Read Down for the Count: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Ten) for Free Online Page B

was tough to pull my eyes away from the cash and look at the notebook. I was tempted to let my eyes pause on the photograph for a second to thank Ralph for the windfall, but I went for the book.
    It was filled with names, numbers, addresses, all printed neatly in the same hand. I imagined Ralph at a big desk in a big room with a green Waterman pen, neatly printing the name of his killer in the small book. Sure, I had no real reason to think the killer’s name might be in front of me, but it was the best way I had to go. The problem was that there were too damn many names. Some were businesses, but I couldn’t eliminate them. I was considering calling in help. I had the money to do it. It was something new for me, and I might have gone that way if I hadn’t found something on the page of P s that hit me. “Parkman, Al,” was nothing special. The name did tickle some memory in me, but I couldn’t place it. After Parkman’s name was a comma, followed by “Reed’s Gym,” the name of the gym where Louis had been training, where he had met Ralph. No surprise there, but why had Ralph put Louis’s name in parenthesis on the next line? Not only was the name Joe Louis darkly printed, but it was underlined. Joe Louis seemed to mean a lot to Ralph Howard, though Ralph Howard apparently meant nothing to Joe Louis. Louis had said that the two men he had seen near the body looked like they had been boxers, and Anne had said that the guy who tried to run Ralph down had looked tough. Maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere, but it was something to start with. I took a half hour to copy all the names, addresses, and phone numbers in Ralph’s notebook. Then, as I was reaching for the phone, it rang.
    “Toby Peters investigations,” I said.
    “Who was the nigger?” came Meara’s voice.
    “Let’s start again, maggot mouth,” I said sweetly. “You got a question? Ask it like something nearly human.”
    “If I were there, I’d shove a roll of toilet paper up that smart mouth of yours,” he spat.
    “Only an asshole like you is interested in toilet paper, Meara,” I said sweetly again. “You got something to ask?”
    “The nigger,” he repeated.
    I hung up, pocketed Ralph’s notebook and photograph, and put the seven bills in my wallet after folding them neatly. The phone rang again and I considered not answering it, but I did.
    “Toby Pe—” I began.
    “The Negro gentleman,” Meara hissed. “Who was the Negro gentleman on the beach with you yesterday, the one standing over the goddamn body.”
    “What gentle—” I started, but he interrupted again, doing a lousy job of holding his temper.
    “We found two kids,” he said. “Two girls who live a few houses down from your former wife. They saw you. They didn’t know Ralph Howard was dead. They know now. Who was he?”
    “Just a guy running on the beach,” I said. “He saw the body and me and asked if I needed help.”
    “They say he was a big guy,” Meara pushed on. “Howard was messed pretty bad. And what’s a ni … Ne-gro doing running on the beach in goddamn Santa Monica? Who runs on the beach?”
    “I don’t know why people run on the beach,” I said, looking up at the crack in my ceiling. Today it looked like the Nile complete with tributaries.
    “I want a description, Peters,” Meara said.
    “So you can find this man and have a nice, friendly talk with him, all about racial problems, the—”
    “Peters,” he said, breathing hard, “I can make your life turtle shit. You know that. I can lean on that ex-wife of yours like a Yucca tree.”
    “She can take it,” I said nonchalantly. I didn’t want him to know that he had a wedge. He’d drive it in and tear me in half.
    “We might have to see,” he said. “Meanwhile, I think I’ll go with you as a suspect. That way we can have a friendly talk or two. I’d like that.”
    “I would too, Meara. You set it up with my secretary.”
    “You give me a name or a description or I pull you in,