Free Dark Blonde by David H. Fears Page A

“That sort of favor you can’t put in the bank.”
    Gerard flinched and made shapes with his mouth like he was searching for a swear word acceptable for use in front of ladies. He only knew three or four, so his mind froze with his yap open.
    Julia stood and carried her coffee cup to the sideboard, then faced Gerard. In her heels Julia could easily look over the top of his pointy-head. “That should be no problem, should it? He’s already under retainer. Mister Angel is more than qualified to help. The congressman and I prefer it. We want this matter resolved,” she said pointing a pretty finger at Gerard. “Without foot-dragging.”
    Her tone was steady and well aimed. It’s not always the one pushing hardest who wins, but the one who pushes on the right spot. In his short tenure, Gerard’s office had already been criticized for recalcitrant dealings with some of the marginal players in the Summerdale police scandal, probably from pressure through Daley’s office. Gerard blinked.
    Frank Gerard ordered his boys out to the curb and flashed too many teeth at Julia. “My office won’t rest until we find out who’s responsible,” he said like he’d memorized the line on the way over. “Your hired investigators must follow Illinois law, however, I’m sure you understand that. But no, I don’t wish to get in the way of a just resolution of the case. My apologies for your loss.” Julia relaxed, one hand rubbing her brow. She looked up at me. Our eyes met. She didn’t look away. I winked.
    Hand on the doorknob, Gerard turned and craned his swarthy face out at us. If someone had opened the door right then, his puss would have splattered on the tile. He squinted like he was trying to make out a fly on the coffee table next to Julia. “Why the Shakespeare reference — anyone have an idea?” We all looked at him like he was too dumb to know the difference between Shakespeare and Sophocles. I used to be too dumb, but if there’s anything that pushes a man’s hat size, it’s brand new knowledge. Gerard hadn’t had that gift since elementary school.
    Rick didn’t use the occasion to expound, which I was grateful for. Andressen kept scribbling as he headed for the door. Burk stuck his card in Miss Mathew’s hand then went out with his cadaverous stenographer and huddled under the porte-cochere, no doubt correcting Andressen’s spelling.
      Rick and I said our goodbyes and walked down to the driveway.
     

 
Chapter 8
     
    Rick left his rusty Ghia at the Gateswood estate and we rode together straight to Gail’s bungalow.
    “They came up empty on the estate grounds,” Rick said. “At least nothing obvious. They’ll fine toothcomb and dust for prints in the guesthouse, though it’s my opinion they won’t find any prints but family and staff. Whoever placed the body took almost theatrical pains.”
    “Someone went to a lot of trouble, just to haul the body to the estate. Someone who wanted awfully bad to embarrass the congressman. Can’t think of any other reason. What’d Burk take you aside for when we came out?”
    “He wanted me to know that he couldn’t be seen collaborating with me with Gerard snooping around, but that he’d appreciate any tips or insights I had to the murder. I filled him in on the Sophocles marker. He majored in mathematics, acquainted more with Euclid than Sophocles. Burk’s caseload’s been pretty heavy. He thinks Gerard will micromanage this one and wasn’t too happy about it.”
    “Gerard’s a rabid Pekinese when there’s a chance to get his picture in the paper. I don’t care too much for Burk either.”
    “Burk’s a good cop. You should try to keep from irritating him.”
    “For your sake, I’ll try not to pee on his shoes.”
    “I got the information on the Japanese groundskeeper and the casino where Gail worked briefly as a hostess. I’ll check those both out later.”
    We pulled up to Gail’s bungalow. The police hadn’t been there yet. Inquisitive little