Free On the Street Where You Die (Stanley Bentworth mysteries Book 1) by Al Stevens Page A

can’t listen in. Attorney-client privilege.”
    “I don’t know how much you know about police work, Mr. Sanford, but I used to be a detective here. We listened to everything. We couldn’t always use it in court, but sometimes it told us whether we were on the right track, or what track to get on, and shit like that.”
    “Bullshit,” he said. “That violates a suspect’s constitutional right to counsel,” Sanford said.
    “So it does,” I said.
    “I’m staying,” he said again.
    “Buford,” I said. “Unless Sanford knows everything there is to know about this case, you need to get him the fuck out of here. I need to be able to talk openly, and so do you.”
    “Wait out there,” Buford said to Sanford .
    Sanford shrugged and headed for the door without objection.
    “Wait in the little cubicle on the other side of that mirror,” I said. “That’s the only place they can eavesdrop. They won’t try it if you’re there.”
    “How do you know I won’t listen?”
    “You don’t know where the switch is.”
    Sanford left.
    When he was gone, I said, “He doesn’t look happy.”
    “He never looks happy. Even when he’s happy.”
    I waited until Sanford had time to be clear of the room and said, “Buford, did you shoot Vitole?”
    “No.” He shook his head, and I believed him.
    “Do you know who did?”
    “No.”
    “You know how bad it looks, don’t you? First you didn’t know who was shaking you down. Then you did. Then you go to see him. Then he gets whacked.”
    “I know how bad it looks.”
    I leaned forward on the table. He leaned back.
    “Tell me everything that happened after I called you,” I said.
    “That evening I checked my e-mail. There was a message saying I better put the twenty grand back or he’d call the newspapers.”
    Man, that guy Vitole had balls. I as much as told him we’d come after the blackmailer if that happened.
    “Shit,” I said. “I should have told him we knew it was him. I tried to dance around to let him get out of it gracefully. I guess I gave him credit for more smarts than he had. What did you do. ”
    Buford got up and walked over to the mirror. He looked at himself and then came back to the table and stood alongside it.
    “The next morning I took a drive to his house. When he opened the door, I punched him square in the face.”
    “I bet that got his attention.”
    “It did. I told him that if I heard anything more from him about money, I’d ruin his life.”
    “Which you are able to do.”
    “I am. I had a print of one of the pictures you took of him kissing his neighbor’s wife. I tossed it at him and told him that if he made the slightest trouble, I’d send the picture to his old lady and the girl friend’s husband.”
    “The blackmailee blackmailing the blackmailer. Nice twist.”
    “I told him that if that didn’t work, I’d kill him. Then I went home. He was alive last I saw him. Had a sore beezer, but it was still breathing. ”
    “I wonder if his old lady found that picture,” I said.
    He sat down again.
    I continued. “Okay. Some things you should know. I had to tell the cops that the mob is looking for you.”
    “Why?”
    “To keep them from releasing your mug shot to the press.”
    “Shit. I didn’t think of that.”
    I always like it when I think of something that nobody else thinks of. Makes me look smart. I need all the help I can get.
    “I don’t know whether the cops’ll hold your picture back, but I had to try. Also, the other bad news. I’m going to have to tell Penrod what I know about the case. Within limits. Otherwise he’ll charge me with obstruction. I have to give him enough to satisfy him.”
    Buford nodded his approval. “I guess that’s okay. Got to keep you on the street.”
    “Now. How do you want me to proceed?”
    He leaned forward again and looked me squarely in the eye. “You were homicide,” he said. “You said you closed cases. Close this one. Find out who the fuck did it.”
    Great.