Read Bright Futures: A Lew Fonesca Mystery (Lew Fonesca Novels) for Free Online

“How are you, Mr. . . .”
    “Fonesca,” Ames supplied. “Mr. Lewis Fonesca. And my name’s Ames McKinney.”
    “And what have you got to do with my father and Jeff?”
    “Your father has asked me to look into the murder of Philip Horvecki.”
    “You’re a private investigator?”
    “No, a process server.”
    She was unimpressed.
    “You think my son’s friend killed Horvecki?”
    “The police think so. The television stations, the newspaper and most of the people in Sarasota probably think so.”
    “Why don’t you just ask Ronnie Gerall what happened?”she asked.
    Jeff Augustine’s left eye was open wide and looking at Alana Legerman. I moved toward the door, Ames at my side.
    “I think we’ll do that,” I said.

 
     
     
     
     
3
----
     
     
    T HE PROBLEM WAS IMMEDIATELY CLEAR after we talked to Ronnie Gerall across a table in the visitors’ room in the county jail. I got the impression that he worked at being independent, superior, and unlikable, but I could have been wrong. He could simply and naturally be what my uncle called a
Merdu
, which roughly translated from the Italian means “dickhead.”
    Ronnie was about six feet tall and had the build of an athlete, the drawn-back, almost blond hair of a teen movie idol, blue eyes, and a look of total boredom. He could easily have passed for twenty-one, which I was sure he did when it suited him.
    It had started badly. Gerall had been ushered in. He wore a loose-fitting orange jail suit and a look that said, “Look at what those jerks sent me.” He didn’t offer his hand to Ames and me or ask or say anything at first; he just sat in the wooden chair with his right leg extended and half turned as if he planned to escape at the first sign of ennui.
    Ames and I took seats. The full-bellied, uniformed guard, who looked almost as bored as Ronnie Gerall, stood with hisback to the door, arms folded. The room was large enough that the guard wouldn’t hear us if we whispered. Ronnie had no intention of whispering.
    “Greg Legerman told me you were coming,” he said.
    That required no answer so I just kept sitting and watching him.
    “Please do me a favor before we have anything that resembles conversation,” he said.
    “Yes.”
    “Would you mind taking off that dopey baseball cap.”
    “Yes, I would.”
    “I watched you and an old man drive up on a motor scooter,” he said, ignoring my answer.
    “And . . . ?”
    “You can’t afford a car?”
    “Don’t want the responsibility,” I said.
    “How did Greg Legerman find you?” he asked shaking his head and looking first at Ames and then at me.
    “Luck,” I said.
    We sat in silence for about a minute, during which he found his fingernails fascinating and the palms of his hands, particularly the right one, profound.
    “I did not kill Philip Horvecki,” he said, looking up.
    “Tell us what happened.”
    “Why not? I’ve got time. It was Thursday night. He called, said he would meet with me. Horvecki said he wanted to talk.”
    “You sure it was Horvecki?” I asked.
    “Old men all sound alike, either like sick hummingbirds or gravel pits. This was gravel pits. Pure Horvecki.”
    He looked at Ames, who could have been number five on Mount Rushmore.
    “Go on,” I prompted.
    “I went to his house.”
    “Right away?”
    “Yes.”
    “You told someone you were going?”
    “No. Can I go on?”
    “Yes.”
    “I rang the bell. No answer. I tried the door. Open.” I went in. The place is a nightmare. Black wood, black tile floors, white walls. Even the paintings are almost all black and white. No wonder someone killed him.”
    “I don’t think you should say that,” I said.
    “You don’t think so?” Ronnie said with a smile.
    “He doesn’t think so,” said Ames. “And you’d best heed what Mr. Fonesca tells you.”
    “Or what, old man?”
    “Or I reach across this table and slap you three or four times. And you won’t stop me, because even though I just warned you, you