Free All That Glitters by Michael Murphy Page B

expected back in the day.
    Todd shuffled toward the couch. He sat and buried his head in his hands.
    Gus hung his hat on the coatrack and flashed a detective badge. “You remember me, flatfoot?”
    He’d always called me flatfoot. Toward the end of my time in L.A., like now, he didn’t speak the word in a playful manner.
    Up close, I got a better look. He had on a cheap gray suit, the kind mostly worn by people on a cop’s salary. The knees were worn like he’d spent too much time praying or shooting craps.
    Freshly polished oxfords seemed out of place, as if Gus had just tossed a shoeshine boy a quarter for a fresh shine. In the old days, he’d worn a uniform with pride. In the years I’d been away, he could have used help in the suit department. The stubble on his chin suggested a long day, like mine, so I cut him some slack.
    He ignored my offered hand, stepped forward, and inhaled. With an arrogant smirk, he grabbed the flask off the desk. “A bit early for scotch, isn’t it, Jake?”
    I considered offering an explanation, but I didn’t owe him one. Gus was a good cop back in the day, Irish to the core. We’d shared beers from time to time. Then a bribery scandal rocked LAPD. The city hired me and a dozen other Pinkertons to conduct an investigation. Even cops like Gus, who we exonerated, never forgave us. A lot of his buddies lost their jobs. Perhaps I’d feel the same if I were in his shoes.
    He dropped into the desk chair, unlaced one of his oxfords, and began to massage his foot. Probably pain from walking a beat for so many years.
    I couldn’t help chuckling. “And you call me flatfoot.”
    Holding his shoe, Gus struggled to his feet as Laura entered the room in a belted print dress I recognized from New York. Her quick transformation was complete. She appeared as if she’d slept eight hours and primped for another.
Actresses.
    “Laura Wilson, this is Detective Gus Connolly.”
    She glanced at the shoe in his hand. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”
    “A pleasure, ma’am.”
    “Likewise.” Laura hurried toward the couch. “Oh, Todd.” She sat and wrapped two motherly arms around him. “I’m so sorry for your loss. You okay?”
    Todd swallowed hard. “It’s such a shock.”
    I pointed toward the balcony.
    Outside, Gus sank into a chair. He massaged his foot with one hand and lit a Camel with the other. He blew a long plume of smoke in the direction of the Hollywood sign. “You always were a lucky guy, but I never figured you for the Hollywood crowd.”
    “What gives, Gus?”
    He handed me a business card identifying him as an LAPD detective in the Homicide Division. “Seems like a clear case of suicide to me. Single gunshot to the temple. Eric Carville was in bed with a pistol in his hand and a suicide note in a typewriter on his desk.”
    “Then what brings you here, especially at this hour?”
    “Beats me. I should be home soaking my dogs in Epsom salts. An hour ago, I’m interviewing witnesses. I guess your name popped up ’cause the next thing I know, my sergeant is sending me here to beg you to come back to examine the crime scene.”
    “You want
me
to help with a murder investigation?”
    “Guess you didn’t hear me right, Donovan. My
sergeant
wants your help, not me.”
    “Why’s Todd here?”
    Gus shrugged. “I just do what I’m told.”
    “You came quite a ways for nothing. I promised Laura I wouldn’t get involved in any more detective work.”
    “A promise is a promise.” Gus slipped his shoe on and tied the laces. “I can’t wait to tell my sergeant.”
    With a semblance of determination, Todd appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Donovan, my father and I would appreciate your assistance. I’m sure the detectives are excellent, but if you can help in any way…surely a few minutes of your time wouldn’t be asking too much.”
    Earlier, his father hadn’t taken no for an answer. A part of me wanted to throw Todd’s request in his face, but he’d lost a brother.