Free Night Watchman (The Tubby Dubonnet Series Book 8) by Tony Dunbar

the morning and made love on her living room floor. At least that’s what Jason thought had happened.
    Before more was revealed, the food arrived.
    “Hot plates,” the waiter warned. Jason’s steak sizzled. Tubby’s quail steamed. They stopped talking for a few minutes and ate. The small toasty brown bird was served on a glacé of black cherries and wilted spinach, and with the rice sausage spilling onto the plate it sent out mists of wonderful spicy flavors. It was a shame to pierce it with a fork.
    “Mine’s excellent. How’s your steak?” Tubby finally managed to ask.
    “
Très Bien
. So, what else are you working on these days? Any more New Orleans political intrigues or gruesome murders?”
    “One of each, actually. The intrigue may involve organized crime and our city police department. I shouldn’t have taken the case, but it promises to be another fascinating glimpse into what makes our very warm and moist small town work. The murder, on the other hand, happened forty years ago, and is personal to me.”
    “Really? Who got killed?”
    “A young boy. I never actually learned his full name. They called him Parker. It was at a public demonstration. I was there. Someone pulled up in a car and shot him.”
    Jason’s ruddy face paled. He took a pull on his drink and signaled the waiter for a refill.
    “This was back in the days of anti-war demonstrations. I just happened to get involved during a brief but very, uh, experimental period in my life.”
    “You were there when it happened?” Jason’s voice sounded strained.
    “Yeah. The kid died, practically in my arms. I never knew who did it or why. Is there something wrong with your food?”
    Jason had quietly set down his fork, and he dropped his chin as if in prayer.
    “How do you plan to find the answers to your questions?”
    “I’ll dig up what can be dug up. Granted, it was a long time ago. But I’m a resourceful person.”
    Jason raised his head and met Tubby’s eyes.
    “You should leave this in the past, my friend. The people who did this are loco crazy. They were crazy then, and they are crazy now.”
    Tubby was astonished. “You actually know something about this event?”
    Jason just shook his head sadly.
    * * *
    The taxi dropped Cherrylynn off on Broad across the street from the jail. She had to fork over most of her cash because the swarthy driver with the tiny mustache claimed that his credit card machine was broken. Flustered, she hurried up the wide steps and spied, across the plaza, a sentry-like uniformed policeman who was indeed smoking a cigarette. Getting closer, she observed that he was surrounded by a ring of smashed butts which blended into the gum-stained concrete. He was holding a manila envelope.
    “Officer Sandoval?” she inquired.
    He looked her up and down and grunted, “You ain’t bad looking.”
    “I’m Mister Dubonnet’s secretary,” she said, inexplicably not feeling insulted by his forwardness. “Do you have something for him?”
    The policeman stuck out his arm, big as both of hers, and handed over the envelope.
    “Tell him this is all there is.” He shrugged. “It was a long time ago and things get lost. This is the original file, and I’d like it back.”
    Sandoval ground what was left of his smoke into the pavement with all the rest.
    “Nice to meet you, Miss Secretary.” He turned abruptly and walked back into the glass building.
    “Thank you,” Cherrylynn called after him.
    She turned the envelope over. There were no markings on it. She noted that the flap was clipped shut but not sealed. Holding it against her chest with an elbow, she searched through her purse until she found a dollar and a quarter. Great! At least she could afford to take a bus back downtown.
    Soon, sitting in air-conditioned comfort on the crowded Number 30, she gave in to temptation and unfastened the clasp. She peeked inside. There was a ragged worn folder— so this was indeed the original— and just a few pieces of