William Bernhardt - Deadly Justice

Ben groaned. “Who’d you call?”

“Air. Professionals. They’re professionals, you know.”

Yeah, and they bill like professionals, too. Oh, well, Ben thought, what’s done is done. I’ll find some money to pay them somewhere.

“I suppose this is the shape of things to come,” she said sadly. “Now that you have this big important corporate job, you won’t have time to look after my unimportant little problems.”

“That’s not true. It’s just that I had to stay at the office so late—”

“Save your excuses. I’m sure I seem very insignificant next to those cigar-chomping fat cats at Apollo. From now on you’ll spend your days whizzing around in corporate jets and cavorting with well-endowed floozies.”

“Well,” Ben said, “I don’t want anything to do with corporate jets.”

“If I see you at all in the future, it’ll probably be in the company of your police buddy—”

Ben’s ears pricked up. “Police buddy?”

“He’ll be tramping through my garden, dragging the nasty element into this nice neighborhood.”

Ben was certain Mrs. Marmelstein was the only person in town who would describe this low-rent district on the North Side as nice . “What brings my police buddy to mind?”

She shrugged her shoulders lightly. “He’s outside.”

“Mike? Mike is here?” He rushed past her and started down the stairs.

She sniffed again. “Soon you won’t be able to tell the people who belong here from the pimps and the pushers.”

Ben bounded down the stairs and opened the torn screen door. Mike glared at him, looking very impatient.

“About time, Kincaid. I thought I was going to have to get a search warrant.”

Over Mike’s shoulder, Ben saw four other men, two in plain clothes, two in uniform. There were two police cars parked on the street; a red beacon swirled around, casting an eerie glow on the faces of the police officers.

“I take it you aren’t all here to escort me to work,” Ben said.

Mike shook his head. “We found your corpse.”

“Hamel?”

“That’s the one.”

“And he’s dead?”

“Very.”

“Boy, that was fast. You guys must be great detectives.”

“I wish we could take credit for this, but we can’t. Someone else discovered the body. We received an anonymous phone tip.”

“Well, however it happened, that’s great news.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Ben’s enthusiasm clotted in his throat. Why did Mike have such a grim expression on his face?

“Where did you find the body?” Ben asked slowly.

“In the alley behind this boardinghouse,” Mike replied. He pointed toward the back. “You know. Where you park your car.”

“Behind this house?” Ben found himself repeating the words, but not assimilating their meaning. “How did it get there ?”

Mike exchanged a look with the police officers on either side of him, then turned back to Ben. “Well, the popular opinion is that he arrived in your car, given the copious quantities of his blood and hair we found there.”

Ben felt a sudden tightening in his stomach.

The large man standing to Mike’s left stepped forward. “Mr. Kincaid, I’m Chief Blackwell, Chief of Police here in Tulsa. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

13

BEN GAZED AT THE imposing figure of Chief Blackwell. He was a thick, strong man. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed as he spoke.

“A—a few questions—?” Ben stuttered.

“Just a few harmless inquiries,” Blackwell said nonchalantly. “You can imagine how we might be somewhat curious.”

“I want to see the body first,” Ben said, trying to remain calm.

Blackwell flipped open his notepad. “All in good time. I want to ask—”

“I don’t see any harm in letting him see the body,” Mike said. “Sir. After all, it’s just around the corner. Maybe a quick look-see will illuminate his answers.”

Mike grabbed the sleeve of Ben’s robe and pulled him through the door before Blackwell had a chance to protest. Blackwell grunted, obviously annoyed to have his authority usurped.

The alley behind the house was usually just a rough patch of gravel and weeds where Ben parked his aging Honda Accord. Today, it was a hotbed of activity such as Ben had never seen before. At least ten different officers, some uniformed, some not, swirled around the crime scene with tweezers, cameras, and magnifying glasses. Three interns had lifted Hamel’s body onto a stretcher, which they were now loading into an ambulance.

Ben stifled his natural revulsion and looked at the body. It was just as it had been when he had last seen it. There was no visible mark anywhere on Hamel or his clothes. He was just dead, that’s all. There was a certain peacefulness about him—perhaps even a suggestion of contentment. If Ben hadn’t known better, he might’ve suspected Hamel was just sleeping.

“What killed him?” Ben asked.

“Koregai hasn’t even done a preliminary examination yet,” Mike answered.

“I don’t see any bloodstains. Where’d the blood you claim you found in my car come from?”

“Don’t know. We’re going to let the coroner explain that to us, too.”

Blackwell approached another officer and barked out some instructions. Ben tried to stay out of his line of sight. He saw another man with a camcorder packing up his equipment; the scene had no doubt been photographed and videotaped from every conceivable angle. Two more men were crawling back and forth across the alleyway, crouched on their hands and knees, their eyes close to the pavement.

“Hair and fiber boys?” Ben asked.

Mike nodded. “We’ve already searched for prints, both in the alley and in your car. Didn’t find any. Except, of course, yours.”

“You realize you had no right to search my car without a warrant.”

“I disagree. The driver’s side door was wide open when we arrived. Under those circumstances, we don’t believe you had any reasonable expectation of privacy.”

“How convenient.”

Mike stepped toward Ben and lowered his voice. “Look, Ben, I can’t hold off Blackwell much longer. If you have anything you want to tell me privately—”

“I didn’t kill him, Mike.”

“I know, I know,” Mike said, although he appeared relieved to hear the words spoken aloud. “But do you have any idea who did?”

“Not a clue.”

“What about your boss, Crichton? Was Hamel having any problems with him?”

“Could be. I don’t know.”

“What about that guy who was with you last night? We know he was in the office building.”

“I already told you. Rob was with me all day, right up until we found the body. We weren’t apart for ten seconds. So unless this stiff has been dead for over twenty-four hours, Rob is out.”

“I don’t need a coroner’s report to confirm that he hasn’t been dead that long.”

“Ditto.”

Mike shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “What about some of those other goons at your office? For one, the clown you caught in flagrante delicto last night. Maybe he didn’t like being caught with his pants down. Literally. Maybe this is a revenge frame.”

“Maybe. Then again, maybe not. I have no idea. I don’t know enough about these people.” He paused. “Yet.”

“Good attitude. Your involvement could be key, Ben. I’ll have my men search the area thoroughly, and I’ll send some boys around to question your neighbors—but as I told you, we’re up to our eyeballs in this serial killer mess. That’s why Blackwell is here. He’s coming to every homicide site until that case is solved.”

“Taking a personal interest in the murders?”