Free Gospel by Sydney Bauer Page A

King. ‘But he made a quick stop to the VP’s room between 8.17 and 8.21pm, an impromptu consultation according to the good Professor. He and Bradshaw had had a falling out – a fairly public one, according to our early investigations.’
    â€˜You’re talking motive?’
    â€˜Maybe, maybe not,’ shrugged King again. ‘Perhaps the VP begged his doctor friend for a hit and the good Professor was too ambitious to deny him.’
    â€˜Shit,’ said Joe.
    â€˜Yeah,’ said Leo, picking up his glass to drain the last dregs of his lager.
    â€˜So what happens next?’ said Joe after a pause. ‘I get the feeling Maxine Bryant is not one to sit on her laurels. This administration needs a political lifeline and a conviction for administering a lethal drug to the country’s favourite President-in-waiting could be just what they’re after.’
    â€˜Your words not mine,’ said Leo.
    â€˜Of course, it could be nothing,’ said Joe, picking up a coaster and tapping it on the bar. ‘Maybe the dear old doc was just taking his blood pressure and Bradshaw took the hit as soon as he left the room.’
    â€˜Maybe,’ said King. ‘But considering it’s an election year, it plays better the other way, don’t you think?’
    Joe shook his head, the close-cropped curls of his thick dark hair casting irregular shadows on the bar in front of him.
    â€˜So you are going after Montgomery – and not just for supply.’
    â€˜We’re watching him,’ said King, ‘making discreet investigations. He certainly had access to the narcotics. He’s ambitious, arrogant and he has the dough to hire some serious legal cohunes. In other words, we can’t afford to stuff this up. We have to be careful. We have to be sure.’
    â€˜Sure of what – his guilt or of winning a conviction?’ asked Joe.
    â€˜Both,’ replied King.
    â€˜And what about the Boston PD?’
    â€˜You want in on this, I’ll see what I can do. But remember I warned you against it.’
    â€˜I’m a big boy, Leo.’
    â€˜I know, but you’re honest and somehow I get the feeling this one ain’t gonna sit too well with your preference for squeaky clean justice.’
    â€˜Maybe that’s why I
should
be in.’
    King let out a sigh. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right.’

12
    â€˜W hat have we got?’ asked LAPD Homicide Detective Samuel J. Croker.
    Croker stepped around the overturned trash can and followed the freckle-faced officer towards the back of the alley. The ‘kid’, who looked no more than twenty, started rattling off the ‘details’ like they were items on a shopping list.
That was life on the South Central beat
, thought Croker who worked Hollywood Homicide and was helping out down South for the night.
Murder by the minute
.
    â€˜Vic is fifty-two-year-old Kevin Walker,’ said Freckles, whose real name was Officer Adam Kirk. ‘Cause of death a lethal knife attack to the neck, or more specifically the guy’s throat was cut in a perfect semi-circle from his left ear to his right. He was discovered in the early hours of this morning,’ Kirk read from his notepad. ‘By a county garbage collector, and the vic’s still dressed for work so our guess is he was done some time last night on his way home to the missus.’
    Kirk stopped then, mere inches from the body, and crouched down, pulling the plastic cover sheet away from the victim’s face. Croker bent too, his knees squeaking in protest, to observe the bloodied face of the conservatively dressed man – his head twisted at an ungodly angle, his face frozen in a mock expression that said: ‘
Well, I’ll be damned
.’
    â€˜This his suitcase?’ asked Croker, pointing at the Louis Vuitton, his detective’s instincts also taking in his shoes, which were new, and Italian.
    â€˜Yeah. He’s an