They All Fall Down by Duane Lindsay

Author:Duane Lindsay [Lindsay, Duane]
Language: eng
Format: epub

“Idiot.”

Guy’s back at his desk, coffee cup again full, pants dry, hand on the mouse. He looks at his screen and wonders, “Can it be this easy?”

What he forgot, what with the death threats and all (“Can you fly?” Shudder.) is there are other means of searching for someone other than with a computer. Since Guy is, basically, an ultra-computer nerd, this thought has taken a while to arrive.

But here it is, as fresh an idea as a spring tulip, poking itself through the spring snow.

Call the cops.

Jeez, what a concept.

So Guy spends hours on the phone rather than the Internet and he goes from station to station until a lady with a pleasant-sounding voice says, “Hold a moment,” and he listens to a computer playing ‘Mandy’ for two verses and a chorus. He’s been singing along quietly when a man’s voice breaks in with a curt, “Bolson.”

Guy’s off balance for a moment, recovers and says, “Um, yes; right. Hi, um, Sergeant, um Bolson.” He looks at his notes, scribbled on the backs of whatever paper he found on his desk. “I understand you’re in charge of the murder investigation of a Mr. Ortiz Ramirez.”

“Yeah,” agrees the voice on the phone and Guy pictures a flabby middle-aged man in a rumpled tan trench coat sucking on an unlit cigar. He and Jerome have been binge watching old episodes of Colombo on Netflix, and all cops now look and sound like Peter Falk. “What about it?”

“I’m following up on the situation from here,” Guy lies. “I’m from Los Angeles, second precinct.” Knowing details add to a story’s believability he adds, “It’s down on Windsor.”

“I know where it is, “growls Bolson, now sounding more like the angry police commissioner demanding immediate results from the detective. The one who’s always saying, “I’ve got the mayor on my case to solve this one,” before he storms off, stage left. “You know Inspector Willis? Bob Willis?”

For a moment Guy goes blank. He drops the pen he’s been playing with and grabs for the comfort of his mouse, stalling, then says, “Um, no; I just transferred in. Doing desk duty after a shooting.”

“Okay,” says Bolson.

“It was righteous,” says Guy, nervous but getting into the story. “He pulled first.”

“Sure,” says Bolson. “What do you…?”

“Just a routine traffic stop,” says Guy. He’s picturing a scene from some other cop show he and Jerome watched last month, what was it? Starred that actor who was in… “I ask for license and registration and the perp comes up with a piece…”

“I’m kind of busy here. What do you want?”

“Oh.” Guy drops the story, surprised. “The dead guy, Ortiz, he’s got a brother named Damian…”

“Thought he was a cousin,” interrupts Bolson.

“He is,” says Guy. “And a brother. Both. The father, Felipe married Damian’s mother but screwed around with the sister and got her knocked up. The result was Ortiz who took the father’s name, 'cause he was the only man around, until he and Damian killed him…”

“They did what?”

“You didn’t know?

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