Matters of Doubt by Warren C Easley Read Free Book Online Page B

the building. The bottom half of the place was empty except for a huge, overstuffed couch that looked too heavy to move. A set of wide double doors through a dividing wall led to a rear area which housed a bathroom, kitchen, and storage areas, and a flight of stairs leading up to a small landing.
    We took the stairs and Nando used a second key to open the door to the apartment. A narrow hall with a bath on one side and small bedroom on the other opened to a large room where light streamed in from three windows with slanted venetian blinds. A galley kitchen on the left and dining room/living room on the right completed the space.
    Nando made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “I bought the place as is, furniture, TV, refrigerator, everything. The poor man who sold it was desperate, I think. What do you think?”
    I walked over to the center window and spread the blinds to take in the view down on Couch. “This’ll do nicely. Thanks.”
    He handed me a set of keys. “Use it in peace, my friend. I won’t start working on it until later this year, God willing.”
    We had lunch at the Lemongrass, a little Thai joint on the other side of the river. Nando liked Thai almost as much as Cuban food, and the Lemongrass fare was as good as it was authentic. After railing about the state of the country, during which time he’d polished off a platter of roasted duck and vegetables in a smoldering hot curry sauce, he opened the business conversation. “Any word from Mr. Stout?”
    I shook my head as I wrapped a last bite of larb in a lettuce leaf. “No news is probably good news.”
    â€œWould it help save my license if the man Ramon beat up dropped the charges?”
    â€œWouldn’t hurt, but how’re you going to arrange that?” I asked, fearing the answer.
    Nando dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and smiled broadly. “Well, after all, I have photos of this man with another woman. I’m sure some—”
    â€œDon’t even think about it,” I said. “You’ll make matters worse with a stunt like that. I think Stout will come around in terms of your license, but Ramon will have to take his chances. Maybe we can get his charges reduced to a misdemeanor.”
    â€œOkay. Okay. It was just a thought. We will take the high street, then.”
    â€œGood. You won’t regret it. Now let’s talk about this case I’m working on.” I went on to fill him in on what I’d learned from Picasso’s information. When I’d finished I said, “So, there’re a bunch of open questions. I’m on a tight budget here, so all I’d like you to do right now is see if you can look into the background of Larry Vincent. See if there’s any way to tie him to Nicole Baxter.”
    Nando nodded. “What else?”
    â€œWell, you might take a quick look at the woman Conyers was with the night Baxter disappeared.”
    â€œJessica Armandy?”
    â€œRight. I’m interested in her background as well.”
    That’s how I left it with Nando. Picasso and I had agreed to meet at four that afternoon at the medical clinic. When I arrived, I didn’t see him working on his mural. I walked over to the wall to see how it was coming. He hadn’t started painting yet, but a few of the blocked-in figures I’d seen earlier were now drawn with more detail. It looked like some kind of parade or procession. A life-sized, yet small, lithe figure was sketched in at the front of the parade. I was pretty sure it was Mahatma Ghandi. He was walking ahead of a man in boots and a hard hat. Behind him was a tall figure in flowing robes and sandals. Jesus Christ? He was arm in arm with a woman in tennis shoes. Others were sketched in less detail, although there was a rough sketch of a tall woman with a stethoscope around her neck who looked suspiciously like Anna Eriksen.
    Picasso had told me the mural will make a statement about health