The Emerald Cat Killer by Richard A. Lupoff Read Free Book Online Page A

Burnside—”
    Burnside exhaled a cloud of blue-gray smoke. “Jack. Call me Jack. What’s your first name?” He squinted at Lindsey’s business card. “Hobart. Hobart. What the hell kind of name is that? I think I bought a Hobart stove one time. Or was it a dishwasher? My wife buys these things. I give her an allowance, I don’t know what she does with the money half the time.”
    â€œYes, well, that’s my name. You’d have to ask my mother how she picked it. Jack. All right. Jack. What I need to know is your side of this story.”
    â€œYou been talking to those snobs at Murder and Monkeyshines?”
    â€œNo, sir. I haven’t talked to them yet. I hope I can get this matter straightened out. If Gordian House is blameless I hope we can convince the other side to drop their case. If not, International Surety will try and work out a settlement. We don’t want a court fight and I hope they don’t want one, either. Nobody wins that kind of battle except for the lawyers.”
    â€œYou want to hear my side?”
    Lindsey nodded.
    â€œI already told my lawyer all about it. What’s-her-name Caswell. J. P. Caswell. Won’t even use a first name. I call her Jaypee. Firm is Hopkins, MacKinney, Black. In Oakland.”
    â€œYes, I’ll talk with them. With Ms. Caswell. But I’d like to hear it in your own words, Mister … ah, Jack.”
    â€œOkay. Here we go.”
    He pushed himself up and opened a door to another room. Lindsey peered though the doorway. The room was full of modern equipment. A crew of young men and women sat at computers, busily clicking away at keyboards. Burnside disappeared. Lindsey waited. Burnside reappeared, closed the door behind him. He tossed a paperback book at Lindsey. Lindsey managed to catch it. He turned it over and studied the package.
    The cover painting showed a woman wearing an off-the-shoulder blouse and a short, tight skirt sitting on a barstool. A tough-looking, unshaven male in a T-shirt and jeans had one hand on her thigh. His other hand held a revolver. The whole scene was framed in a porthole-shaped window. The title of the book, lettered in simulated neon tubing, was The Emerald Cat.
    â€œThis is the casus belli ?” Lindsey asked.
    â€œThe what?”
    â€œThe cause of all the trouble.”
    â€œYeah, right. See the byline on that thing?”
    Lindsey read it aloud. “Steve Damon.” He opened the book, looked at the copyright page. The book was credited to Gordian House, Inc.
    â€œWhy isn’t it copyrighted by the author?”
    Burnside said, “Huh. We bought it. Agent sold it to us. What they call work-done-for-hire, even though it wasn’t done for us. But it’s ours now.”
    â€œYou bought it from Steve Damon?”
    â€œNope.”
    Lindsey decided that it was time to wait the other man out.
    They stared at each other for a minute, then Burnside said, “Agent.”
    â€œAll right, then I’ll need to talk to Mr. Damon’s agent.”
    Burnside opened a desk drawer and pulled out a Rolodex. “Here you go.” He flipped cards until he found the one he wanted. “Rachael Gottlieb.” He read off a Berkeley address. “Says she’s Damon’s agent. She signed the contract, he signed it, too. Signed, sealed, and delivered. Check went to Gottlieb. I guess she took her pound of flesh and gave the rest to Damon but I wouldn’t know for certain. Maybe she screwed him out of it. No pun intended, Linsley. No skin off my back either way.”
    Lindsey jotted Gottlieb’s name and address in his organizer and slipped it back into his pocket. “So you never actually met Damon.”
    â€œNope. Never talk to authors. I have people to do that.” He gestured toward the door that led to the high-tech room. “Don’t think anybody talked to him, though. I handled this one myself. Met Gottlieb. Nice piece. Tight