Never Fear Read Online Free Page A

of them looking to be at least twenty years old, adorned the walls. Whatever brief fling Gavin had had with success appeared to have been long since past. There were half a dozen calendars from funeral homes and chiropractors tacked on the walls. From the papers spread across the floor it was clear Gavin was little more than an ambulance chaser. I looked at the door and tried to imagine John Manning hearing the sound of the door splintering, but it eluded me. What could possibly be in this room that could cost someone his life?
    â€œThe simplest solutions are always the best,” I said. “John Manning, in a state of emotional distress, broke through two doors that he had a key to, then searched the office looking for the gun that he used to take his own life.”
    â€œSo what was in the fax?” Harrison said.
    The Western Union office where the fax originated was three blocks south of City Hall on Broadway between Second and Third. The corporate towers of downtown were a mile to the west. This was old downtown, the part of town that was as alien to most suburban residents of L.A. as the Lower East Side of New York was to residents of Scarsdale. A line of mostly middle-aged men who transited in and out of a residential hotel down the block snaked out the door onto the sidewalk. Harrison pulled the squad car to a stop across the street.
    â€œDisability checks must have come in,” Harrison said.
    I looked at the men, most of whom had taken notice of the two cops parked across the street. A few who probably had outstanding warrants slipped out of line and quickly walked away.
    â€œHow far have we come from Gavin’s office?”
    Harrison checked the odometer.
    â€œAlmost two miles.”
    â€œSo why would he pick this place? Why didn’t he send the fax from the office or go home?”
    â€œIf he was suicidal, reason probably didn’t have much to do with it.”
    â€œAnd if he wasn’t suicidal?”
    â€œSomething couldn’t wait.”
    â€œOr he ran out of time.”
    We walked across the street and into the office. The smell of malt liquor and body odor from the line of men followed us inside. I stepped up to the bulletproof glass partition and showed my badge. The teller was Middle Eastern, probably Iranian. He had the imperious air of someone who held power over everyone who stepped up to his window.
    â€œI’d like to see the manager.”
    He leaned in and looked at my badge, then at my face, and motioned with a nod of his head to a door to his right.
    â€œCamera,” Harrison said, motioning toward the ceiling behind the teller.
    The heavy reinforced door buzzed and we stepped inside. The supervisor was in his early thirties, white, and looked like he never ate or slept. I introduced Harrison and myself.
    â€œI’d like to see your surveillance tape from last night.”
    He looked at me for a moment as if the question surprised him.
    â€œYou guys have it already.”
    â€œWhat guys?”
    â€œCops. They took it last night.”
    â€œWhat cops—LAPD?”
    â€œI don’t know, that’s what my night supervisor said when I got here this morning.”
    â€œWhat time did they take the tape?”
    â€œAll he said was the middle of the night.”
    â€œDid he tell you the name of the officer?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œUniform or plainclothes?”
    He pulled a cigarette out of his desk drawer and flicked it into his mouth but didn’t light it. “You know everything I know.”
    â€œWas he the only one working here last night?”
    â€œYou don’t pay two people to stay up all night and do one person’s work.”
    â€œCall him,” I said.
    â€œNow?”
    â€œNow.”
    He reached behind him, pulled a clipboard off the wall, ran through the list of numbers until he found what he was looking for, and dialed the number.
    â€œHe’s probably sleeping, or out eating