Sedona Law 5 by Dave Daren (e book reader android .TXT) 📗

thinks he talked to Jimi Hendrix. Leave me alone.”

She laughed and headed out to meet Leila. In the meantime, I pulled up the crime scene photos AJ had taken at the studio. AJ babbled on the phone as she tried to get information out of Matt Chelmi, the news site editor who’d once employed Jerry. We had a good relationship with Matt, but I could tell from the one sided phone call, he wasn’t being particularly helpful to AJ.

I printed out the photos and read over the police report findings. According to the report, Jerry had been bludgeoned over the head with a marble statue. It was a bust in his office of the Greek god Dionysus. The bust was said to be ten pounds, and the victim died of a wound to the head. I did an online search for Dionysus to see if there was any poetic meaning. If our murderer was deep, as writers tend to be, maybe it had some sort of hidden meaning. Dionysus was a god of wine, theatre, fertility and it looked like all around partying and death and resurrection. I spent a good hour stuck in web pages reading about this god. He was a pretty hedonistic being, but my research turned up no real clues on the death of Jerry Steele.

Vicki arrived back and had no real progress with Leila Jaxson. “She spent a whole lot of time telling me a whole lot of nothing and made me drink homegrown herbal tea and listen to Johnny Cash on vinyl.”

“That’s helpful,” I chuckled. “A useful day.”

“I thought so,” she sighed. “She spent most of the afternoon telling me about how she was Jerry’s assistant as a day job, but in reality, she was a music journalist that freelanced for some tabloid called The Sedona Scene. And her claim to fame was the day she interviewed some rapper named Big Chocolate for Rolling Stone. Then her story got dropped, and Big Chocolate got all outraged his story didn’t run, and now no one takes her seriously in the local music scene.”

“Sounds like it’s a cutthroat world out there for a music journalist,” I mused.

“What would you expect from a woman named after an Eric Clapton song, with the album cover tattoed on her ankle?” Vicki laughed.

“Her ankle, huh?” I shook my head. “I’m sure we’ll run into her again before this is over. At least we established contact, that’s good. I had little luck too, researching Greek gods.”

At that moment, The Count walked in.

“Hello, Alfred,” I said. “Good to see you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Irving,” he replied and did a quick bow. “Ms. Park, and Ms. Castillo, I presume?”

“Yes,” AJ shook his hand, “AJ Castillo. Nice to meet you. We’ve been doing quite a lot of work on your behalf.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I have come to find out the progress on the investigation into my case.”

I gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat.”

The Count sat primly in the chair in front of my desk, crossed his legs, and waited for me to speak.

“Vicki has brought you up to speed on the deal with the prosecutor, yes?” I asked.

“That is correct,” he said with a nod. “I am elated your contacts have afforded me a generous bargain.”

“What we are doing now,” I explained, “is we are personally interviewing anyone who might have an axe to grind against Jerry.”

“That would be many,” he remarked.

I laughed. “Yes, there are many.”

“And what is the conclusion of your findings?” he asked.

His tone was direct, and in any other context I would have found his manner condescending, but with The Count, I took it as he just said what he thought.

“We have found there are lots of people who could have committed the crime,” I told him. “We are talking to his ex-wife and some old business partners.”

“Clare,” he supplied.

“Yes,” I said. “Do you know her.”

“She is a restless woman, whose feet never stay at home,” he replied, and his tone indicated he was quoting something.

“What?” I asked.

He smiled. “Mysterious. I find it difficult to trust her.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

“So,” he cleared his throat, “what else do we have?”

I looked at Vicki, and she said, “You know what? We don’t want to burn anymore daylight. Let’s discuss this over dinner.”

Alfred smiled and clapped his hands on his thighs. “That’s perfect,” he said. “My place. At half past seven.”

I cleared my throat. I really had in mind a restaurant, not the private home of a man suspected of murder.

“Sounds wonderful,” Vicki chimed in. “Should we bring anything?”

“Not at all,” he refused and bowed low. “It would bring me great pleasure to serve you as you are serving me.”

He left with a tap of his hat, and I looked at Vicki.

“Well,” I sighed, “I guess we can cancel Fifth Street Bistro tonight.”

“What kind of place does a guy like that live?” Vicki mused.

“Watch,” I laughed, “he lives in this totally normal house with a wife and kids.”

“There are no normal houses in Sedona,” Vicki snickered. “Remember?”

I laughed as I remembered our recent search for real estate. When we told our realtor we wanted a “normal” house, she looked at us like we had asked to live on Mars or something.

I spent the rest of the afternoon poring over the crime photos and trying to piece together some sort of reason or something the police didn’t see. I looked at every angle and pixel of those photos, but I still couldn’t come up with anything.

Would we lose this case? Was Chet right when he had told me in our last case I couldn’t win them all, and that it was beginner’s luck?

I threw the photos on the desk and rubbed my face.

“Hey,” Vicki broke into my thoughts. “Let’s