Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series) by Julie Smith Read Free Book Online

lawyer?”
    “Yes.” I stared. I’d never seen the man before in my life. What could he want?
    “Did you hear scientists are replacing white rats with defense attorneys?”
    “Heard about that,” I said. “How many cops does it take to change a light bulb?”
    For about six months everybody in the world was plaguing lawyers with the rat gag. “There are more defense lawyers,” the wag would intone. “The lab assistants don’t get as attached to them. And there’s nothing they won’t do.”
    It reminded me of the joke about men and sex that made the rounds about the same time: “Why do men reach orgasm faster than women?”
    The teller was always male. The answer was “Who cares?” The women in the crowd never found it funny.
    Sometimes it’s tough being both female and a lawyer. One has trials, they both have tribulations.
    Before the young cop could take the bait about the light bulb (I hadn’t an answer for him), I headed back to the rear of the building.
    There were two rear entrances—the gate through which Marty and I had come the night before, and a nearer one, close to the building, that you could reach from a hiking and biking trail. The crowd had discovered that one. I kept walking back to the parking lot gate, and saw that it was deserted except for its uniformed guard.
    I crossed to the Tin Cannery Building, found a phone booth, called the aquarium, and spoke to a female operator. Everyone wanted to be in the thick of things, so I let her talk to someone important.
    “This is Special Agent Stone from the FBI. I need to speak with whoever’s in charge there.”
    “I’ll put you through to Mr. Nowell.”
    She rang through and a brusque male voice said, “Warren Nowell.”
    “Mr. Nowell, this is Rebecca Schwartz. I’m Marty Whitehead’s attorney and she asked me to pick something up for her—”
    “I heard a rumor Marty’s been arrested. Surely that can’t be right.”
    “Let’s say she’s being held at the police station.”
    He drew in his breath. “After all she’s been through!”
    “Thanks. I appreciate the sympathy, and I’ll convey it to Marty. But listen, back to my errand. Do you think—”
    “I’d love to, but I don’t see how I can do a thing for you. The police said not to let anyone in except employees who have to get in to work.”
    “I see. You’ve got quite a mess on your hands, haven’t you?”
    “It’s pretty rough. How’s Marty doing, anyway?”
    “Fine, under the circumstances. She particularly asked me to talk to you—she seemed to think you’d be the person in charge.”
    “Gee, I really wish I could help, but there’s a cop at every entrance. Tell you what—maybe I could have someone bring down whatever it is.”
    “Unfortunately she wasn’t quite sure where it is. She asked me to look for it.”
    He laughed, a little smugly, I thought. “Well, if you can charm some policeman, you’re certainly welcome to do that.”
    How hard could that be, now that I knew what it took to get in? I was glad I was dressed in jeans and running shoes, and I was glad the young cop at the back gate looked more bored than alert. I tensed my body to give me stage presence, the way I did for court appearances.
    “Hi,” I said. “Awful about Sadie, isn’t it?”
    The young cop put on his grim look, the one students are required to learn on the first day of school at police academies across the nation. “Pretty bad.”
    “I’m Rebecca Schwartz. I work with the sea otters?” I made the sentence a question so I’d sound properly submissive—almost as little and cute as one of the fuzzy beasts I’d mentioned.
    “You do? My kid loves those things. He can watch them for hours.”
    “I know you. You belong to Friends of the Sea Otter.”
    He looked wary. “No, I—”
    “Would you like to join? I think I’ve got a brochure here.” I rummaged in my purse. “We really need your support—there’s only three thousand California sea otters left in the