Read Who Murdered Garson Talmadge for Free Online

that’s just the surface. Look at these outfits. How’s a girl gonna look good in this ugly thing?” She tugged hard enough to billow the loose-fitting orange material over her bust, then glanced toward the door and the guard.
    “You’d look good in anything,” I said, meaning it, “but this is not a place for looking sensuous. Let your hair go. Don’t bathe unless they insist, but cooperate when they do.”
    “No sweat, Matt. I hold a brown belt in karate. If any of the lesbos in this place put a hand on me, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”
    “Also, this is not a place to get in a fight. Walk and talk with confidence, not cockiness. Stay to yourself, but don’t act like a victim or like you’re too good for the rest of ‘em.”
    She smiled for the second time. “Seeing we’re talking outfits here, I see you wore your trench coat. That ought to help you get into your detective persona.”
    The trench coat may have been a little over the top into my novelist side, but I wasn’t about to confess that to Clarice. “Morning fog,” I said. “Wet. Now, did you get an attorney?”
    “I called Sidney Blackton.” She stroked her fingers on the glass the way she might to tickle the open palm of my hand. “He was Tally’s lawyer for all his U.S. business deals.”
    “You need a criminal mouthpiece, not a corporate attorney.”
    “That’s what Blackton told me. He sent over Brad Fisher who went with me to the arraignment. I gave Fisher your name and told him you’d help. Was that okay? Do you know Fisher?”
    “Only by reputation, which says he’s a topnotch criminal lawyer. I’ve heard him called the flim-flam man. No promises, but I’ll talk with him.”

Chapter 3
    I had not been back to the Long Beach Police Department since the day I had been taken there as the accused in what the press called, “Justice on the Courthouse Steps.”
    On the way over from the jail, I had tried to sort out why I was ignoring my instincts that told me not to get involved. I hadn’t known Clarice was married to Garson Talmadge while we were bumping uglies. Still, under whatever conditions, when you’d done the joe buck with a man’s wife you owed him something.
    I had another reason for taking the case. You’ll think me silly, but I’ll tell you anyway. I liked Clarice. Not just because she had a full load of the B’s: brains, beauty, and big boobs. I just liked her, as a person. She was plain spoken and, generally speaking, more candid than most people, male or female.
    I walked around the corner after parking on Broadway, and pushed through the door. When I got close to the front desk, the uniformed officer looked up. “I’d like to see Sergeant Fidgery,” I said. “My name is Matthew Kile.”
    “I’ll let him know, Mr. Kile. Top of the stairs, take a seat. He’ll meet you up there.”
    While waiting for Fidge, I was shocked to see how little the place had changed since I left the force. The decor was still grays and light browns with old florescent light fixtures lined up a foot or so below a white acoustical tiled ceiling that wasn’t exactly white any longer. The air was the same, too, a stale mixture of sneaked cigarettes smoked in out-of-sight places, further flavored by the unforgettable aromas of farts and barf that somehow leeched in from the locker room and the drunk tank.
    “Hello, Matthew,” Fidge said, as soon as he stepped into sight carrying the coffee mug that he held more often than he wore pants, at least that would be my guess and I really didn’t want to find out. Fidge talked with his hands and the coffee mug did its part without giving up its content. “Come on,” was all he said before turning and starting down the hall without looking back.
    At six-three and two-twenty I was neither short nor thin, but Fidge was six-five and over two-sixty, maybe more for he looked a bit softer around the middle, but over the years which of us don’t? In the old days, the two of us had been known