Free Without Due Process by J. A. Jance Page B

eats like a horse and never seems to have a problem with his weight. It probably has something to do with swimming daily laps at his pool there in Scottsdale.
    “Hey, you’re just in time for breakfast. Want some?”
    “No time. I came home to grab a shower and change clothes. Pour me a cup of coffee and let it cool. I’ll be out in a minute.”
    By the time I got back out to the dining room, Ralph handed me a message from Carl Johnson. “Rough night?” Ames asked.
    I knew from looking in the mirror that I had dark circles under my eyes. “Pretty rough, all right,” I said. “Five people dead and I ended up having someone take a potshot at me before the evening was over.”
    “You’re in a tough line of work,” Ames said. “Sure you won’t try some eggs?”
    The food smelled wonderful and I was famished. I allowed myself to be persuaded.
    “Try some of the salsa on your eggs,” Ames suggested. “It’s the real McCoy, straight from Phoenix. I brought it up special.”
    I tried a daub of the green salsa on my eggs and it instantly cleared every sinus cavity in my head. I bolted my food, toast and all, and pushed my chair away from the table.
    “Where to this time?” Ames asked.
    “I’ve got to do a next-of-kin notification. In feet, I should be on my way right this very minute.”
    I was headed out the door when the phone rang. Expecting new marching orders from Watty or Captain Powell, I picked it up. Instead, it was Curtis Bell, a guy I knew vaguely from the department, who, now that he was moonlighting as a life insurance salesman, was renowned throughout Seattle PD as an A-number-one pest. He had been hounding me for an appointment for months.
    Without allowing me a word in edgewise, he administered the usual appointment-getting canned speech about when could we get together to talk over some ideas that had proved helpful to other officers like myself. Personally, I liked it better back in the old days when moonlighting cops mostly worked as security guards. Security guards usually don’t try to sell products or services to their friends. And I remembered the prospecting lessons from my old Fuller Brush days—call everyone you know and ask for an appointment. But I also know what it’s like to be a young cop and not make enough money to cover all the bases. I understood what Curtis Bell was trying to do and why he was having to do it.
    I tried to be polite. “Look, Curtis, I appreciate your thinking about me, but I’m working a case. I’m real busy right now. In fact, I was just on my way out the door.”
    “That’s all right,” he said. “My schedule’s flexible. Are mornings or afternoons better for you, or how about early evening, right after work?”
    “Really, none of the above.”
    I kept saying no, and he kept not listening. After being up working around the clock, the very last thing I needed would be to spend the evening with some boring life insurance puke. I took one more stab at getting rid of him.
    “Curtis,” I told him as nicely as I could manage. “I’m financially set. I’m divorced and my kids are grown. Why the hell do I need life insurance anyway?”
    “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” Curtis returned. “Would tomorrow night be better?”
    He had worn me down. The customary ten no’s hadn’t worked. Sooner or later, he and I were going to talk insurance. “Tell you what, Curtis, I’ll get back to you on this. Right now, I’ve got to go.”
    I put down the phone and turned around only to find Ralph Ames studying me with a puzzled expression on his face. “What was that all about?” he asked.
    “One of the guys from the department who’s got a second job selling life insurance. I don’t know why, but he thinks I’m a likely prospect.”
    “Maybe you are,” Ames said thoughtfully. “What company is he with?”
    “Beats me. How the hell should I know? And anyway, I don’t need any life insurance.”
    “Wait a minute,” Ralph