Death and Taxes by Susan Dunlap Read Free Book Online Page B

ambulance. But when she spoke, it was about Philip Drem. Drem had died in the emergency room. That panicked expression of his flashed somewhere in my consciousness. Not bewildered, as a man would be if he were suddenly taken ill, but terrified, as if his worst fears had come true.
    “Drem was the most hated of the hated, the bulldog of the IRS auditors, to quote Rick Lamott, the hotshot of tax accountants,” Pereira said. “But as far as PIN and CORPUS go, he’s clean.” PIN is the Police Information Network, with data on warrants statewide. CORPUS lists arrests in the county. Drem’s showing up on neither was no surprise. Most law-abiding citizens wouldn’t.
    “But on Records Management, Philip Drem was a star.”
    I waited for Connie to go on. The Records Management system is where we keep note of everyone who has had any dealings with the department. You complain about your neighbor’s dog barking, you make it into Records Management.
    “Two citizen’s arrests of responsibles who smoked in nonsmoking sections.”
    “Oooohhh,” Griseki chided. “Wha’d he do, find the last two smokers in town?”
    “That’s not all. He accused a Chinese restaurant of using MSG. They advertised that they didn’t. We told him that was a civil matter. But it didn’t stop him. The next week, he complained that the bakers of a chocolate fudge cake had sneaked in espresso beans.”
    Griseki shook his head. “How will Berkeley survive without this guy? We’ll never take another easy breath or bite.”
    “Yeah, but we’ll file our ten-forties a lot happier,” Eggs put in. There was an unusual edge to his voice.
    “Anything else, Pereira?” Chief Larkin reined in the Saturday looseness.
    “No dependents. His doctor said we should all be in such good health.”
    “And it’s your case, Smith?” the chief asked.
    I nodded.
    Then the meeting was over. They’re short on Saturdays. I glanced over at Howard, hoping we could avoid being in our office at the same time. At the best of times the former closet is cramped, but when Howard and I are arguing—or worse, avoiding argument—it’s as if the air were cement. Now Howard was on the far side of the meeting room talking to his inspector and Chief Larkin. He’d be occupied long enough for me to get down to the office and eat my donut.
    “Five minutes?” I called to Pereira. I needed the details on Drem. And if Howard was in our office when she arrived, she’d provide a diversion.
    “Give me twenty and I may have a surprise for you, Smith.”
    “What kind of a surprise?”
    “A good one.”
    For that I could wait another fifteen minutes. There’s never a danger of idle hands in DD. We’ve always got paperwork. I headed down the tan corridor to my office. At the stairs, Eggs, my fellow Homicide officer, caught up with me. Eggs was unfortunately nicknamed. Eggenburger had been shortened to Eggs for as long as I’d known him, but it had been only in the last couple of years that he’d lost his hair. Right now, his expression suited a grumpy hard-boiled. With bifocals.
    “Bad time with your in-custody?” I asked.
    “Nah.” He braced an arm against the wall. “Good thing Drem is yours, Smith. If he were mine, I’d be tempted to congratulate the perp.” He pushed off and turned toward his office.
    I grabbed an arm. “Wait a minute here. Let’s have a little background on that one.”
    “For cause of death you don’t have to consider heart attack. With Philip Drem, there’d be nothing to attack.” Eggs was grinning.
    “Eggs! Stop gloating over the dead and explain!”
    “Can’t now. I’ve got the DA’s liaison due in … Hell, he can wait. Come on.”
    I followed him to his office, the Homicide office. When I’d been promoted to detective, he and Jackson had already been settled in there, in the corner office with the ledge that the Homicide squirrel visited daily for tribute. The room was three times the size of the dark hole Howard and I shared. Such