Final Verdict (Mike DaleyRosie Fernandez Legal Thriller Book 4) by Sheldon Siegel

Author:Sheldon Siegel [Siegel, Sheldon]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Sheldon M. Siegel, Inc.
Published: 2014-01-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

“We Found It”

“Police are still attempting to locate a Mercedes owned by Tower Grayson.”

— Inspector Marcus Banks. KGO-Radio. Tuesday, June 7. 5:30 a.m.

I’m jolted awake from an uneasy sleep by ringing. I stab at the clock radio twice before I realize it isn’t the alarm. The green digits indicate it’s six-ten and the sun is coming out. I fight to regain my bearings after only three hours of sleep and I grab my cell phone on the second try.

There is a troubled edge to Roosevelt’s voice. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Turn on Channel 2.”

I grab the remote and turn on the ancient Sony that was a consolation prize in our divorce. Jerry Edwards is wearing the same rumpled suit and tie that he had on yesterday at the Gold Rush. He’s pointing a menacing finger at the camera. “It has come to our attention that Tower Grayson made a phone call to a drug dealer and prostitute named Alicia Morales immediately before he was murdered.” A photo of Morales flashes on the screen. “Why did he do it? Why wasn’t this brought to our attention? Is the DA withholding evidence? Are the defense attorneys playing games? I asked them about it yesterday, but they weren’t talking.”

He’s about to launch into his daily tirade about my lackluster performance as an attorney and a human being when the camera cuts to an anchorman with perfect features and blow-dried hair who speaks with the usual level of practiced TV-news melodrama. “We are going live to the scene of a four alarm fire in China Basin.”

A traffic copter hovering over AT&T Park provides video of flames shooting from the roof of a warehouse south of McCovey Cove.

Roosevelt is back on the line. “Are they showing the fire?”

“Yeah. What’s this about?”

“We found it.”

“What?”

“Grayson’s car. It was next to the warehouse.”

Yes! “Was anybody in it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“When are you going to look at it?”

“When it stops smoldering. Somebody torched it. The fire spread to the building. How soon can you get down here?”

“I’ll be there in a half hour.”

* * *

My first call is to Rosie, but parental obligations take precedence. She says she’ll meet me after she takes Grace to school.

My next call is to Pete, who’s been parked at Debbie Grayson’s house since we finished dinner with Kaela Joy. He slips into police mode. “Arson?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can tell you that Debbie Grayson didn’t start the fire. She’s asleep.”

“By herself?”

“Yes.”

She may not be an arsonist, but I’m not ready to rule her out as a potential suspect in her husband’s murder.

* * *

Seven-fifteen. Roosevelt, Pete, and I are standing in the Giants’ parking lot, about a hundred yards west of the burning building. The area is deserted except for fire, police, and emergency vehicles and an armada of news vans. In twelve hours, the crowds will gather for tonight’s Giants-Dodgers game. The seagulls who have found a home near the ballpark are taking their morning flights through acrid air. A dozen fire engines are

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