Read Online Cruel Justice by William Bernhardt - Free Book Online Page B

accommodate Julia in the manner to which she had become accustomed. It didn’t work. The marriage disintegrated shortly after Mike graduated from the police academy. It all culminated in a nasty, protracted divorce—with Ben caught in the middle.
    “I’ve been asked to take over the Leeman Hayes case,” Ben explained.
    Mike winced. “Boy, you know how to pick ’em, don’t you? You must’ve been sitting around thinking: What could possibly be grimmer than representing a white supremacist? I know! The Leeman Hayes trial!”
    “So you remember the case?”
    Mike’s eyes became hooded. “That, my friend, is a killing I will never forget. Never. It happened one of my first nights on patrol. First murder victim I ever saw.”
    “Really? You were the investigating officer?”
    “No. I was the third man on the scene. Still—” His voice dropped. “If you had seen that victim, seen her blood-soaked body skewered up—” He looked away. “Well, it’s a sight you’d never forget, I can guarantee you that. God knows I never have.”
    “Sounds like this case really left its mark.”
    “Changed my life, if you want to know the truth. That was the night I decided I wanted to work homicides.”
    “So you could prevent more horrible murders like that?”
    “No. I knew murder would always be with us. I wanted to be in a position to guarantee the inhuman scum who did these hideous things didn’t go unpunished.” Mike gradually raised his head. “Lots of luck, pal. You’re looking at a case I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
    “Who’s handling it at the district attorney’s office?”
    “Last I heard Myrna Adams was prosecuting.”
    Ben heaved a sigh of relief. “I was afraid Bullock might get it.”
    Mike switched his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “I heard about your little run-in with him this morning.”
    “Already?”
    “Gossip travels fast. After all, Ben, we’re government employees. We don’t do any real work.”
    “Right. So what evidence does the state have?”
    “Don’t you think you should ask Myrna?”
    “I will. And I know what she’ll tell me, too. As little as possible.”
    Mike stood up and stretched. “Well, I suppose I could help a bit. After all, the state is duty bound to come forth with exculpatory evidence.”
    “That’s what the books say. But I usually have to file a ton of motions to get anything, and frankly, I don’t have time for that rigmarole.”
    Mike ran his finger through his curly black hair. “Fair enough. Do you know how this crime was committed?”
    “I know the victim was a woman. And—she was killed at a country club?”
    “Correct. Utica Greens. Near the golf course, in the caddyshack.”
    “And the victim was …?”
    “Maria Escondita Alvarez.”
    “Where was she from?”
    “Peru. About six months before she had applied for a visa to the United States. I guess red tape in Peru is even thicker than it is here. She didn’t get it until about a week before the murder. Then she flew to Tulsa.”
    “But why?”
    “We never found out. We investigated, both here and in Peru, but it all came a cropper. She had no family to speak of, and few friends. She spent almost every cent she had just to get here. And as soon as she did, she got axed.”
    “Speculation?”
    “You’re asking me to guess?”
    Ben nodded.
    “Well, a lot of illegal drugs come to the United States via the Peru connection. Especially cocaine. She might’ve been involved. They say the average life span of a drug trafficker after he—or she—starts running drugs is less than ten years. God knows those country-club types are probably the only ones who can afford to be addicted to cocaine anymore.”
    “How was she killed?”
    Mike stared at him. “You really don’t know anything about this case, do you? You haven’t heard?”
    “Not the details.”
    “I keep forgetting you’ve only lived in Tulsa a few years. Anyone who was around ten years ago would remember.