Free The Case of the Murdered MacKenzie: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Seven) by Howard Fast

no steering wheel tampering, no loosened wheels—none of a half dozen other possibilities. Nothing that was done, only something that was not done.
    â€œWhat was that?” Delt asked him.
    â€œShe was not wearing her seat belt.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œOn this model Mercedes, there’s no automatic return.”
    â€œWhat does that say?”
    â€œWell, look at the car,” Hendricks said. “This happens once in a while. It hit the guardrail and popped that log right off, which shows how much that guardrail was worth. But the car was hardly damaged from that blow. Then it went right down that face with no obstruction at all until it hit the mesquite, and then the mesquite cushioned it. The steering wheel is still on its mount. If that lady in the car, even without her seat belt, had hung on to the wheel, she could have come through it with no more than a bad scare.”
    â€œWhat are you getting at?” Delt asked him.
    â€œWhat do you think, Lieutenant? There was nothing wrong with the car. That little car drives like a dream. So why’d she go through the guardrail?”
    â€œDrugged,” Masuto said.
    â€œOr drunk.”
    â€œThey couldn’t be sure there won’t be an autopsy. So it would be something simple,” Masuto said. “Something she could have used herself.”
    â€œWho are they? ” Delt asked him. “And with that scenario, why didn’t her head go through the windshield?”
    They turned to Hendricks, who said, “It wouldn’t necessarily. She might have fallen over on the seat while still up here on the road. Then her head would hit the dashboard, where there’s a good deal of blood. Look at it yourselves.”
    There was blood all over the car seat and the dashboard. Delt pressed Masuto. “You’re so goddamn sure she was murdered. They did this and they did that. Who?”
    Masuto shook his head. “It’s a presumption, that’s all.” There was a lot that Geffner might have said, but Masuto could appreciate the position of a district attorney who had been prosecuting a case that was no case, only to have his suspect killed. There were still a couple of reporters hanging around and a photographer from the L.A. Times was snapping pictures of the wrecked car. Anything Geffner said could be flushed back in his face. A D.A. who allows himself to be persuaded by pressure from Washington to take a stupid case that won’t hold is in no position to court publicity.
    Delt’s face was blank.
    â€œA very good and sound presumption, I think,” Masuto said. “You know what the situation is out here in the canyon, Lieutenant. It’s an unincorporated area, and if you drop that line of inquiry, the Malibu sheriff’s office sure as hell is not going to pick it up.”
    â€œWhat’s it to you, Masuto? Just tell me what’s in it for you that you got to push like this. You’re a Beverly Hills cop and you’re thirty miles from home. The woman’s dead.”
    It was not easy to explain, and Masuto was not even certain that he could explain. One’s work took over, the man became the work, and the work became the man. That was not anything Delt would comprehend.
    â€œShe lived in a town I’m supposed to protect.”
    â€œThat’s a load, Masuto, and you know it. I can see Mr. Geffner’s point. He’s involved. But the way I look at it, you’re not involved. Don’t put down the sheriff’s deputies out here in Malibu. They ain’t totally brainless. I never seen a city cop didn’t think the country boy was a working moron.”
    â€œTime I was getting back home,” Hendricks said.
    â€œTime we all were,” Geffner agreed. His glance at Masuto said to keep the situation in low key. No use turning Delt into an enemy.
    Masuto nodded. “Things come back home. I’ll return the favor one day,