The Man of Maybe Half-a-Dozen Faces Read Online Free PDF Page B

murder of Gerald Moffitt.”
    That got a laugh. The two of them spent a couple of minutes chuckling. Maybe I’m a funny guy. Maybe I should go on stage. Scratch that. Forget the stage. A sudden picture of what I might have done yesterday at the Gotta Dance flooded into my mind. I took a deep breath and got myself under control.
    â€œYou crack me up, Brian,” Frank said.
    â€œYeah,” Marvin said. “You’re a riot.”
    I looked Marvin in the eye. “Your mother uses low-fat cheese in her cheesecake,” I said.
    He leaped over the desk, took me by the throat with one giant hand and slapped me silly with the other. Well, no, actually he didn’t. In fact, while I could tell he was really steamed, I could also see he was adrift with confusion. On the one hand low fat was healthy and therefore good, on the other hand his mother’s cheesecake was known far and wide for its wickedly rich taste. He finally came down on the side of being insulted. “She does not!”
    Frank ignored my little exchange with his partner. “It’s the state of the bodies,” he said. “The MO’s the same. You know what an MO is? They teach you stuff like that in mail-order Pee Eye school?”
    â€œYou’re telling me the new victim was strangled with a printer cable and had the word ‘exceptions’ inked all over his body?”
    â€œNo words,” Frank said. “But the cable’s right.”
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œA number.”
    â€œA number?”
    â€œSixty-six.”
    â€œSpelled out?”
    â€œNo, not spelled out.” Frank leaned in and snatched a notepad from beside my computer monitor. He wrote something and shoved the pad my way.
    66!
    â€œAll over the body?” I asked.
    â€œYou got it.”
    â€œExclamation point and all?”
    â€œThat’s right,” Frank said.
    â€œSo did you have the handwriting analyzed?” I asked.
    â€œMaybe I should consult an astrologer, too?” Frank asked. “I suppose you don’t know anything about it.”
    â€œNo,” I said. “Who was he?”
    â€œIt’s interesting you know the victim was a man.”
    â€œFifty fifty,” I said.
    â€œTell me what you know about Dennis,” Frank said.
    I gulped. I know Frank saw it. Maybe my face went red. He couldn’t be talking about my Dennis. He shouldn’t even know about my Dennis. But maybe he was talking about the new victim.
    â€œDennis who?” I asked. “Is that the new dead guy?”
    â€œNo,” Frank said. “The name has come up a couple of times along with a bunch of other computer freaks. Dennis is one we can’t seem to get a handle on.”
    â€œSo who is the dead guy?”
    â€œHe worked for a local game company,” Frank said. “You ever hear of Challenger Video?”
    â€œSure,” I said, “I’ve probably got a game or two of theirs on my machine.”
    â€œRandy Casey may have tested one of those games,” Frank said. “He was what you call a beta tester. You know what a beta tester is?”
    I ignored his question. I jotted down the name he mentioned and asked, “So Randy Casey was the victim?”
    â€œThat’s him,” Frank said. “I’m sure you didn’t let the fact flash right over your head that he had something to do with the computer business. You being the world famous detective and all.” He stood up. “You may have picked up on the fact that Gerald Moffitt had something to do with the computer business, too. Not to mention Pablo Deerfield. And this Dennis guy.” He put both hands on my desk so he could lean in close. “I want you to know, Flashlight, that I don’t necessarily believe you and the Deerfield woman are in the dark about where her brother is.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear you don’t believe me, Lieutenant.” I got up, too, and came around the