One Grave Too Many Read Online Free

today. Who’s the big Sophia Lorenesque girl here?”
    “My client, Gary Marks’ sister.”
    New circles formed beneath Hagopian’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
    “Marks seems to be missing.”
    “A missing guy, that’s a switch for you. Usually you’re bringing back lost girls,” observed Hagopian. “It’s not too much turnip, it’s too much radish.” Setting the paper cup aside he tapped the photo. “Does this zoftig sister of his think perhaps he’s run off with Danny?”
    “It’s one possibility.” Easy returned to the rocker. “Know who she’s married to?”
    “Let me think.” He ran a thumb along a wrinkle on his forehead. “Oh, sure, to Goffman.”
    “Huh? That’s Goffman in the picture. He’s supposed to be hiding out in Canada.”
    “No, no, not this young a Goffman. I mean the rich old Goffman, the guy who owns Goftoys down in Hawthorne.”
    Easy rocked back and forth once, frowning. Then he took out the third picture. “My client is reluctant to talk about her late father. His name is vaguely familiar to me,” he said. “Vincent Marquetti.”
    Hagopian smiled, walking toward his rows of filing cabinets. “Marquetti was one of the better known swindlers in these parts a few years back,” he said as he walked into the lane between two rows of files. “When you consider how much competition there is in LA, you know a guy has to be damn good to move to the top of the swindler trade.”
    Following the writer, Easy asked, “What was Marquetti’s dodge?”
    “He pulled a deal like Bobby Baker and the salad oil king and such. Got a lot of loans on assets which turned out to be less than he pretended. He netted several million bucks before they caught on to him.” He halted before a drawer, pulled it half way out. “Since I have the largest private collection of news clippings in this entire wacky area I can give you more background on Marquetti than even the LA Times morgue.”
    “And they don’t serve beer.” Easy flipped through the newspaper and magazine clippings in the manila folder Hagopian handed him. “Yeah, I remember Marquetti now. What happened to all the dough?”
    “Marquetti gave some of it back when they grabbed him, but a couple of million just got frittered away apparently.”
    Easy studied a few more of the clippings. “He went to prison roughly nine years ago.”
    “Yeah, and died there four, five years ago.” Hagopian poked a hand in among the news items. “Yeah, here it is. ‘Convicted Swindler Suffers Stroke in Prison.’”
    “Here they all are in the obit. ‘… survived by a son, Gary Marquetti of Santa Monica; a daughter, Mrs. Gay Holland, and a sister, Mrs. Theresa Costello of Manzana.’ That must be the aunt in the desert.”
    “So Gary Marks is Gary Marquetti. I didn’t remember that.”
    Easy gave him back the folder. “Got anything on Danny and her husband?”
    Shoving the drawer shut, Hagopian wandered on. “Around this bend.” He entered a new lane between file cabinets. “I put her in the same drawer with the old man.” He stopped in front of a chest-high drawer marked GE-GO. “You’re not interested in this cheesecake stuff she did before she got sedate?”
    “As long as you have it to hand.” Easy took the dozen large photos. “Yeah, sharp and pointed, just like you said.”
    “I never forget a tit.”
    “They airbrushed everything in those days.”
    Hagopian cocked his head to look at the pictures along with the detective. “No, she shaved it. That was a fad with some skin models around then.” He produced another folder. “Here’s the old guy, Jacob Goffman.”
    Easy went through the material on the girl’s husband. “People keep handing him things.”
    “Local paper photographers, even on the edges of the glamour capital, don’t have much in the upstairs. ‘Stand there and smile when they hand you the certificate, Mr. Goffman.’ That’s a spooky smile, by the way. He looks like a mean son-of-a-bitch.”
    “You