Naked Justice by William Bernhardt Read Free Book Online Page A

told him money made the world go round, but the fact was, a steady paycheck could eliminate a hell of a lot of marital stress. After a year or so, he’d have Marie out of the trailer park and into a real honest-to-God house like she deserved.
    Why did it have to be a domestic disturbance, though? He could live with issuing a traffic ticket on his way home. A warning, if he was pressed for time. But like all cops, he hated domestic calls. They were never easy, never satisfying. If you caught a bank robber, well, great, job well done. But you got no applause from a domestic call. Sometimes it wasn’t serious, just some spouse trying to up the stakes in an ongoing fight by calling in the police. When it was serious, though, the issues were even more complicated. If you arrest a wife beater, at best you’ve spared some people some violence at the cost of breaking up the family. More often, though, the police were put in the position of trying to convince a battered woman to prosecute, which they usually wouldn’t do. Even if the police had been out several times before. It was amazing how many women would allow themselves to become punching bags—covering up, telling lies, denying reality, even when it smacked their face like a bare fist.
    Well, best to get it over with. He pulled his black-and-white up into the driveway of 1260 South Terwilliger. Nice house. Nice neighborhood, in fact.
    Barrett, the name on the mailbox read. Barrett. Good God, this wasn’t the mayor’s place, was it? He’d heard rumors about him down at the police station. Some of the boys had been called out to his house before, but so far, it had all been hushed up.
    He radioed his arrival to the Box and climbed out of his car. He noticed a man in the upstairs window next door watching him. Dollars to doughnuts he was the one who made the anonymous call.
    Calley rang the bell and waited. He rang it again.
    No answer.
    Now that was odd. According to the Box, the altercation in progress had been so loud it could be heard outside the house. But Calley didn’t hear a thing.
    Calley tried to remember what he had learned at the academy. Did he have probable cause to enter without a warrant? It was a tough call. He could easily see some lawyer arguing that he didn’t. He didn’t need a black mark on his record the first week.
    He rang the bell again. Still no answer. Damn.
    It was probably just a mistake or a prank or a false alarm. He should just get back in his car, make his report, and drive on home.
    But what if something was going on in there? The Box had told him there were supposedly a woman and two kids involved.
    Damn! Marie would be so angry if he got suspended. He wouldn’t get laid for a month.
    He rang the bell again. “Police,” he barked.
    No answer.
    He pressed his ear against the door. He didn’t hear anything, but the pressure of his head nudged the door open. It hadn’t been shut, at least not all the way. Like someone had thrown it closed in a hurry.
    The door creaked open about a foot wide. Well, hell, Calley thought. You can’t have any reasonable expectation of privacy when your front door is gaping open, can you?
    He pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. “Police,” he repeated, but there was still no answer. There was a smell, though, a pungent, putrid smell. Well, he thought, I’ll just make a quick tour of the house and make sure there hasn’t been any—
    He turned a corner and drew in his breath.
    There she was. The lady of the house. The first lady of the city.
    Formerly, anyway.
    She was sprawled backwards over a dining room chair, her feet on the floor, her hands above her head. Her face was bruised in several places; her lips were cracked and caked with dried blood. Her blouse was torn, exposing her left shoulder and brassiere. Blood was smeared all over her body and formed dried puddles on the floor. Her lips were parted and her eyes were wide open, staring at him.
    Calley pressed his hand