Little Mountain by Bob Sanchez Read Free Book Online Page A

“But they more or less don’t want to pay for it.”
             But Sam had no complaints. With Gitman, Cerullo, and Danfil all laid off in the last week, he felt lucky to have moved up instead of out. Merit, Chief Corcoran said. Reverse discrimination, Lieutenant Wilkins said.
             Wilkins and the Chief drifted toward Corcoran’s office. “You been the best chief Lowell’s ever had,” Wilkins said. They had matching flat-top crew cuts. The Chief’s hair was white, while Wilkins’ looked like poorly mixed cement: gray with sandy clumps.
             Besson dropped a folder on Sam’s desk. “Not much here yet,” he said. DeVito called Besson the man of ten thousand freckles, because Besson’s fiancee supposedly counted them all. Probably true, because Besson grinned a lot.
             “Got any prints we can use?” Sam asked.
             “You give me some suspects, maybe I do. Looks like the family’s prints all over the place, what else would you expect? I think everybody but you and the pope left prints there. You need to give me somebody to focus on. Victim’s wife say the shooter was Asian?”
             “No, she didn’t. Maybe he didn’t go inside, but I’d just as soon check it out. How about the victim?”
             “We’re sending his prints to the feds, I’ve got nothing on Bin Chea here.” Sam gave Besson a list of names to check, including Nawath and other neighbors of Bin Chea. Then Besson went back to his desk.
             “Hey, Hot Dog,” Fitchie said. “M.E.’s supposed to call this afternoon. I said when he’s ready he should call you direct.” Dark circles of sweat showed under his arms. Traces of mayo clung to the corners of his lips. “Good news, by the way. Chief’s told the state police we’re in the best position to handle this, having a Cambodian investigator. They’re willing to stand back for now.”
             Sam laughed. “Cambodian? I’m a citizen here. American as apple pie.”
             “American as mango pie, I’d guess.” The glint in Fitchie’s eyes said that he was teasing. A lot of personal troubles weighed on Fitchie’s mind, and it was good that he could joke about anything. “Anyway, Chief wants his money’s worth.”
             “I’ll give him my best.”
             “You’d better. Lieutenant More or Less will be like that Venus fly trap of his, you see it? Give you some sticky shit to land on, then snap! You be sure and disappoint him, okay?”
             “I have nothing against the Lieutenant,” he said. “Got to have a quick sandwich, finish this report, then follow up on Mrs. Chea. She okay to see yet?”
             “Yeah, I guess she’s calm now. She was pretty freaked out last night, though.”
             “She went through an awful--”
             “Yeah, a bitch of a time. Not as bad as her husband, of course. Look, I ran down the numbers on the phone bill. Got fifteen names, plus a couple of one-minutes to a Long Beach pay phone.”
             “Wrong numbers, you think?”
             “Who knows at this point? We have the addresses, but we can’t assume anything. You know what they say when you assume?” Fitch printed on the back of a “While You Were Out” message sheet:
             ASS U ME
             “It makes an ass out of you and me,” Fitch said.
             Sam laughed. Julie would like that one--well, he liked it. “Who are these people he called? Maybe one of them has a rap sheet. And we should find the pay phone address on a map of Long Beach, then see who’s nearby. If it’s the same neighborhood as the other numbers--”
             “Yeah, that would tell us something. And what about insurance policies? Who benefits from his death? I’ll check that out.”
             “Mrs. Chea says she’s the sole surviving relative. Speaking