Justice for All. Joanna Wayne

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СКАЧАТЬ to salvage what’s left of the party spirit,” Mary said, clasping and unclasping her hands. “I don’t feel much like it, though. I thought Bernie was going to die right here in the grass. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

      “But I was here, and he didn’t die,” Callie said, taking one of Mary’s hand in hers and giving it a comforting squeeze. “The party was lovely, and what happened to Bernie wasn’t your fault.”

      “Will you call me as soon as you know something? I can come and stay with Bernie if you think he needs me.”

      “I’ll call, but he’s probably better off without company tonight.”

      Callie waited until Mary walked away, then went to the large serving table, took a couple of the seafood canapés and wrapped them in a paper napkin. She stopped and had the young bartender write out the ingredients he’d used in Bernie’s special drink, as well.

      Avoiding as many of the guests as she could, Callie walked to the front lawn of the sprawling estate and waited for one of the attendants to get her car. The bored stranger was waiting for his as well.

      “You were impressive,” he said, stepping closer. “I noticed you earlier but would never have taken the beautiful woman in red for a doctor.”

      “Difficult to recognize us when we’re not wearing our white coats,” Callie said. “I don’t think we’ve met.” She extended her hand. “I’m Callie Baker, chief of staff at Courage Bay Hospital.”

      “Jerry Hawkins.”

      “Are you new to the area?”

      “Visiting my mother, Abby Hawkins.”

      “I didn’t know Abby had a son.”

      “I’m the black sheep of the family. Mother usually keeps me hidden away when I come to visit, lest I embarrass her in front of her friends.”

      “Then she should be proud of you. You behaved quite appropriately tonight.”

      “I have my moments.”

      The attendant drove up with his car. Jerry started to walk away, then turned back to Callie. “The world would have been a better place if you’d let him die.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “You do know how Bernie Brusco makes his money, don’t you?”

      “I heard he owns a chain of convenience stores.”

      “To launder the cash he makes supplying drugs to half of southern California.”

      “What makes you think that?”

      “Not a matter of thinking it. It’s fact.”

      “Even if what you say is true, it wouldn’t have mattered. I took an oath to save lives. All lives, not just the ones I deem worthy.”

      “Too bad. You probably sentenced a few hundred adolescents to death by keeping Brusco alive.” He turned and walked to his car, leaving the sting of his accusation hanging in the still night air.

      MAX ZIRINSKY BIT the end off a cold French fry and stared at the names he’d scribbled on the napkin. Dylan Deeb, Bruce Nepom, Lorna Sinke and Carlos Esposito. Four unsolved murders in one year. Different MO in every case but with one common factor. They were all suspected of having committed a criminal act.

      Max reviewed the evidence in his mind, the way he did dozens of times a day. Deeb had made one hit movie, which was preceded and then followed by a string of marginal successes and a few bombs. He’d bought a home in Courage Bay after the box office hit, claiming he’d wanted a place where he could flee the Hollywood publicity circus.

      More often than not, he’d brought the circus with him, to the disdain of his privacy-loving neighbors. Deeb was known for his wild parties and a parade of very young, big breasted babes who came and went, frequently in groups.

      He’d been brought up on charges of soliciting sexual favors from underage female actresses in exchange for parts in his movies. But all Deeb had to do was give his unhappy starlets the promise of a role in one of his movies, and they merely smiled and refused to testify. Deeb was scum, but he’d walked away from the charges a free man.

      Someone had changed that by paying a visit to Deeb’s Courage Bay house in the midst of one of the worst series of rains to hit the area in years. Warnings had gone out for everyone in the area to evacuate.

      Deeb’s house had been swept away in a mud slide with Deeb still inside it. Severe bruising on his neck indicated foul play, and an autopsy revealed that he’d been strangled before his house had taken the plunge.

      Then there was Bruce Nepom. An unlicensed contractor, Nepom was taken to the E.R. at Courage Bay Hospital after his roof collapsed on him during the storm of the century back in January. Nepom died while in hospital, and an autopsy showed his injuries stemmed from trauma to the base of his skull with a blunt instrument. He’d been facing possible charges in the death of an elderly couple after the roof he’d built for them collapsed, but the case was dropped due to lack of evidence.

      The third case involved an aide to city council named Lorna Sinke. The woman had escaped prosecution in the death of her elderly parents when evidence was ruled inadmissible after an improperly executed search warrant. Sinke had been shot in a hostage situation at city hall and died later in the hospital.

      And finally there was Esposito, a scumbag who abducted Mexican children from their families and put them to work as migrant workers. Esposito had died instantly when his small plane had crashed into the ballroom of the Grand Hotel. An investigation had found evidence that someone had deliberately tampered with the plane’s engine.

      Bottom line was that some damned avenger was creating a crime wave of his own and he was doing it right under Max’s nose. That would have been tough if he was still just a detective on the homicide squad. But now that he was chief of police, it was driving him over the edge.

      “Want another beer?” Jake asked, wiping a wet spot off the bar just left of Max’s elbow.

      “Nah. I’ve had enough.”

      “You’ve only had two. It’s Friday night. Live a little.”

      “I’m living, hip hoppin’ big time. Just keeping a low profile so it doesn’t make everyone else jealous.”

      Jake leaned over the bar and stared at the names Max had printed on the napkin. “If you were living, those would be foxes’ names and phone numbers on that wrinkled old napkin, not victims.”

      “Victims are easier to deal with. They don’t expect flowers.”

      “But women have curves and don’t smell like those sweaty cops you were talking to earlier tonight.”

      “Could be, but the cops will still respect me in the morning.”

      “That’s not funny, Max.”

      And not true, either. If the department didn’t solve these murder cases, no one was going to respect him in the morning, least of all himself.

      He СКАЧАТЬ