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

“Henry,” Chet’s voice came through. “How are things looking?”

I cleared my throat. “We’ve found a lot of leads your guys missed.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “What have you got?”

“Whole lot of loose ends right now,” I replied, “but we’re closing in.”

“I can only give you till the end of business tomorrow,” he sighed. “Then I’ve got to charge him. I’ve got the DA breathing down my neck. Get me something, Henry, or your guy’s going down.”

“We’ll have it, Chet,” I promised.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said.

I ended the call with Chet, but before I could relay what he said to Vicki and AJ, a beautiful woman walked into the office.

“Leila,” Vicki said as she rose and greeted the other woman.

Leila Jaxson was a petite woman of Persian descent, in her early thirties, I would guess. She was slender, with long, dark hair billowing down her back in voluminous waves. Today she wore black leather pants, a black Johnny Cash t-shirt, and high heeled thigh boots.

“Hello Vicki,” she said. “I have those emails you asked me to bring over.”

“Of course,” Vicki told her. “That’s perfect. Have a seat. Could I get you a cup of coffee?”

Leila shook her head, and Vicki grabbed her a chair and sat down.

I introduced myself and perched on the side of Vicki’s desk, and then the young woman pulled out a manila folder.

“This is everything within the last thirty days on Jerry’s Outlook,” Leila said. “The police have his computers, and they have all of this. But I also had his accounts on my laptop. I tried to find anything, but there was nothing relevant I could find. It was all business contacts, conversations about the film, and between cast members, mainly.”

Vicki grabbed them, and I looked over her shoulder.

“There are some conversations,” Leila added, “that seemed odd. Like the one between him and Allen Wagenschutz. They were arguing about a film concept, and some of the wording sounded a little … dark. It was nothing overt, the tone just seemed off.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmured. “Where is that conversation?”

Leila pointed out where she had flagged it, and Vicki read it over.

“Yeah,” Vicki noted. “The wording is a little cryptic. Hmm.”

I flipped through the rest of the stack, and there was one I found that was interesting. But not in the way Leila had intended.

“He was buying an antique gramophone, huh?” I mused.

He’d answered an ad on The Herald’s classified section for a one thousand dollar record player from the early 1900’s.

“At that price it couldn’t have been a set piece,” I added.

“Oh, yeah,” Leila shrugged dismissively, “he was into a lot of that vintage sound equipment. He’s the one who turned me onto vinyl. Better quality, more raw.”

“Right,” I muttered absentmindedly, but then I had an idea.

I handed the papers back to Vicki, and she and Leila continued to talk about Allen Wagenschutz. There might be something there with the loan shark, but I thought I might have stumbled across another lead.

I turned and looked at the crime photo on my computer screen again, and then I zoomed in. In the background on the office shot was a stack of eight track tapes.

Bingo.

I quickly called the police chief, Hal Durant.

“Has a sweep been made of Jerry’s house?” I asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “We’ve got it cordoned off.”

“I want to see it,” I said. “I’ve got an idea.”

He sighed. “Alright, Henry. We’ll let you poke around in there, but we’re coming in with you.”

“That’s great,” I said.

“I’ll meet you there,” he replied.

Leila and Vicki continued to pore over e-mails, and Vicki looked up as I rose to leave.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“We’re going on a sweep of Jerry’s house with the cops,” I said with a grin.

She raised her eyebrows. “Great idea.”

“Do you have the address?” I asked Leila.

She scrawled it down on a sticky note, and I programmed it into my GPS.

“The cops have already picked over the place,” Leila said. “I let them in a couple of times, just so you know. But you know Jerry. You never know what you might find in there.”

“You never know,” I echoed and rubbed my chin.

“You have an idea,” Vicki accused as she narrowed her eyes at me.

“I do,” I confessed, “but it’s only an idea, so let’s all keep doing what we’re doing.”

I left the office and drove the two miles out to the address Leila gave me. Jerry lived in a gated residential community, in a red stucco one story house with a terracotta roof.

I needed to text Leila for a gate code, but she responded quickly. Then I went in through the winding streets and passed a catch and release fishing pond, a couple of natural fountains, a tennis court, and some hiking trails. Several streets down, I finally found the house peeking out behind towering trees.

There were no vehicles in the driveway. Jerry’s truck was either still at the studio, or under police impound for evidence. At some point, Clare and his mother would have to fight for next of kin rights to the vehicle.

The outside looked decently maintained enough for HOA, I guessed. But it had the sort of sterile look that implied no one cared beyond that. I parked against the curb and looked around a bit at the yard and driveway.

Hal Durant and a couple of cops showed up not long after.

Hal was an overweight man who loved his black Stetson hat and aviator shades. He’d seen more than his fair share of criminals and liars in his day, and had patience for none of them--which, in his estimation, included just about the entire human population.

I didn’t take it personally that I was included in