Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery Read Online Free PDF

Campbell, the other inmate I was supposed to interview, was ill. If we wanted him, it would have to be another day.
    Andres lit his cigarette and threw the match on the ground. “Don’t you think it glamorizes these guys, turning them into a documentary? Some stupid kid is going to think this loser is hard-core.”
    “He hasn’t gotten laid in twenty years,” Victor said. “What kid is going to want to step into those shoes?”
    “Theway he was leering at Kate I thought he was about to break his dry spell.” Andres looked at me. “Didn’t that creep you out?”
    I laughed. “I had you two and a guard in the room. What was he going to do?”
    “Nothing there,” Victor said. “But I can pretty much guarantee he’ll take the image of you back to his cell for later tonight.”
    “And on that charming note, I think I’ll say good night,” I said. “We meet back here in eight days.”
    “My band is playing tomorrow night,” Victor said. “We’ve got a new sound we’re trying out. We’re thinking maybe we’ll take it on the road this summer if we can get the scratch together.”
    “I don’t think I can make it.” I’d been to see three of Victor’s bands, all variations on heavy metal with punk or rap mixed in. Another evening of loud, indecipherable banging was out of the question, even for a friend.
    “So until we get together for work next week,” Victor asked, “how are you going to fill your time?”
    “I’ll figure out something.”
    “You’re spending too much time alone.”
    “What is it with everyone?” I asked, but I didn’t really want an answer. “I’m fine.”
    Andres dropped his cigarette on the ground next to the discarded match. “He’s right, you know. It’s not healthy.”
    “When you stop smoking, Andres, I’ll start socializing.”
    “You could call Vera. She asks about you.” Victor said it to be helpful, and like most helpful suggestions, it was the wrong thing to say.
    “Eight days,” I said again, and headed to my car.

    By the time I got home it was just after five o’clock and already dark. I microwaved a chicken potpie, ate about half of it, and wrapped the rest up for the next day’s lunch. I changed into sweats and a T-shirt and climbed into bed to watch TV. There was nothing on. I flipped past a reality show about a family with twenty kids in which all anyone did was scream, spent a few minutes watching a detective show, and then settled on CNN.Bad news everywhere. After twenty minutes I clicked off. It was only seven o’clock but I was seriously thinking about going to sleep.
    Just as I was about to turn off the light, my phone rang. I assumed it was Ellen calling early, but it was a number I didn’t recognize. “Yeah?”
    “Kate Conway?” A man’s voice.
    “I’m not interested in buying anything—”
    “I’m Ralph Johnson, the executive producer of a new show on the Business Channel,” he said. “Sorry to call in the evening but I’m in L.A., so we’re still on the clock. I’d like to talk to you about producing something for us.”
    “Okay.” I was wary. Good-looking men, winning lottery tickets, and jobs don’t just show up unannounced. “How did you get my name?”
    “You come highly recommended.”
    “That’s nice to hear. From who?”
    “Actually, I’ve seen a lot of stuff you’ve done. And we’re working on this show I know you would really like. It’s a new business reality show. It’s totally different. It’s about the struggles of opening a restaurant. It’s called
Opening Night
.”
    He was talking fast, but the whole “totally different” thing was nonsense. I’d seen half a dozen shows about opening a restaurant, and I doubted anything the staid and traditional Business Channel would air could ever be defined as different, but a potential new client wasn’t something I could just throw away.
    “When do you want to start shooting?” I asked.
    “Next Wednesday.”
    There it was, the catch I’d been