Death in North Beach Read Online Free PDF Page A

without cigars. There were eight tables and a dozen or so stools at the bar.
    She knew the place. She knew her way around North Beach from the days her parents ran a restaurant there. She’d had coffee at the corner landmark many times and relished again hearing the cook and server talking Italian to each other just as her parents had done. The place had not changed. Mario’s – she assumed they were his – bowling trophies were displayed above the bar.
    Lang ordered the sausage polenta and a glass of Malbec. She ordered the chicken panini and a lemonade.
    â€˜I didn’t take you for a wine guy.’
    â€˜No doubt other discoveries await you.’
    She laughed. ‘Now you’re scaring me. Anyway, the list,’ she said, shoving it across the small table.
    There were a dozen or so names and a short note beside each one. He recognized a few of them from the news just as he had been familiar with Warfield. There were a couple of painters, a few writers and poets, a political activist, a newspaper editor, and a politician. Also noted were both Warfield’s wife and his mistress.
    She explained that Warfield was about to publish a book that told lurid tales about a number of the folks who traveled in his circle. Lang doubted there would be much national impact, but there had been a recent book chronicling the intertwining lives of some local rich and famous families, warts and all, by one of the sons. The book was a roaring success as far away as New York. Maybe Warfield thought he could pull this off or maybe he could resurrect his career the way Truman Capote promised in his largely imaginary tell-all, Answered Prayers .
    â€˜Who’s on the case?’ Lang asked.
    â€˜According to the newspaper, it’s Gratelli.’
    Lang was relieved. There were a couple on Homicide Detail Lang would like to avoid. Gratelli was a good cop.
    â€˜But you see the problem,’ Carly said.
    â€˜I always try not to.’
    â€˜We’re working on an active murder investigation. We haven’t run this by the police. And we’re working for someone who may turn out to be the prime suspect.’
    Lang took a bite of sausage. He didn’t have an answer.
    â€˜If we follow up on the names on this list, it will get back to Gratelli,’ she continued. ‘And, decent as the guy is, he’s not going to be happy. We have licenses that can be lifted at will.’
    â€˜We lie.’
    â€˜Lie.’ It wasn’t a question for Carly, just a repetition to make sure he knew what he was saying.
    â€˜Redesign the assignment that your boy gave us.’
    â€˜First, he isn’t a boy,’ she said.
    â€˜OK, he’s Cary Grant. Second?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜If you have a first, it means you have a second.’
    â€˜Second,’ she gave in, ‘second, his name is William Blake.’
    Lang closed his eyes. The name bubbled up from his mind slowly. He put it in place.
    â€˜William Blake. The poet. Thanatopsis . The big death poem.’
    â€˜No, that was somebody else,’ Carly said. ‘But death was big with Blake too. So what is it we lie about and how will that keep us out of jail for interfering with a police investigation?’
    â€˜We redo Mr Blake’s request. We alter it slightly. We are not hunting for the murderer.’
    â€˜We’re not,’ she said in a tone that suggested she was humoring him and was only playing along for the moment.
    â€˜We’re looking for the book.’
    â€˜What book?’ she asked.
    â€˜The book that Warfield was writing.’
    â€˜Do we even know if there is a book?’ she asked.
    â€˜You are so literal. We believe there’s a book.’
    She was nodding.
    â€˜It gives us a reason to talk to all these people and if we find the book we find the murderer,’ he continued.
    â€˜Well, that’s a theory.’
    â€˜How do we divide up the list?’ Lang asked.
    She