Wild Justice by Phillip Margolin Read Free Book Online Page B

small amount in the refrigerator. Scofield puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. We just met, Detective. The only thing I know about you is that you re a sworn officer of the law. But I do know a thing or two about Martin Breach and Art Prochaska. Frankly, I am having a hard time believing that Prochaska would give any police officer the time of day, much less discuss Martin Breach s business. That s what happened, Mr. Scofield. Prochaska is going to deny everything. Probably, but it will be my word against his. The word of an experienced police officer against that of a scumbag dope dealer, Scofield reflected, nodding thoughtfully. Exactly. Scofield did not look like he was buying anything Vasquez was selling. Why didn t you put all of this information in an affidavit and present it to a judge, who could give you a warrant to search Dr. Cardoni s home? There wasn t time. Besides, I didn t need a warrant. I had exigent circumstances here, Vasquez said, naming one of the exceptions to the rule that searches must be conducted with a warrant. Prochaska said that the sale was going down today, but he didn t know when it was going down. I figured that I might miss the sale if I took the time to get a warrant. As it turned out, I missed it anyway. Why didn t you bring backup or call ahead to Sheriff Mills or the state police? I should have done all those things, Vasquez said, looking properly chagrined. It was bad judgment on my part to handle this alone. Scofield looked off into the forest. The only sound was the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. He puffed on his cigar. Then he broke the silence. I guess you know that I ll be prosecuting this mess right here in Cedar City and you re gonna be my star witness. Vasquez nodded. Do you want to add to anything you ve told me or correct anything you ve said? No, sir. All right, then, that s it. And I hope it is what happened, because this whole case will go down the toilet if I can t convince Judge Brody that he can rely on your word.
    12 Sean McCarthy came to the crime scene because of an inquiry by Bobby Vasquez, who remembered that Cardoni had recently assaulted a nurse who had disappeared. McCarthy was forty-seven, meticulously dressed and as pale and cadaverous as the corpses that were the subject of his homicide investigations. The detective s red hair was spotted with gray, the freckles that dotted his alabaster skin were dull pink and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles. Detective McCarthy stood inches from the open refrigerator and gazed at the severed heads thoughtfully while Vasquez and Scofield looked on. Then he took out a stack of snapshots and raised a Polaroid to eye level. He studied it, then he studied the heads. McCarthy had shown none of the revulsion or shock expressed by the other officers who viewed the remains. Instead, his lips creased, forming a smile that was as enigmatic as it was out of place. When he was satisfied he closed the refrigerator door. Those fucking heads don t bother you? Vasquez asked. McCarthy did not answer the question. He glanced at the forensic experts who were photographing and measuring the basement room. Let s get out of here so these gentlemen can work undisturbed. McCarthy led Vasquez and Scofield upstairs and onto the deck. Vasquez was exhausted and wanted only to sleep. Scofield seemed edgy. McCarthy gazed at the morning sky for a moment, then held up one of the Polaroids so that Vasquez and Scofield could see it. One of the victims is Mary Sandowski. I don t know the identity of the other one. McCarthy was about to continue when a deputy emerged from one of the hiking trails that led into the forest. Sheriff, he called to Mills, who was conferring with two men at the side of the house. We found something. Ah, McCarthy said, I ve been expecting this. Expecting what? Vasquez asked, but the homicide detective set off after Mills and the deputies without answering. Vasquez looked at Scofield, who shrugged and followed the lanky