First Lady by Michael Malone Read Free Book Online Page B

avidity, like a bird snatching at a string. “When are you going to admit you can’t catch Guess Who at all?”
    â€œI’m not. There are no unsolved homicides in Hillston,” he said flatly.
    â€œSixty-five percent of homicides in America are unsolved.”
    Cuddy wheeled around on her. “I don’t know where you’re getting your statistics, Shelly, but there will be no unsolved homicides in Hillston as long as I’m head of HPD. That’s zero percent. Is that clear enough?” The hardness of his voice caught her off guard; his style with the press tended toward the casually facetious, but now he was even jabbing his finger an inch from her startled face. “And hey, about Professor Norris? Why don’t we let a jury decide on his guilt or innocence instead of you folks and his father? Isaac Rosethorn can flit around like a fat old Tinker Bell throwing fairy dust in your faces, but if Norris shot his wife, I don’t care if he invented algebra and his father is goddamn Billy Graham!”
    The huddle of reporters stared at him, even Bubba Percy and the governor looked over. Cuddy caught himself and laughed. “Please don’t tell Isaac I called him a fat old Tinker Bell.” Everyone looked relieved as he went on in his normal, wry, easy style. “I apologize, Shelly. But I don’t want to hear how you can get away with murder in Hillston. There’s nobody smart enough to do that. I will catch Guess Who. I guarantee it.”
    Bubba grinned, walking toward us. “But it must sting, Chief, Guess Who just rubbing your nose in it, leaving that toe tag telling Savile here to bring you the body. So can you put a date on closing the case?”
    Cuddy looked across the lobby where Brookside paused to listen. Then he turned back to the reporters, “That woman’s killer will be in custody by the Fourth of July. That’s a promise. By the Fourth of July.”
    The reporters vowed to hold Cuddy to his pledge, then congratulated him on the gala tonight. He nodded impatiently. “The Raleigh Medal’s honoring the Hillston Police Department, not me. So excuse me, I’ve gotta go get prettied up. And why aren’t y’all over at the Sheraton interviewing our rock’n’roll queen instead of me anyhow? You’d think Janis Joplin was back in town.” A few young reporters didn’t appear to be really sure who Janis Joplin was, but they knew Cuddy was talking about Mavis Mahar’s final concert at Haver Field, her last appearance in a fifteen-city U.S. tour. Scalpers in Hillston had been selling even bad seats for a hundred dollars each. The reporters jokingly confessed they couldn’t get anywhere near the rock star. The police chief was much easier to hound.
    Our impromptu press conference broke up and the lobby emptied. Bubba Percy, who was following the governor upstairs, called down to us from the first landing, his voice bouncing around the marble rotunda. “Mangum, you think you’re so smart. You think compared to you, Einstein and Madame Curie would be too dumb to figure out long division together! And you call me conceited?”
    Cuddy tilted his head, tapped the side of his temple. “I’m not conceited, Bubba, I am smart. You’re conceited because you’re not smart and you think you are.”
    â€œWell, you better hope I.Q. doesn’t stand for I Quit when they ask for your resignation, Porcus Rex.”
    â€œYou better hope there’s a long future in kissing the governor’s ass,” Cuddy smiled back, but I could tell Bubba had stung him.
    The press secretary knew it too. He grinned. “There’s always a future in ass kissing. Happy Fourth of July, Chief. That’s, let’s see, that’s about two weeks from now. Shit man, you’ll probably confess you whacked Jane yourself before you’ll admit you’re clueless.” Laughing, Bubba bounced up the