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“You’ve got it. In Dad’s case it means his best friend from law school is a senior partner and was nice enough to give Dad a desk and some pickup work.”
“Did your father ever mention the case I’m looking into?”
“How long ago was this?”
“Twenty-four years.”
John Bolt the Younger laughed. “I was eight, only thing Dad brought home from the office was donuts. Give him a buzz, you’ll probably make his day.”
—
New York John Bolt picked up after one ring.
“Bolt.” Raspy voice, Brooklyn accent. Former snowbird returned to his roots.
Milo introduced himself and said, “I’m calling about a case you were involved in a while back. Just talked to your son and—”
“Which son?”
“John Junior.”
“Mr. Harvard. What’d he tell you, I’m bored and senile, you’d be doing me a favor?”
Milo laughed. “He didn’t mention senile.”
“Well, he’s right about all of it,” said Bolt. “As opposed to his political views. What case?”
“The Davis Gilmore murder-suicide.”
“That one.”
Milo punched air triumphantly. “You remember it.”
“You’re lucky. Haven’t done criminal work in years, most of my cases were dinky-shit, they blur. But that one sticks out because it was so goddamn ugly. Three kids, probably totally screwed up forever, the wife claimed to know nothing about what the bastard was doing to the daughter. Maybe she was just too damn scared to speak up but we’re talking a trailer in the swamp, how the hell do you keep anything private? Anyway, why’s it relevant to you?”
“The daughter’s one of my cases,” said Milo. “Murdered a coupla weeks ago, still unsolved.”
Silence.
“Sir?”
“That,” said John Bolt, “is disgusting. For her to go through all that and then…Jesus, life isnotfair. You have any idea who did her?”
“Not yet.”
“Weeks ago. So a whodunit stinker, my sympathies. Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you much, I wasn’t involved with the kids, met ’emjust once and that didn’t include talking. They were shell-shocked, you know? Only reason I would’ve been involved was if I planned to put them on the stand.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Never, no need. He, the father—don’t want to honor him with that title, he was a flat-out, mentally fucked-up, psychopathic monster—he was planning to plead out and I was happy to spare the kids a trial. I didn’t like the bullshit bail he got but nothing I could do, judge was an asshole. But I figured it wouldn’t matter with the kids gone and where the hell is a loser like that going to go? It’s not like he had a passport.”
Milo said, “We read about the judge.”
“Corrupt, stupid enough to screw a bunch of female attorneys and one of them was Gilmore’s court-appointed. Very hot-looking number, what was her name…Myra? Myrna—no, Merle…like the actress. Oberon. Merle the It Girl, totally in cahoots with Clark—the judge. Anyway, the case was going to be settled with a way-too-Mickey-Mouse sentence. If I recall correctly, something along the lines of five years. But I held out for five real years, no early release no matter how well behaved and reformed some prison shrink said the motherfucker was. He heads home, promptly shoots his wife and himself. Go know.”
“What happened to the kids?”
“Into the system, no idea,” said John Bolt.
