Free Death Through the Looking Glass by Richard; Forrest Page A

somehow going to do him out of his share.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œHe made a remark one night. He said he knew Esposito was going to screw him; it was just a question of how and when.”
    â€œWho’s Esposito?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    The far wing of the house had once been intended for use as a playroom and still housed a Ping-Pong table. At the beginning of her political career, Bea had begun to utilize it as her headquarters. As a consequence, the table was covered with hundreds of copies of legislative bills, and along one wall were stored her most prized possessions—coded three-by-five file cards on all the voters in her senatorial district. As well as Lyon could remember, the code ran from I—extremely favorable toward Beatrice Wentworth, will contribute and work on campaign—to 7—get rid of that crazy broad.
    Along another wall was a long bookcase stuffed with political reference works and telephone books. Lyon cleared a place on the Ping-Pong table and pulled out the phone books to look up all the Espositos.
    One hundred forty-three Espositos were listed in the upper portion of the state. Lyon sighed and penciled on a scratch pad the few sentences he would use on each phone call.
    On the ninety-third call a voice answered, “Esposito Enterprises.”
    â€œMr. Esposito, please. It’s urgent.”
    The guttural voice announced simply, “E. here.”
    â€œBefore he died, Tom Giles assigned his interest to me.”
    There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Lyon waited apprehensively for the puzzled questioning he had been getting on the other calls. “I see,” the voice of Esposito finally said. “And just what do you expect me to do?”
    â€œI think we should meet as soon as possible.”
    â€œWho is this?”
    â€œLyon Wentworth.”
    â€œI will expect you at my home this evening, Mr. Wentworth. The address is 711 Braeland Drive, Tallman. Shall we say eight?”
    â€œI’ll be there,” Lyon said as the connection was severed. He tried to reconstruct the few sentences of the phone call in order to discover what had been said or what innuendo had been made that filled him with such a sense of menace.
    â€œALL RIGHT, WENTWORTH! I’VE DECIDED WHAT TO DO ABOUT ALL THESE WOMEN!”
    Lyon turned to face Bea in the doorway. “Tie Robin to the wing of the plane.”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œI never knew you went to bed so early,” Rocco said to the robed Lyon as they hunched over coffee in the study.
    â€œI think it’s called preventive medicine.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œNever mind. What do you know about an Esposito Enterprises in Tallman?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI’ll fill you in later. Have you ever heard of them?”
    â€œNo, but I could call Pat Pasquale over there and see if he has anything on them. By the way, we had Gary Middleton at the barracks all afternoon. He took a polygraph.”
    â€œHow’d it turn out?”
    â€œChrist, I don’t know. The bastard lies about everything. For God’s sake, we even got a spike when we asked him his name.”
    â€œI imagine Gary and Karen head Norbert’s list.”
    â€œAnd mine too, unless you’ve come up with something.”
    â€œCall Pat and see if he has anything on Esposito.”
    Rocco dialed the Tallman police and asked to speak to Sergeant Pat Pasquale. “Pasquale, you wop bastard, how much did you make off the pad this week?… Rocco Herbert here.… Sure I can; I’m half myself. Listen, Pat. You ever hear of an outfit called Esposito Enterprises?… Uh huh, what do you have on them?” As Rocco listened, he flipped a pad out, cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder and made hasty notes. “Thanks, Pat. See you.”
    â€œWell?” Lyon asked.
    â€œSal Esposito owns a chain of massage parlors, porno book