Hotline to Murder

store, probably to shoot him. My father intervened, and the bastard shot him.”
    “Oh.” When Shahla remained silent, Tony said, “And the clerk?”
    “The robber lost his cool at that point. He shot at the clerk and then took off. The clerk was wounded, but he survived. That’s how we know what happened.”
    “And they didn’t get him?”
    “No, they did. But the police screwed it up. They didn’t read him his rights, or something. The man made a confession, but the court threw it out. It was a big mess. He never went to jail.”
    “No wonder you don’t like the police.”
    Tony had been looking straight ahead out the car window at the house, but Shahla was silent so long that he stole a look at her. In the moonlight he could see tears running down her cheeks. He felt very awkward. He should do something to comfort her, but what?
    She laid her head on his shoulder. He didn’t dare move. He felt tense and uncomfortable. He had never felt that way with a girl before. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than five minutes, she lifted her head and said, “I have to go.”
    She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and got out of the car. After she entered the house and closed the door, Tony sat for a minute, with conflicting emotions. Then he started the car, revved the engine, and backed out of the driveway.

    CHAPTER 11
    Nobody stopped Tony as he walked through the door into the gymnasium. He knew that a visitor entering the high school campus was supposed to report to the administration office first, but school was over for the day and, anyway, the gymnasium was next to the parking lot, somewhat removed from the classrooms.
    The inside of the building immediately brought back memories of every gymnasium he had ever been in, with its wooden pull-out bleachers and the basketball nets at either end. And perhaps a faint odor of sweat, or was that his imagination? Tony could remember his own days on his high school basketball team, vividly, although his memories consisted mostly of him riding the bench while the taller, quicker and more talented players received the playing time.
    A volleyball net dominated the center of the floor. A couple of dozen fans were scattered throughout the bleachers, some students, some parents. A few may have been grandparents. He was too old to be a student and too young to be a parent. Where did he fit in? Feeling self-conscious, Tony picked a seat near the door of the gym and put his cell phone on vibrate. If he received a call, he would run outside and take the call there. He didn’t want to have the background noise of a sporting event if Mona, his boss, called. And since it was 3:30 in the afternoon, that was a real possibility.
    Tony hadn’t responded positively to Shahla’s feeling that Martha might be Joy’s killer, thinking that it sounded more like jealousy on Shahla’s part. Martha and Joy had enjoyed a certain amount of intimacy over the years, in spite of the supposed differences in their ability. He had decided, however, that if he was going to actively assist in the investigation, every lead was worth following up, to determine if it should be reported to Detective Croyden. But he didn’t want Shahla present to color his judgment.
    The teams were huddling around their coaches; the match was about to start. The Bonita Beach players wore white home uniforms with red numbers on the shirts. The other team was dressed in green. The players on either side placed their hands together in the center of their circle and shouted bonding words, intended to psych them up for the battle to come. Then the six starters of each team trotted onto the court.
    Tony had no trouble picking out Martha from Shahla’s description. She was tall and lanky and looked a bit awkward, in a body that had grown faster than her coordination. Acne spoiled her otherwise pretty face, indelibly marking her as a teenager, even though with her size she could have been a lot older.
    The female referee, who sat on a platform at courtside, blew her whistle and gestured with her arm. A Bonita Beach player served the ball and the game began. Tony was immediately impressed by the quality of the play. Of course, here in the beach volleyball capital of the world, outstanding players were the rule, but Tony, who had grown up in western New York, was always fascinated with them.
    Each player knew her role. One of the back players would dig out a smash so hard that Tony barely saw it