M Is for Malice

whole nine years of our acquaintance and I've never seen him exhibit any of the rage, or aggression allegedly generated by extended steroid use. He's married to a woman with a black belt in karate and she's never once complained about testicles shriveled to the size of raisins, another unhappy side effect of steroid abuse.
    His usually shaggy hair had. been trimmed and subdued. His dress shirt was pulled tightly across his shoulders and biceps. I don't know his neck size, but he claims a tie makes him feel he's on the brink of being hanged. The one he was wearing was pulled askew, his collar unbuttoned, and his suit jacket off. He'd hung it neatly from a hanger hooked through the handle of a file drawer. His shirt was spanking white, but badly wrinkled, and he had rolled up the sleeves. Sometimes he wears a vest to conceal his rumpled state, but not today. He swallowed the last of a palmful of pills, holding up a hand to indicate that he was aware of me. He chugged off the balance of his protein drink and shook his head with satisfaction. "Whew, that's good."
    "Are you tied up at the moment?"
    "Not at all. Come on in."
    I entered the office and closed the door behind me. "I just got a call from Christie Malek. Have you been following that, story?"
    "The murder? Who hasn't? Sit, sit, sit. I'm not due in court until two P.M. What's up?"
    "Jack Malek's been arrested and needs to talk to an attorney. I told Christie I'd see if you were interested." I took a seat in one of two black leather client chairs.
    "When was he picked up?"
    "Fifteen or twenty minutes ago, I'd guess."
    Lonnie began to screw the lids back on the motley collection of bottles sitting on his desk. "What's the deal? Fill me in."
    I brought him up to speed on the case as succinctly as possible. This was our first conversation about the murder and I wanted him to have as thorough an understanding as I could muster on short notice. As I spoke, I could see Lonnie's gears engage and the wheels start to turn. I was saying, "Last I heard – this was from the housekeeper – Guy and Jack quarreled after hours of heavy drinking and Jack went off to a pairings' party at the country club."
    "I wonder how the cops are gonna bust that one. You'd think at least half a dozen people would have seen him there." Lonnie shot a glance at his watch and began to roll his sleeves down. "I'll pop on over to the station house and see what's going on. I hope Jack has sense enough to keep his mouth shut until I get there."
    He pushed away from his desk and took his suit jacket from the hanger. He shrugged himself into it, secured his collar button, and slid his tie into place. Now he looked more like a lawyer, albeit a short, beefy one. "By the way, where does Jack fit? He the oldest or the youngest?"
    "The youngest. Donovan's the oldest. He runs the company. Bennet's in the middle. I wouldn't rule him out if you're looking to divert suspicion. He was the most vocal in his opposition to Guy's claim on the estate. You want me to do anything before you get back?"
    "Tell Christie I'll be in touch as soon as I've talked to him. In the meantime, go on over to the house. Let's put together a list of witnesses who can confirm Tuesday night. The cops find the murder weapon?"
    "They must have. I know they did a grid search of the property because I saw 'em doing it. And Christie says they carted off all kinds of things."
    "Once I finish with Jack, I'll have a chat with the cops and find out why they think he's good for thins. It'd be nice to have some idea what we're up against."
    "Am I officially on the clock?"
    He looked at his watch. "Go."
    "The usual rates?"
    "Sure. Unless you want to work for free. Of course, it's always possible Jack won't hire me."
    "Don't be silly. The man's desperate," I said. I caught Lonnie's look and amended my claim. "Well, you know what I mean. He's not hiring you because he's desperate –"
    "Get out of here," Lonnie said, smiling.
    Briefcase in hand, I hiked back over to the public parking lot, where I retrieved my car. My attitude toward Jack Malek had already undergone a shift. Whether Jack was guilty or innocent, Lonnie would hustle up every shred of exculpatory evidence and plot, plan, maneuver, and strategize to establish his defense. I was no particular fan of Jack's, but working for Lonnie Kingman I'd be kept in the loop.
    As I approached the Maleks', I was relieved to see that the roadway on either side of the estate was virtually deserted. The