Free Daniel Klein by Blue Suede Clues: A Murder Mystery Featuring Elvis Presley Page B

it was a good thing the security guards had shown up when they did. One more minute and Elvis would have throttled Grieves by the neck and not let go until his hairy legs stopped twitching.
    Joe and Joanie picked Elvis up at the studio and brought him back to Perugia Way and up to bed. He was spread out there now, Frederick Littlejon’s trial transcript on one side of him and, on the other, a bag of White Tower two-bite burgers that they had picked up on the way home. The doctor had recommended a high-protein diet to help with the healing. Elvis popped an entire two-bite into his mouth
and shifted onto his side. Man, that ankle ached. The doc had given him some pills for the pain, but Elvis decided to hold off for a while. He wanted to read with a clear head:

    The State of California v. Frederick Littlejon, Esquire

    Elvis had to smile at that. It was probably the one and only time in his life that Squirm had an “Esquire” appended to his name.
    The charge was first-degree murder, nothing about rape in the indictment. A total of twenty-two witnesses were listed on the first page, all but three of them for the prosecution. Four of the prosecution witnesses were forensic experts, three of them professors at UCLA, the fourth imported from Harvard Law School. Only one of the defense witnesses was a forensic expert: a man named Hector Garcia from the Instituto Tecnológico Autónomo de Mexico. That Regis Clifford sure knew how to pick them.
    Elvis turned to the prosecution’s opening statement:

    MR. L. CLIFFORD: Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury. We have the unpleasant task today of contemplating the murder of a beautiful young woman, ruthlessly strangled in the prime of her life by a vicious and cowardly man, Fred Littlejon … .

    Mr. L. Clifford? Elvis flipped back to the first page of the transcript and looked at the bottom:

    FOR THE PROSECUTION: Mr. LeRoy Clifford, Esquire, First Assistant District Attorney.
    FOR THE DEFENSE: Mr. Regis Clifford, Esquire, Attorney at Law.

    Elvis picked up the phone off the bed table and dialed Regis’s number. This time it only rang twice before he picked up.
    â€œThe offices of Regis Clifford,” the attorney said brightly. What
a difference ten hours and six hundred dollars made.
    â€œIt’s Tatum,” Elvis said.
    â€œOh, Tatum,” Clifford said. Elvis could literally hear the air of deflation gush out of him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tatum, but I never got out to East L.A. today. Prior commitments. But I’m only charging you for a half day … . Listen, could you hold the wire a second? I’ve got something on the stove.”
    There was no stove in Clifford’s office.
    â€œNo, I can’t hold,” Elvis said curtly. “I need to know something right now. Who was the prosecutor in the Littlejon case?”
    â€œLet me see,” the attorney mumbled. “It’s been a while, uh—”
    â€œClifford,” Elvis snapped. “LeRoy Clifford.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œLike your name.”
    â€œIt’s a common name,” Regis said. “Irish, you know. We’re all over the place.”
    â€œIs he any relation to you?” Elvis asked.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œFor godssake, LeRoy Clifford . Is he any relation to you?”
    No response while the attorney for the defense lit a cigarette and noisily inhaled several times.
    â€œHe was,” Regis said finally.
    â€œ Was? ”
    â€œWe’ve been estranged for years, Mr. Tatum,” Clifford said, once again attempting to hide behind a voice loaded with upper-class cadences.
    â€œ Who is he, Clifford? ” Elvis barked into the phone.
    â€œMy brother,” he answered quietly. “My twin brother.”
    â€œGod Almighty! Isn’t that illegal or something? The two of you on opposite sides of the same case?”
    â€œNothing illegal about it,” Clifford answered. “As long as we didn’t share any