Murder in the Supreme Court (Capital Crimes Series Book 3) by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online

sorry for him than anything.”
    “Why, sir?”
    “Because he was like so many young men today, Miss Pinscher. Put them in a tough situation and they can’t figure out how to blow their own noses. They’ve been coddled, protected, sheltered. They never become men, although theythink they do because they wear suits and bed down a string of women.” He pointed out the window. “There’s the airport… Them’s my sentiments, Miss Pinscher, they’re children when they should be men. Too damn soft for my taste, however unjudicial that may sound.”
    Susanna watched as Childs set up the Colt for a landing, coordinating his approach with the ground controllers, flying parallel to the runway, then turning onto his base leg and, with a smoothly executed left turn, lining up with the long, wide strip of concrete.
    “It was a nice ride,” she said after they’d come to a stop at his tie-down spot. “Thank you.”
    “Glad you enjoyed it.” He walked her to her car. “Can I give you an unsolicited opinion? We justices love to give opinions.”
    “I’d very much appreciate it.”
    “Clarence was very probably killed by a woman. It may be attractive to the media, but I’m afraid you’d be wasting your time investigating any man, including those on the Court. God knows we’re not perfect, to put it mildly, but Clarence was a man who treated women badly. Common knowledge, I’m afraid. I’ve no evidence, no suspects for you, but it seems likely that one of his women got mad enough to seek her revenge.”
    “But you have nobody particular in mind?”
    “No. As I understand it, you couldn’t tell the victims without a scorecard.”
    She shook his hand and thanked him again for the flight.
    “Please come back again, Miss Pinscher. I enjoyed having you aboard.”

CHAPTER 8
    “Pretty fancy for a Hungarian joint,” Martin Teller said after joining Susanna at a table in Csiko’s. “I feel like a prince.”
    She laughed. “It is a little overdone but I like it. Wait’ll the gypsy violins start in.”
    They ordered drinks, a Bloody Mary for her, gin—
not
vodka—on the rocks for him. He settled back in an armchair and took in his surroundings; Austrian shades and draperies, burnished brass and polished wood, high ceilings with rococo plastering, a single red carnation on each table. “Very nice,” he said, sipping his drink. “Are you Hungarian?”
    “I’m a mixed bag, a little of this, a little of that, including a dash of Hungarian.”
    A waiter brought menus. “How did your interview with Childs go this morning?” he asked.
    She put down the menu, glanced up over half-glasses. “Strange, maybe, but I find most people strange these days.”
    “Why is Childs strange?”
    “Hard to say. He’s very nice, friendly, open. He took me for a ride in his plane.”
    Teller put on a leer and wiggled an imaginary cigar in his fingers. “In his plane, huh? I thought he was married, four kids, nice quiet suburban life.”
    She removed her glasses. “Don’t be silly. He was pressed for time and I got to ask a lot of questions while we were up in the air.”
    Teller waved his hands. “Don’t mind me. I’m a little upset. I had to take Beauty to the vet today.”
    “Your dog?”
    “Cat, one of two. He has hair balls.”
    “Oh.” She replaced her glasses on her nose and returned to the menu.
    He chose roast duck that was billed as a specialty of the house. “Careful of the red cabbage,” she said, “it tastes like it’s fermented.” She ordered
szekely gulyas
, a pork and sauerkraut stew sprinkled with paprika and cooked with sour cream.
    “So, Miss Pinscher, tell me about the rest of your week. Did you get to interview any of the other justices?”
    “No, just Childs. He thinks a woman killed Clarence Sutherland, that he was a womanizer and evidently made at least one of them mad enough to kill him.”
    “I talked with a few employees at the Court and got the same picture.”
    She sat back. “A woman