i 9fb2c9db4068b52a by Неизв. Read Free Book Online Page A

being petty and vindictive because she’d rejected the samples he had offered for her examination?
~
    Two hours into the search, an insistent growling from Claudia’s stomach added to the growing list of reasons why she should abandon what appeared more and more to be a useless task. Logically, she knew that everyone had to use printed writing at some time or another. But if Lindsey had printed anything, the evidence must be elsewhere.
    Tension from leaning over the file drawers had bunched the muscles in her shoulders. She took a moment to straighten and clasp her hands over her head, making herself a promise as she stretched her neck to release the stress: if she had no luck in the next half-hour, she would walk.
    She sealed the box she was working on. The next batch of files would be the last for the day. She was nearing the final few files when she came upon a plain white envelope, unaddressed, no postmark.
    A block printed note was inside, written on a single sheet of lined notebook paper.
    The pen had dug deep furrows into the paper, spawning an evil Braille on the back. Heavy, slashing strokes, crowded words, letters jumping up menacingly from the paper.
    YOUR GONA BE ONE SORY BICH!!!!!!
    Definitely not Lindsey’s handwriting. The undeveloped letter forms indicated someone functionally illiterate—grade school education at best. Psychopathology was nothing new to Claudia. She had worked for years in the courts and with psychologists, analyzing the handwritings of mental patients and convicted criminals. The handwriting on this page fit neatly into the latter category. She pressed the intercom and called Ivan.
~
    “This has absolutely nothing to do with Lindsey’s death,” Ivan said calmly, taking the paper from her.
    Claudia stared at him in surprise. “How can you be so sure? Don’t you think the police would be interested in this?”
    “This note came from a security guard we fired for sexual harassment about a year ago. He was none too bright. This was just an attempt to scare us.”
    “This guy could do more than scare you, Ivan. His handwriting show’s he’s a real sicko.”
    “Oh, is that the technical term?”
    “It’s not funny. He could do some serious damage. Is he in jail, I hope?”
    “No, he isn’t.” Ivan’s tone turned decidedly frosty. “We handled the situation internally. We never heard from him again.”
    Claudia got the message: Don’t tell me my business.
    She had never thought of herself as psychic, but she was picking up an undertone that mystified her. Why was Ivan unwilling even to acknowledge the possibility that the writer of this threatening message might be involved in Lindsey’s death?
    “I could compare this handwriting with the suicide note,” Claudia pressed him. “If you really believe Lindsey was murdered, this person could be a suspect. It’s block printed, too.”
    With a dismissive wave of his hand, Ivan tore the paper into six jagged pieces, ignoring Claudia’s gasp, and tossed it into the trash bin under the desk.
    “It’s not him.”
    “Why are you so sure?”
    Brushing aside the question, Ivan took a deep drag on his cigarette and tapped it on the ashtray, sending up a shower of ash and sparks. “I think your time might be better spent talking to Earl Nelson. It’s possible he might have something you can use.”
    “Who’s Earl Nelson?”
    “Lindsey’s brother.”
    Claudia frowned, puzzled. “Lindsey had no family, she was an orphan. There certainly wasn’t any family at the funeral.”
    Ivan blew a thick cloud of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “I can assure you, whether she acknowledged him openly or not, her brother is alive and living in West Hollywood. He wasn’t at the funeral because her will barred him from attending.” He scribbled on a yellow sticky note. “Here’s his phone number. I don’t know whether he’ll see you or not, but give him a call and ask whether he has any of her handwriting—tell him what you need.