him, and for whatever reason, didn’t succeed. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough to bring her in for questioning and let my client off the hook.”
Durant glanced at me and then wordlessly played the MP3 file my dad had created. We sat and listened to the conversation, and when it was done, the police chief leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment.
“Damn,” he whistled. “So, what motive did she have?”
“Something something about a woman scorned,” I laughed, “but you’ll have to ask her. But I held up my end of the deal. So, I trust SPD will hold up theirs?”
“You got it, Irving,” he said with a nod. “I’ll call the prosecutor immediately, and we’ll downgrade your client to a person of interest. And tell your dad I said hi.”
“Will do,” I replied with a grin. “Although, I don’t know if he’ll want to hear from you after that review … ”
“He never has,” Durant grumbled.
“What does that mean?” I laughed.
“You know,” he slammed down his pen, “I’m a damn good drummer. I don’t know why he never wanted me to play. Instead, he got that God awful Tom Grogan behind him. That guy wouldn’t know a snare drum from a hole in the ass.”
I snickered. “Is that what this is about? He never hired you for his band?”
“Damn straight!” Durant exclaimed with a frown. “I know all his songs. What’s wrong with me?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” I admitted honestly. “You seem perfectly suited for the part from my end. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
He nodded. “I appreciate that, Henry.”
“Have a good day, Hal,” I replied with a smile. Then I turned, walked out of the office, and headed out to my car.
After having chalked up another win, and settling a family dispute, I definitely felt like I deserved a drink.
So, I drove out to Slinger’s and called The Count on the way.
“Hey Alfred,” I greeted when he picked up.
“Hello, Henry,” he responded. “How do you do?”
“I’m doing well,” I told him as a smile crawled across my face, “and I’m about to make your night a hundred times better.”
“Oh, heavens,” he breathed. “Please tell me you found the murderer.”
“We think we found the murderer,” I confirmed.
“Wait, you think?” Alfred asked, and the joy that had crept into his voice rapidly faded.
“We’ve got enough evidence to suggest another suspect was more likely than you, so they’re not going to charge you,” I clarified.
He gasped. “Oh thank heavens, thank heavens. Who was it?”
“We think it was Allison Pierce,” I told him. “There was some bad blood between her and Jerry, and we’ve got some evidence of an assault on a tape. It’s not entirely conclusive, but it’s enough to reopen the investigation. She’ll be the focus from here on out.”
“Allison?” the Count asked, and I could tell he was trying to place the name. “The young woman who played Gretchen?”
“That’s the one,” I confirmed. “We found the evidence on a tape in Jerry’s safe. We had a bunch of guys listening. All the guys are going out for drinks at Slingers now. If you’d like to come, we would love it.”
“Oh,” he sighed, “I would if I could, but I’m on this important scene in this novel that--oh what the hell. I guess I could stop by for a drink or two.”
“I know the guys would love to meet you,” I chuckled. “We’ll see you
