The 37th Amendment: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

you want to tell me, and I’ll do what I can do.”
    “All right,” she said. She took a breath. “Robert Rand killed Maria Sanders because she stole three packages of heroin that she was supposed to deliver to him and sold it herself.”
    “Mm-hmm,” Whitfield said, watching her.
    “He got away in a car driven by an accomplice who was waiting for him in the parking lot.”
    “Mm-hmm,” Whitfield said.
    Bara was finished.
    “And how do you know these things?” Whitfield asked.
    A dark flush crept up Bara’s cheekbones. Her eyes were bright.
    “Because I was his accomplice,” she said. “We were lovers.”
    Ted entered Screening Room D at 9:55 a.m., trailed by a lanky Swede having a conversation on a wireless. A group of eleven staffers from various departments were seated around an oval table littered with papers, disks and assorted multimedia devices.
    “Sorry to hold you up,” Ted said. “I’d like you all to meet Clete Johansson.” The Swede waved politely at the group but stayed back near the door and continued his conversation. Everyone around the table murmured greetings and a few waved solicitously. “So,” Ted began. He pulled up a chair and sat down at the far end of the table. “What have I missed?”
    “Well,” Miller Sebring of the art department was the first to respond. “We’ve all agreed it can’t be done, and we’re looking for a way to work around that.”
    “There’s no time to do anything except use a stock animation and composite it with the footage we’ve already shot,” Dorena Haggarty said glumly. “You’ll have to pick something.” She slid a multimedia player down the table in Ted’s direction.
    “No time to audition announcers, either,” Peter Crandall added. “This is a disk of voices from an audition this week for a different client. We could hire three or four of them without hearing them read the copy, record them all and then pick one afterwards.”
    Ted groaned.
    There was a knock at the door. Clete Johansson, wireless still at his ear, reached over and opened it disinterestedly.
    “We’re looking for Ted Braden,” a deep voice said. Ted looked up and saw two uniformed sheriff’s deputies standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway. “I’m Ted Braden,” he said, rising from the table. “What’s the trouble?”
    One of the deputies crossed the room to where Ted stood and placed a folded document on the table in front of him. “You’ve been subpoenaed to testify in the trial of Mr. Robert Rand, sir,” he said with solemn politeness. “We’ve been sent by the court to bring you to the Los Angeles District Attorney’s office immediately.”
    “Immediately?” Ted asked, startled. “Yes, sir,” the deputy said. “We’ll wait, if you need to make any phone calls or anything.”
    “Hello?”
    “Royce, it’s Ted.”
    “Don’t tell me you’re canceling lunch.”
    “I’m canceling lunch.”
    “I asked you not to tell me that.”
    Ted didn’t even smile. “There are two sheriff’s deputies here waiting to take me to the district attorney’s office,” he said.
    “Sheriff’s deputies! What happened? Is Flynn all right?”
    “She’s fine, she’s fine,” Ted said. “I’m a witness in the Maria Sanders murder trial.”
    “What?!”
    “It’s a long story,” he said. “But I need you to take Flynn to her game tonight because I’m going to have to work when I get back here.”
    “Okay, hon, no problem. What time?”
    Ted sighed in relief. If he and Royce had gotten along this well when they were together, they might have gotten married. Well, not married, but they might have stayed together. “The game’s at 6:30,” he said. “At Beachwood Park.”
    “Okay. Maybe I’ll see you later at your place. I want to hear all about this.”
    “I’m just glad you’re in town this week,” Ted said. “I don’t know how long this is going to take.” He said good-bye, grabbed his jacket and headed to the elevator where the