Free Nailed by Joseph Flynn Page A

Police Department. Then he turned to Clay and said, “Mr. Mayor, you, yourself, said on television last night that race was the first thing you thought of when you saw the body.”
    Clay agreed. “I did say that. But I also said we needed to learn more before we reached any conclusion. And I said only then could we hope to find the killer. Right now, Chief Ketchum’s department is investigating to find out just what happened.”
    “With all due respect to your town’s department,” Horgan said in a tone devoid of any respect, “I think the bureau is better equipped both to make a determination of motive and apprehend the person or persons responsible for this killing.”
    “You’re entitled to your opinion, Mr. Horgan.” Clay paused until he had the fed looking at him again. “But unless you have proof that this crime was racially motivated, you have no jurisdiction, and you will not involve yourself or your agents in Chief Ketchum’s investigation within the town limits of Goldstrike.”
    Even with the weight of Clay’s stare upon him, Horgan managed to bristle. He was a senior federal officer. He wasn’t about to take marching orders from any small town mayor, no matter how many movies the drug-snorting sonofabitch had made, no matter how much money the asshole had.
    Through clenched teeth, Horgan said, “With all due re—
    The mayor cut him off, keying his intercom. “Jenny, has my call to Washington been placed yet?”
    “I just reached your party, Mr. Mayor,” his secretary responded. “Line one.”
    Clay picked up his phone, said hello and made small talk for a moment. The three FBI men watched in tense anticipation as the mayor said, “We have a little situation here.”
    Ron had a hard time not smiling, wondering if the president was actually on the other end of the line. Everybody knew that guy had a thing for rubbing elbows in Hollywood. But it wasn’t the president. Almost as good, though.
    Clay extended the phone to Horgan. “The attorney general of the United States.”
    The fed’s face became a death mask as he pressed the phone to his ear and announced himself. As he listened, the lines in his face deepened dramatically. It took a truly heroic effort for him to choke out the words, “Very well,” and hand the phone back to Clay.
    “Are we clear now where we all stand, Agent Horgan?” the mayor asked.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Chief Ketchum will investigate locally. If he determines that the killer has fled town, he will advise your office and provide you with any relevant information in his possession.”
    Horgan and his underlings rose to leave, but Clay wasn’t finished.
    “You never did answer my question about rifling the chief’s desk. Ron, you see if there is any evidence of an illegal search. We don’t have to worry about taking Agent Horgan’s fingerprints now. The bureau will have them on record.”
    Clay looked at the special agent in charge, and his message was perfectly clear: Your ass is mine, pal, and you damn well better play ball.
    “Chief,” the mayor continued, “I think you can escort these people back to their car now. Have a safe trip back to San Francisco, gentlemen.”
    Ron walked the feds through the Muni Complex to their car. To that point, not a word was exchanged. But when the FBI men got inside their vehicle, Ron said, “Say hi to all my friends in your L.A. office, guys.”
    When Ron turned to go, he pretended not to hear Horgan calling him an asshole.
    The mayor was waiting for Ron in the chief’s office when he got back.
    “You have anything important in your desk?” Clay asked.
    “No. Anything important goes in my safe.”
    Clay nodded and said, “I came down on those jerks about as hard as I could … but Horgan, he’s one of those sonsabitches who relishes the idea of revenge. He gets back to San Francisco, he’ll devote himself to finding a way to screw you. Don’t let him.”
    “I won’t.”
    “Do your best to get this bastard soon. I