The Mercedes Coffin

“He teaches physical education at a high school in Ohio.”

“Good to hear that he straightened himself out.”

“So you never suspected him?” Oliver asked.

“Of course I suspected him. I ruled him out early on because he had a good alibi, although it skips my mind at the moment.”

“Supposedly he was playing sports in front of an audience.”

“Yeah, that was it. Hard to be in two places at one time, and he didn’t seem angry enough to hire a hit six months later. But check him out. Like I said, I didn’t spend an abundance of time on the case.”

“Have you ever heard of a man named Primo Ekerling?” Marge asked him.

For the first time, the private detective gave the question some thought. “He sounds vaguely familiar.”

“He was a music producer,” Marge said. “A few weeks ago, he was murdered, stuffed into the trunk of his Mercedes-Benz. Hollywood has a couple of cholos in custody, although they’re denying the charge. They admitted to boosting the car, but not to the murder.”

“Could be I read about him in the papers…”

“You don’t recall Ekerling’s name in your mini-investigation of Little?”

“Mini-investigation…” Shriner smiled. “That’s a good term for it. I might have heard the name. If he turns out to be a lead, let me know. In the meantime, I’ve got a date with my golf clubs. It’s not as exciting as PI work, but it keeps me out of trouble.”

DECKER HAD JUST finished eating his bag lunch when Marge called, recapping the interview with Phil Shriner. When she was done, he said, “Exactly how bad of a gambling problem?”

Marge said, “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. I’m sure that Melinda Little is expecting your call any minute. I think you should pounce on it, Pete, before she starts thinking of some very clever excuses.”

“I’m still in Simi Valley.” Decker shifted the phone to his other ear. “Besides, I’ve got the interview with Arnie Lamar in fifteen minutes at the police station. What’s your afternoon like?”

“I have some free time.”

“Oliver and you need to pay her a visit.”

“What if she lawyers up?” Marge asked.

“Then that’ll tell us something.” Another call was coming through the line. A private number. “Someone’s breaking in, Marge. Set something up with Melinda and let me know, okay?”

“Will do. Good luck.”

Decker hung up and took the private call. “Decker.”

“What do you want?”

The low, smooth voice was instantly recognizable and made Decker sit up in the cruiser and grab his pencil and notepad. Normally, he would have thanked Donatti for calling back, but there was no such thing as chitchat with Chris. “What do you know about the Be

A long silence over the line. “You suspect me?”

“So far as I can tell, you were fifteen and in New York when it happened. Am I wrong?”

“Then why are you calling?”

“You were in L.A. when the murder was still fresh. You’re a good listener. Maybe you heard something.”

Another pause. “It was a long time ago, and I have a substance abuse problem. If I ever had any long-term memory, it’s gone by now.”

“But you remember the case.”

“A guy gets hit, you’re wondering who’s working the territory.”

“You think it was a hit?”

A small laugh came over the line. “Uh, yeah.”

“But no idea who?”

“Before my time. Is that all?”

“Speaking of abuse problems, I heard that Little’s wife had a secret of her own.”

Another pause. “She gambled. What was her name? Rhoda, Melinda?”

“Melinda. Where’d you know her from?”

“My uncle was a silent partner in several card houses in Gardenia.” A beat. “This was a long time ago. Joey let go of the casinos ten years ago. He’s dead, you know.”

“I do know.”

“Good riddance.”

“What can you tell me about Melinda Little.”

“I was sixteen. The woman was a MILF.”

“A MILF?”

“Mother I’d Like to Fuck. Red hot. What does she look like now?”

“She’s still hot. Did her hotness get her into trouble back then?”

“Not with me, unfortunately.”

“Could there have been someone else?”

“There always could be someone else, but nothing I remember.”

“Did she owe your uncle money?”

“Decker, I didn’t keep track of her. I had just moved out to L.A. and had my own problems. If she was in hock big-time, I never knew about it.”

“How about a cop named Calvin Vitton?”

A pause. “Vaguely familiar.”

“He worked the Little case. He just blew his head off this morning.”

“If I were you, I’d look into that.”

Decker made a face, although Donatti couldn’t see it. “Thanks for the advice. Can you tell me anything about Vitton?”

“I recall that he was an old guy…” Another pause. “Let me think about him.”

“Fair enough. How about a guy named Primo Ekerling.”

“He’s a music producer,” Donatti told him. “What’d he do?”

“Someone whacked him and stuffed him into the trunk of his Mercedes in a ma

“This happen recently?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“Hmmm…can’t keep up with everything. You might want to look into his case, too. Maybe Ekerling and the cop and Little share a common link.”

“And what might that be?”

Another small laugh. “You expect me to do your work for you?”

“You owe me one for plugging me.”

“No, no, no. I settled the score with that one, pal. If anyone owes, you owe me.”

“Bullshit. That one doesn’t count.”

“Ask your sons if it doesn’t count.”

Silence. Then Decker said, “Call me if you think of something.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just because you would.”

“Why don’t you call me if you think of something? ’Cause from where I’m sitting you’re not only barking up the wrong tree, you don’t even have a stump to piss on.”

CHAPTER 10

MELINDA LITTLE WARREN was not surprised by the detectives at her door. “You should have called first. I’m about to go out.”

As the inscrutable Colonel Du

“If I thought this would only take a few minutes, I would let you come in. And if I thought it would help Ben’s case, I’d let you come in. But I know what it’s about because you’ve probably talked to the bastard.”

“The bastard?” Oliver asked.

“Don’t play coy with me!” She was red with anger. “That man is a liar!”

“So tell us your side, because right now all we’ve heard is his story.”

“Like you give a solitary damn…oh fuck!” She threw open the door and walked away. The detectives took it as a sign to continue the conversation indoors.

The view from inside was lovely, but Melinda didn’t notice. She was too busy pacing back and forth. “The fact that I may have had a little problem a long time ago does not impact upon what I told that tall detective. And it has zero to do with my husband’s murder. But of course, you always have to look at the grieving widow, don’t you? I stood to gain the most from Ben’s death. No matter that I was total train wreck. No matter that I was suicidal. No, you have to look at the widow!”

Marge said, “Why did you call Phil Shriner a bastard?”

“Because that’s what he is! I hired him to keep confidences, not to break them!”

“He claims you didn’t hire him at all. That he was your excuse for gambling away insurance money-”

“That’s a lie!” Melinda pivoted around. “I had a problem, okay? I met Phil from those problem days. The one good thing he did was to get me into GA meetings, but he only did that because he wanted to get into my pants.”

“Did he?” Oliver asked.