Read Partnerships Can Kill: The Third Charlie Parker Mystery for Free Online Page A

several layers of
file folders, and ripped-open envelopes were a handful of phone
messages, the kind written on pink forms.
    "I take it these came in before Saturday," I
commented to Sharon.
    Her brows pulled together in the center as
she looked them over.
    "Heavens, yes," she said. "Look at the dates
on some of them. Looks like they've been here for weeks."
    "I wonder if that means David never returned
the calls."
    "I really couldn't say, but as you can see,
he was a real pack-rat. It's very possible that he returned the
calls, but kept the messages anyway." She looked at me and
shrugged. "I just don't know."
    "Has anyone else been in here since
Friday?"
    "No. I half expected the police to stop by,
but they haven't."
    "Do you mind if I spend a little time in
here? I won't take anything with me unless I check it out with you
first."
    "Go right ahead, Charlie. Do whatever you
need to. I just want answers." She picked up the coffee mug, and
took it with her.
    I began by sorting the phone messages. Some
of them were almost two months old. A couple had notes scribbled in
the margins in straight masculine looking writing. I assumed David
had returned those, and had made the notes. Three of the messages
were from a Mr. Tom McDonald with the IRS. None of those had notes
in David's writing.
    I pulled out the small spiral notebook I
always keep in my purse, and copied the names, phone numbers, and
all notes from the phone messages. If the police discarded the
suicide theory, and opened this as a murder investigation, they
would certainly search this office. I didn't want to face
obstruction of justice charges by removing anything that could
potentially be important. But, that didn't mean I wasn't ready to
glean any and all information I could.
    Systematically, I went through each of the
drawers, which turned out to be about as organized as the desktop.
The further I dug, the more I began to wonder about David's
competence as the financial wizard of the business. Accountants are
people, and as in every other walk of life, they are all different.
But, one thing I've noticed almost universally (at least among the
ones I know) is that their records are organized. Without
organization, without being able to put one's hands on any certain
piece of paper at any time, an accountant would be hopelessly lost.
David's desk looked pretty hopeless.
    I had to resist the temptation to straighten
the files and move things around. After all, I was here to find
clues, if any existed, to prove that David had not committed
suicide, not to revamp his office procedures. On the surface
anyway, there was nothing to indicate that David hadn't left here
on Friday night with every intention of being back at this desk
Monday morning.
    I switched on the PC, wondering if the files
there might yield some new clues. Checking the root directory, I
saw that the most recent entries to his accounting program had been
made just after the first of the month, more than two weeks ago.
His word processor, though, had been updated just last Friday. I
changed to that directory, and opened the program. Its
sub-directory showed that two files had been worked on that day. I
pulled up the first one. It was a letter to one of their food
suppliers regarding a past due bill. David was asking the supplier
to extend credit an extra month past their usual terms. The second
document was a similar letter to the bank. Sounded like David was
having to do some sweet-talking to shuffle money where it was
needed.
    I riffled again through the papers covering
the top of the desk. Quite a few of them were bills, some with past
due notices. None had yet reached the Final stage, and for the most
part, the messages were courteous but firm. It was obvious David
was getting some pressure, but enough to drive him to suicide? I
wouldn't think so.
    Nothing else on the computer looked urgent or
even especially timely, so I switched it off. I pulled open the
center lap drawer on the desk. Its contents were