Privileged to Kill by Steven F. Havill Read Free Book Online

downer.’ That’s what you called it. A ‘possible downer.’
    Pasquale looked confused. “It’s just a slang expression, sir.”
    I looked at the young officer and counted mentally to ten. When I had my temper under control, I said, “Let’s have an understanding, Officer Pasquale. We are in the middle of a homicide investigation. The apparent victim is a child, and we have a man in custody. This might be a nice time to dispense with slang and stick to facts and correct terminology. Does that sound reasonable to you?”
    Pasquale flushed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Holman finally sit down, backward, buckaroo-style, on one of the straight-backed chairs. He was probably happy as a clam to have me angry with someone besides himself.
    “Yes, sir,” Pasquale said, and I silently commended him on his self-control. He could have said, “Look, I don’t work for you, you fat old son-of-a-bitch. Get off my back.” And there wouldn’t have been much I could have done, except bluster.
    I softened my tone one click and asked, “So when you responded, you did not assume that the call was a crank call…a joke. You felt there was some chance that you were responding to a possible death, even though the caller did not use the emergency number?”
    “Yes, sir. That’s the way the boy’s tone of voice impressed me.”
    “You thought he was serious,” I said, and Pasquale nodded. “But you didn’t think it was necessary to call for any backup? You knew that Sergeant Torrez was working the county, did you not?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Was he busy?”
    “Yes, sir. He had just responded to a domestic dispute call north of the village. I didn’t think it would hurt to make a preliminary check and then call for backup if necessary.”
    “And so you arrived at the school. Where did you park?”
    “Along Olympic, right next to the visitors’ side of the field. I jumped the fence and ran across the field.”
    “Did you have your handheld radio with you?”
    “Sir?”
    “Your handheld. You left your patrol car, so I presume you had your portable radio with you in case you did need backup.”
    Pasquale took a deep breath, and the flush rose again. “No, sir.”
    “What did you do then?”
    “I ran across the field, ducked under the bleachers, and saw the body. There was no response to my verbal orders, so I checked to see if the victim was alive.”
    “How?”
    “I felt the neck for a pulse. There wasn’t one. The skin was cool to the touch. There was no sign of respiration.” He sounded as if he were reading from a freshman criminology textbook.
    I leaned back and tossed my pencil on the blotter. Before I could form the question, Martin Holman said, “And when did you first see the suspect?”
    Pasquale’s head snapped around and he looked first at Holman and then at Estelle Reyes-Guzman. Estelle’s expression was politely expectant.
    “I saw him as I ran back toward the patrol car. He was standing by the fence, over at the east end of the field. Outside the fence. I remember seeing his bicycle. It was leaning against the fence.”
    “The arc lights are pretty bright there, aren’t they,” Holman said helpfully.
    “Yes, sir. There are two right at the end of the field.”
    “You had satisfied yourself that the victim was dead, and then you approached the suspect,” I said.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You didn’t think that with a homicide on your hands, it might be a good idea to call for backup from an experienced, certified officer?” I asked.
    Pasquale looked at the floor and took a deep breath, almost a sigh. “I suppose so, sir. I did go back to the car first, though. I heard Sergeant Torrez tell dispatch that he’d be ten-ten for a little while. I was going to call in, but then I didn’t want there to be any chance of the suspect slipping away. I didn’t see any reason that I couldn’t handle it alone. And I had seen him earlier, over at the convenience store. I knew he was an older guy. I knew