The Glitter Dome by Joseph Wambaugh Read Free Book Online Page A

ordered to retrace the steps of the crestfallen failures Detectives Schultz and Simon, who couldn’t solve it.
    It took Al Mackey and Martin Welborn exactly three days. First, the half-drunk glass of wine was a cinch. Three of Plato’s whores were located through a snitch and freely admitted to being in and out of the trick-pad on the night in question. Two of them couldn’t remember, but “might” have had a glass of white wine. And, Lord be praised, Plato thought that black velvet gloves were a super turn-on. Ergo, no fingerprints! No lipstick on the glass? Baby, do you think you have any lipstick left on your mouth after three or four of those flossy fatcats from Brentwood with those limp little peters make you suck your eyes crossed? (The memory of that remark struck Al Mackey where he lived.)
    The problem was, of course, the expended .32 cartridge shell resting in an upright position on top of the armoire. The solution came in a flash to Al Mackey. The proof of the solution came after three sweaty hours with Al Mackey standing where Plato Jones received one shot through his right temple. Martin Welborn videotaped Al Mackey, the death weapon at temple height, ejecting an empty cartridge, which due to the angle of the chamber was kicked high in the air and, voila! came down on the top of the armoire in an upright position, just as if someone had placed it there.
    What the tape didn’t show was the 231 times the shell was ejected and didn’t land in an upright position. Had anyone checked closely they would have found gaps in those videotapes ten times bigger than any attributed to former President Nixon. Al Mackey and Martin Welborn decided privately that the odds, therefore, were 232 to 1 that the pimp blew his own brains out. That was close enough. Certainly better odds than Plato Jones ever gave. The deputy chief was happy. Captain Woofer was thrilled. The city councilman was ecstatic. The case was cleared.
    â€œI’d like you to take over the Nigel St. Claire case. I already advised Schultz and Simon this morning before you two arrived. Ten minutes late .”
    â€œCar trouble, Cap,” Al Mackey said.
    â€œWhy should you have car trouble? The Department has mechanics, you know. Why do you think I let you take a city car home? Do you realize how much personal gasoline money you save by taking a Department car home?” Captain Woofer was extra whiny today.
    â€œWell, we are on call twenty-four hours, Skipper,” Al Mackey offered.
    â€œHomicide investigators are supposed to be on call, Mackey.” Captain Woofer shifted painfully on his rubber gasket.
    Martin Welborn said nothing. He just sat and smiled serenely, his eyes a bit vacant, going in and out of focus. Al Mackey watched Marty’s long brown eyes more than he watched Captain Woofer, who bore watching at all times. Captain Woofer had sabotaged two promotions so far this year and transferred one detective, because of sticky investigations that went on too long and caused the captain discomfiture. Whipdick Woofer could be a real sneaky ball whacker, they said. Martin Welborn didn’t seem to mind any of this, which caused Al Mackey to worry all the more.
    â€œWe do have some other cases we’re working on, Captain.” It was Al Mackey’s last shot.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œWell, there’s that Cuban woman whose husband blew her eight feet out of her wig with that old .45 British Army revolver. We’re still tying up that one,” Al Mackey said.
    â€œA Cuban woman,” Captain Woofer sighed.
    â€œThen there’s that Korean girl who got shot on the drive-by homicide. The one where the car full of lowrider gang members were getting even with another gang by shooting anyone on the street. And she happened to get off a bus at the wrong stop.”
    â€œA Korean girl,” Captain Woofer sighed.
    â€œIt was a double,” Al Mackey reminded him. “The bullet passed