Read The Ninth Man for Free Online Page A

though he did deign to identify the body. Sixty-one-thirty Kessner. No record. Lived with two other guys, both of whom were out of town when it happened.
    “Number six was your friend McDermott. No record, and you know all the other information.
    “That’s about it. You get it all?”
    “Yeah,” I said, dropping the pencil and shaking my wrist to get rid of a bad case of writer’s cramp I always develop when I try to write too fast and have to worry about making it legible at the same time. “Except for two things: where and when?”
    “Oh, shit, Dick Tracy! Hold on.”
    I heard the phone being put down and the shuffling of papers, accompanied by a string of muttered oaths. I picked up the pencil when I heard him pick up the phone.
    “Here goes: All the victims except McDermott were found at home. Dates are…” Again the shuffling of papers “…Rogers, May seventeenth; Harriman, May twenty-third; Granger June tenth; Barker, June twelfth; Klein, June fifteenth—our friend must have had a busy week, assuming they weren’t all just your average, run-of-the-mill, kill-yourself-with-cyanide suicides.”
    “And McDermott?”
    “I thought you knew all about him.” Tim sounded puzzled. “He was found…ah…July sixth, room four-fourteen of the El Cordoba Hotel on Main.”
    The mention of the El Cordoba Hotel gave me that old sinking sensation in my stomach, and a glance at the calendar verified that July 6th fell on a Wednesday. Bobby’s beer with Phil had probably been his last.
    “Are you still there?” Tim asked, bringing me back to reality.
    “I’m still here.”
    “Good. Can I go back to work, now, Massah? I’ve got to tear up these damn notes and swallow them or do something to get rid of them before I go back to the office. Or maybe I can roll them up and shove them…”
    “Ah-ah-ahhh!” I cautioned. “Let’s not get testy. I’ll give you a call at home tomorrow and see if there isn’t some way I can repay you for your able assistance. You’d make a great Number-one Son.”
    “Fuck you, too, Charlie Chan,” Tim laughed, and hung up.
    I quickly scanned my notes to make sure they were legible. They were, although just barely. I then turned my attention back to Phil.
    “Phil, think hard about the last time you saw Bobby. Is there anything you can think of that you didn’t tell me? Anything else Bobby might have said about the guy he had the date with?”
    He thought a minute, then shook his head.
    “Afraid not,” he said then added, “except he did say something about being surprised the guy would look him up after what happened.”
    “After what happened?”
    He shrugged.
    “He didn’t say—must have crossed the guy somehow.”
    “Is there anything else you can think of?” I urged.
    “Nope.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “I’m sure. Man,” he said, still sprawled with one arm dangling off the sofa and onto the floor, “You’re something else!” He wore a broad grin.
    “I bet you say that to all your tricks,” I said, moving to the pile of clothes on the floor and reaching for my shorts.
    He grinned. “Shit, no! I usually don’t even have to talk to them. It’s just that I never met a real, live detective before. It’s kind of exciting.”
    He got up from the sofa and joined me, pawing through the piled clothes.
    “And speaking of tricks,” he said, stepping into his briefs, “I’d best get out there and go to work.”
    We finished dressing in silence, and when we were both fully clothed, he came over and extended his hand.
    “Any time you want another rematch,” he said, “you just look me up. Compliments of the house.”
    “And whenever you want something looked into, you know where to find me,” I said.
    We exchanged grins and a bear hug, and with that he hiked up his jeans, plunked his hat at a sexy angle on the back of his head and went out the door.
    *
    By the time I’d straightened up the office, which consisted mainly of emptying Phil’s ashtray and