Free Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 04 - BOY ON TRIAL - A Legal Thriller by Clifford Irving Page B

knocks on the door, says, ‘Here’s this inheritance.’ That happens. No bull. I read about it in USA Today . They got a column, ‘Across the USA.’ That happened in Virginia and California. It could happen to me.”
    “Carter, why is her real name Amnesia?”
    I could see him flex the muscles in his back. “How’d you find that out?”
    “It’s on her hospital admissions card.”
    “Ginette did that without my knowing. And the reason’s none of your business.”
    The pickup jolted and swerved off to the right. I heard a whack-whack-whack sound coming right up through the seat.
    With a curse, Carter guided the pickup off to the right, onto the shoulder of a wet stretch of road east of Sagaponack. I think he would have kept driving on the flat tire if he could have, but we were already riding on the rim. Orange sparks shot out into the black rain.
    We ground to a stop, and both dogs raised their heads. Carter banged open the glove compartment and snatched a flashlight. Its beam was dim.
    “Daisy, don’t move. Penalty of death.” He wrenched open the door on the driver’s side. “You don’t mind, Little Lord Fauntleroy, I could use some help. Hold this flashlight.”
    I was halfway out the door when I remembered what Carter had said about Pablo and Daisy eating through leather. If they could eat through leather, they could eat through canvas, and canvas was all that protected Iphigenia from their deadly jaws. I grabbed her travel bag, hugged it to my chest, and jumped.
    I didn’t dare to let Iphigenia get wet. I slipped out of my suede windbreaker and wrapped it around the bag, and tied the sleeves together; then I shoved the bag under the truck where the rain couldn’t get at it.
    Carter was wearing his yellow fisherman’s jacket. He pulled the hood up over his head so that he looked like he was bent to the deck of a boat in a storm. I held the flashlight and raindrops glistened in the bright tunnel made by the beam. Carter jacked the truck up in less than a minute. He spun the lug wrench, wrestled the ripped tire off the front wheel, threw it in the back where it rolled and clanged, and in another minute he had the spare in place, he’d spun the nuts, and he kicked the jack out from under and tossed it in the back—another huge clang.
    “Good work, partner. Christ almighty… looka you!” The light had been shining on him all the time so he hadn’t seen me. “You’re kind of wet, amigo. Where’s that fancy coat of yours?” He turned toward the truck.
    I yelled, “Don’t start the engine! Iphigenia’s under there!”
    I squirmed under the chassis. Iphigenia weighed so little that the bag felt empty. My windbreaker had been pressing against the truck’s axle and was full of grease.
    I squeezed into the front seat, beating Pablo down to the floor with a fist until there was enough room for me. I put my hand in the bag to feel Iphigenia. She trembled.
    “I’m late,” I said, more to myself than to Carter, but he heard it.
    He yelled, “Hold tight, chief!” He floored the gas pedal, taking the truck up to sixty, and a minute later, in a thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone coming up to Skimhampton Road to Indian Wells, we heard wah-oh-wah-oh-wah-oh, and I saw red flashers in all the rear-view mirrors.

Chapter 10

    The cops wore shiny black raincoats with hoods. One cop held a huge black umbrella over both cops’ heads and shoulders. East Hampton police didn’t like getting wet unless it was in the surf on the Fourth of July.
    Carter began to argue before they could say a word..
    “Sir, I’ve got this soaking wet boy here who I’ve got to deliver to his folks in Amagansett so he don’t die of pneumonia. Not to mention three animals — one of which you can’t see, but it’s a rare breed of African monkey — and they’re all soaked, ‘cause we just now had a flat. This is a night meant for fish and alligators, and I ask you to have a little mercy and let me deliver this kid to his lawyer