Read Online Naked Justice by William Bernhardt - Free Book Online Page A

man wearing shorts and a T-shirt. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
    The man seemed startled. “I just wanted to have a look-see. I live two streets down. Always wanted to see the inside of this place.”
    Mike grabbed the man by the shoulders and shoved him forcibly toward the door. “Get the hell—”
    He stopped when he noticed the man was hiding something cupped in his hands. “What is that?”
    The man reluctantly opened his hands. “Just a little souvenir.” It was a pair of cuff links bearing the insignia of the mayor’s office.
    Mike snatched the cuff links. “You’re taking evidence from a crime scene?”
    “No, no, I found this in the mayor’s bedroom.”
    “Get out of here!” Mike shoved him right through the door and down the front steps, then whirled around and stomped into the living room. He found another police officer talking on the phone.
    “Sure, honey, I should be home by eight—”
    Mike pushed down the interrupt button and canceled the call.
    “Hey, I was talking—” A flash of recognition lit in the man’s eyes. “Lieutenant Morelli!”
    “I assume you dusted that phone for prints before you rubbed your sweaty little paws all over it?”
    “Well—”
    “Goddamn it, why didn’t you use your car radio?”
    “Well, I—I mean, Lieutenant Prescott—”
    “Of course. Lieutenant Prescott. Do you think Lieutenant Prescott is going to be able to save your ass once I put you up for suspension?”
    “Well, sir—”
    “Goddamn it!” He grabbed the man by the lapels. “Why isn’t there any paper on the floor?”
    “I guess we didn’t see the point.”
    “The point?” He grabbed the officer’s head and pushed it down. “Look at that floor! There’s probably been about a thousand or so people stomping through here. Any blood or footprints or other trace evidence has been destroyed. This crime scene is contaminated.”
    A voice sounded behind him. “Look, Morelli, if you have to play the tough guy, why don’t you pick on someone your own rank?”
    Mike whirled around. “Prescott!”
    Prescott was a fair-haired, somewhat stocky man, almost a head shorter than Mike. What he had lost in height, Mike thought, he made up in swagger.
    “What the hell is going on here, Prescott? Why hasn’t this crime scene been secured?”
    Prescott smirked. “Relax, Supercop. This one’s in the bag.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “We know who did it. And we’ve got him in custody. Our esteemed mayor was seen fleeing the scene of the crime, blood all over him. And everybody saw him trying to escape last night. We’ve got him cold.”
    “You stupid little prick. That doesn’t matter.” He stepped forward till he was practically hovering over Prescott. “If you screw up the crime scene, we could lose everything. This whole case could be thrown out of court.”
    “That isn’t going to happen,” Prescott said calmly.
    “Says you.” Mike glared at him. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Last I heard, I was the head man in Homicide.”
    “As I understand it, you were busy interviewing vagrants under the West End Bridge. Obviously, someone needed to take charge of this case immediately.”
    “So Chief Blackwell sent you?”
    “Think higher.”
    Mike swore silently. “The council.”
    Prescott touched his nose. “Bingo.”
    Mike’s jaws clenched together so tightly he was afraid he might pop a filling. This went to the very heart of why he hated Prescott—besides his obvious incompetence. Prescott had never risen through the ranks like the other men in his department. He had been brought in from another county, not by anyone in the police department, but by special appointment of the city council. He was their man. Whenever they wanted something done, whenever they needed some information, they called Prescott.
    “And why is the council involved in this?”
    “That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out, even for you. And soon as word came down that the