Free Without Due Process by J. A. Jance

Jackson’s mother?”
    “Adam? He’s here too?”
    I nodded. Carl Johnson frowned. “I don’t know her number right off the bat, but I’m sure I could get it for you from the office. If Adam spent the night here, it probably means she’s on call.”
    “On call?”
    “Emma Jackson is doing her residency with University Hospital. She told me about it at the beginning of the year. She has trouble getting a sitter for those thirty-six-hour shifts, so Adam often spends the night with the Westons. You still haven’t told me what’s going on.”
    I reached in my pocket and pulled out a card. He read it, then met my eyes over the top of the card. “This says Homicide.” I nodded. “Has someone been killed?”
    “Several people,” I answered quietly. “Maybe you’d better have a seat here on the porch so I can tell you about what happened.”
    Carl Johnson shed real tears when I told him, but he jumped up as soon as I finished. “I’d better get back to school,” he said urgently. “I need to alert the faculty and the counselors. The district has a team of people who come in to help in situations like this, but I’d better hurry. I want to be there when word gets out.”
    He started away, then stopped and turned back. “Where will you be?” he asked. “I’ll call you with Emma Jackson’s phone number as soon as I get back to my office.”
    I gave him my home number. “I’m going to race home, take a shower, and change clothes. It’ll only take a few minutes. If there’s no answer, leave the number on my machine, but please don’t make any effort to contact Emma until after I do.”
    “Of course,” Carl Johnson agreed. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
    “And I’d appreciate it if you’d hold off making any kind of official announcement, again at least until after I get in touch with her.”
    “You’ll let me know?”
    “Yes,” I said. “Go ahead and start gathering up the people you need. Just don’t give out any names until you get an official go-ahead.”
    “Right,” he said. “I understand.”
    Carl Johnson strode away from me, his broad shoulders straight, his chin set. Again he stepped over the yellow tape. His ancient Beamer sputtered and backfired before he was able to start it on the third try.
    Educators like him seem to be rare these days—old-time teachers who put kids first and everything else second. From the looks of the car he drove, making money sure as hell wasn’t Carl Johnson’s first priority. No matter what the salary schedule, we’ll never be able to pay the Carl Johnsons of this world a fraction of what they’re worth.
    Janice Morraine came out on the porch just as Carl was driving away, his car coughing and choking. “Who was that?” she asked.
    “His name’s Carl Johnson,” I told her, “and he’s a national treasure.”
    She leveled a hard stare at me, as though I were some kind of raving maniac. “You don’t seem to have a car here. Would you like a ride back downtown?” Detective Kramer had taken off while I was dealing with Carl Johnson, and only now did it occur to me that I was totally without transportation.
    Considering my previous behavior, I was a little surprised Janice Morraine made the offer. Maybe the fact that someone almost killed me had softened her bony little heart. “I’d appreciate it,” I said, meaning every word. “So would my bone spurs.”
    “It won’t take much longer,” she said. “I’ve got one more load of gear to take out to the van.”
    She turned down my offer of help with the loading. While waiting for her to finish stowing equipment in her state-owned Aerostar, I stood off to one side and thought about Paul Kramer’s questions. It seemed unlikely to me that anyone so apparently inoffensive as Gentle Ben Weston would have two entirely different sets of enemies out to kill him, both on the same night. I suffer from the homicide detective’s natural aversion to coincidences, and two entirely separate murder