This story started here.

"Inspector Ibarra, this is Stuart Anson. I'm on speaker with my client, Miss Jan Sleet, and Marshall O'Connor. How are you today?"

"Fair to middling, counselor. Good afternoon, Miss Sleet and Mr. O'Connor. Is Miss Malin with you?"

"I'm here," Christy said.

"Ah," Ibarra said, and it was about as lascivious a single syllable as I've ever heard.

Christy stuck out her tongue in the direction of the phone.

"Inspector," my employer said, "I need to call in a debt."

"A debt?" he asked, and I could hear his sardonic amusement. "Do I owe you some favor that's slipped my mind?"

"No, you owe me something that I'm sure you remember. The murder of Douglas Matthews. I solved the case for you, as you arranged, and you got the credit and you were able to go to bed at a reasonable hour that night. I did you a good turn, and now I need something in return."

"And if I don't..."

"Don't be obtuse, and don't be insulting. I'm not threatening you. I'm acting on the assumption that you're an honorable man."

previous || about || home || next