Free Extreme Justice by William Bernhardt Page A

conclusion went further. She didn’t think the victim had been murdered within the building. She thought the body had been transported a considerable distance.
    Mike set his sergeants scurrying through the club interviewing employees and patrons, all of whom had been detained and several of whom complained audibly. Meanwhile, Mike continued his interview with Ben.
    “Tell me more about this guy lugging the rug around. You say he was black?” Mike extracted a notebook from his trench coat.
    “I thought so at the time. In retrospect, it could have been a disguise.”
    “Tell me about his face.”
    Ben sighed. “I didn’t really look.”
    “Because he was a blue-collar worker, so he was beneath your notice.”
    “Because it was dark and he was in shadow and I was preoccupied.” Ben’s lips pressed tightly together. “Don’t pin the snobby-rich-boy bit on me. You know better.”
    Mike grinned. “I’m just trying to make you remember. It’s my job.”
    “It’s not your job. It’s how you handle your job. And it sucks.”
    Mike’s eyes fluttered. “A bit testy tonight, aren’t we?”
    “You would be too if the sky started raining corpses on you.”
    “You’ve seen dead bodies before.”
    “Yeah, but I don’t normally play Twister with them!”
    Mike flipped a page in his notepad. “How ’bout if I bring in a sketch artist? See if he can put together a composite.”
    Ben shook his head. “It’d be a waste of time. I never really saw him.”
    “And you’re sure about the hair? Bushy Afro. Bushy beard.”
    “Right.”
    “A ’fro? In this day and age?”
    Ben shrugged. “That’s what I saw.”
    Mike grumbled. “Maybe that’s what he wanted you to see.”
    Sergeant Tomlinson stepped up on the stage, escorting Earl. “Got a minute, Mike?”
    “Yeah. What?”
    “This guy owns the place.”
    “I know.”
    “And he can ID the corpse.”
    “ ’Zat a fact.” Mike’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about that.”
    Earl held up his hands. “Now, don’t go gettin’ the wrong idea. I just know her, that’s all. Known her for years.”
    “Uh-huh. What’s her name?”
    “Lily.” Earl said the name soft and breathlessly. “Lily Campbell. She sang as the Cajun Lily.”
    Mike continued scribbling. “She sang?”
    “Lord, did she ever. She could put a spin on a song that would crumble your heart. She had a way with—”
    Mike cut him off. “Just give me the facts, okay?”
    Earl cleared his throat. “She was a hot number on the jazz circuit, back twenty odd years ago. ’Specially in this part of the country.”
    “And you knew her?”
    “Oh, yes,” he said softly.
    “How well?”
    His eyes darted toward the door where he had last seen Lily’s remains. “Very well.”
    “Seen her lately?”
    “No. But I got a phone call from her yesterday. Out of the blue. You can’t imagine how surprised I was. I thought she’d forgotten all about me. But no, she still remembered, and she knew about my club. Said she wanted to see me; said she had somethin’ to tell me.”
    “Did she say what?”
    “Not a clue. Just said she’d meet me at the club tonight, before the show started.”
    “And?”
    Earl looked at him helplessly. “She never showed up.”
    Mike arched an eyebrow. “I think she did.”
    “Well, I mean—” Earl became flustered. “I mean—hell.”
    Ben laid a comforting hand on Earl’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Earl. Just tell your story.” Ben knew the man was caught up in the circumstances, confused. But unfortunately, he was acting like someone with something to hide.
    “I mean she didn’t meet me beforehand,” Earl said finally. “I never saw her. Not till she took the tumble off that goddamned light.”
    “I see.” Mike resumed scribbling. “Any idea how she got up there?”
    Earl shrugged. “No idea. It’s a strong lamp and not that high off the stage. ’Spose anyone coulda propped her up there.”
    “Anyone taller than Ben,” Mike remarked.