Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,13
there for a look-see?” Rosco asked.
They said, “Nope,” in unison, but it was Lever who continued. “What for? Nonsuspicious means exactly what it says. If Todd Collins is insisting the fire was an accident, who are we to argue? It’s up to him or his insurer to get the ball rolling on any investigation. Apparently, Collins also told the marshal that this Polk guy was a hard drinker, which was another big problem. Kind of ironic; a guy makes millions on booze, then his barn burns up because the same stuff fans the flames. But it seems Polk was sober enough last night to help his boss get the horses out of danger, then he went back into the building, where a falling timber or something whacked him in the back of the head and knocked him out cold. It was Collins who risked his hide to save Polk—who was then rushed off to Newcastle Memorial. But who knows? When the poor shlub regains consciousness, he may have a different story.”
“What if he doesn’t make it?”
It was Abe who answered. “The doctors are giving him an eighty percent shot at pulling through.”
“Hey, Poly-Crates, don’t start giving me more work than I already have. I don’t need no more dead people right now.” Lever coughed again and reached for his cigarettes. Both Rosco and Abe shook their heads, while Abe picked up the No Smoking sign on the table and perched it atop Al’s coffee cup.
“Oh, you guys are cute. Anybody ever tell you that?” Lever coughed for a third time, but left his cigarettes in his pocket. “Anyway, until the fire marshal sends up a red flag, or someone dies, neither me or the good doctor here are going anywhere near King Wenstarin Farms. Which is fine by me.”
Martha arrived with two cholesterol-laden platters of cheeseburgers and French fries, then plopped a cup of coffee in front of Rosco. “What’ll it be, doll face?” she asked.
“I’ll wait for Belle.” Rosco reached over and snagged one of Lever’s fries. The lieutenant tried to slap his hand away, but Rosco proved too quick for him.
“I’ll bring a couple of extra orders of fries,” Martha said, “I wouldn’t want to see anyone get hurt, or have one of you boys starve to death on me.” She glanced down at Al’s well-endowed stomach, gave her eyebrows a sarcastic twitch, and walked off.
Lever groaned. “She’s worse that my wife. I don’t know why I come in here.”
“Any idea who insured the Collins farm?” Rosco asked.
Lever laughed. “You’re beginning to sound like an ambulance chaser, Poly-crates. Things must be slow over at the agency. Maybe you’d like to come back onto the force? Have yourself a steady paycheck, and all the other thrilling benefits that come from working for our beloved city.”
“The Dartmouth Group covers Wenstarin,” Abe said. “You’ve worked for them, haven’t you?”
“Yep. They’re a tight bunch. Clint Mize is their chief adjuster now. Left his job with Shore Line about a year ago. Dartmouth doesn’t pay out their claims lightly—or willingly. They’re going to need something a lot more specific than a maybe accident involving a heater and a bottle of fire-water before they get out their checkbook.”
Abe smiled and looked past Al and Rosco. “Here comes the Belle of the Ball now.” The other two turned and watched as Belle walked the length of the restaurant and slid into the booth next to Abe. Two young police officers ogled her as she passed, but when they realized she was joining Lever, Jones, and Rosco, they made feeble attempts to make it appear as if they’d been looking for a waitress.
After Belle kissed Rosco and all exchanged greetings, Al said, “You’re early.”
Belle looked at her watch. “Actually I’m ten minutes late. Sorry. Friday traffic.”
“No, no, no, I judge these things by using my wife, Helen, as a barometer. Any woman who’s less than half an hour late is early in my book.”
Belle laughed and looked at Rosco. “How’d things go with the potential client this morning?”
“Ah-ha!” Abe said, “Mister ‘Not Much’ has something shakin’ and refuses to share it with his trusted friends.”
“Hey, you know how it is, Abe,” Lever added. “These PIs squeeze us for the inside dope right and left, but share and share alike isn’t in their playbook.”
“Sorry guys, client privileges,” Rosco responded. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t have information you can’t divulge.”
“You can tell us though, Rosco,” Belle complained. “It’s not like we’re going to blab it all