The Devil's Necktie by John Lansing Read Free Book Online

they had a mutual friend in Miami, the dead woman and Michael did. It’s how they met.”
    Mayor tilted his head in the direction of 3468. “I guess they got along because when he heard the woman was headed to L.A., he offered her the use of his house until she got on her feet. He’s got an extra room set up for guests and loves company. Big heart, that Michael. Didn’t work out very well for the woman. Michael was devastated. I think he said her name was Mia.”
    â€œIt was,” Jack said. Using the past tense made him angry. “Did Michael mention the name of his friend in Miami?”
    â€œJust a first name, Greg. He’s with Michael on the ship and I think they work for the same real estate organization.”
    Jack was about to ask a question when Mayor all but read his mind.
    â€œIf you wait a second, I’ll jot down Michael’s cell number. I don’t think he’ll mind one bit. Just keep the number to yourself.”
    â€œDid you give the police this number?”
    â€œThey already had it,” Mayor said as he walked into his carport and opened the door to his white Lexus. He pulled out a pen and pad and in seconds handed Jack his first real lead.
    â€œThank you, Mayor.”
    â€œYou’re very welcome. And watch yourself. It’s still a city.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œLook around,” Mayor said as he extended one arm expansively. “It only looks like suburbia. Don’t let it fool you.”

8
    Jack stepped under the yellow police tape that was stretched across the driveway entrance and retraced his steps to the rear of the house. He walked past the sliding glass door that led into the bedroom. The screen door the perpetrators had kicked in to gain entry was bent and leaning at a strange angle, propped up against the side of the house.
    Jack peered around the corner and saw that a narrow concrete path ran alongside the house and the detached garage, through to the street beyond. Spindly oleander bushes obscured the path from the road.
    The sliding door had been pulled shut but not latched. Mayor would be locking the house down later that evening when the police had finished their work.
    Jack knew he was flying blind, trying to clear his name and find the killers. This was the first time since he had retired that not being in uniform was a profound negative. His access to information would be limited, and working alone was not the most expedient way to cover a sprawling city like Los Angeles.
    Terry Molloy, the ME, walked into the bedroom and was startled when he saw Jack standing outside the door holding a brown paper bag. He blocked Jack’s entrance into the house, and the two men stepped out near the pool, where he thanked Jack for the quick turnaround on the sweats. He was tight-lipped about the case in general and whatever physical evidence he had turned up. Jack did get him to admit that Mia’s wallet, with her ID and cash, and her iPad, were found at the scene, but not her passport or cell phone. Molloy had no trouble sharing that the district attorney’s office was still weighing its options on filing charges against Jack.
    The uniformed LAPD officer came striding out of the rear of the house, interrupted their discussion, and told Jack that he was illegally trespassing on an active crime scene, and to beat it. Jack didn’t have to be told twice.
    He looped his car around the corner and up onto the ridge of Vista Haven and parked under an old-growth canyon oak with a narrow, protected view of the ME’s truck and the police car. He sat there for three and a half hours, until Molloy and the uniform ducked under the yellow tape, mounted up, and drove out. Jack knew he had to make short work of this expedition. It was too late to poison the crime scene. The technical work had been done, videos and digital pictures taken. Blood samples, hair and fiber samples. The bedroom and bathroom had been vacuumed for trace