Read Online Proof Positive (2006) by Phillip - Jaffe 3 Margolin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Phillip - Jaffe 3 Margolin
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happy woman. Now all she had to do was persuade a judge to issue a search warrant for Prochaska's home and hope that she could find more evidence connecting the evil son of a bitch to Vincent Ballard's murder.
Art Prochaska and Martin Breach had been violent offenders since they extorted lunch money from the weaker kids in elementary school, but breaking legs for loan sharks had provided their entry into organized crime. The combination of a genius IQ and no conscience had catapulted Breach to the top of his chosen profession, and he had brought Art with him every step of the way. Prochaska was the only person in the world Breach trusted.
Art was now worth several million dollars, most of which was stashed in a Swiss bank account that Martin Breach had set up for him. But, following Martin's example, Prochaska lived modestly in a ranch house in a middle-class Portland suburb. He paid taxes on the reported profits of the bars he managed, and his only ostentatious possession was a cherry-red Cadillac that he parked in his garage so as not to attract the attention of his neighbors. At eight o' clock at night, those neighbors were drawn to their front windows by the flashing bubble lights on the police cars that were parked in Prochaska's driveway and in front of his house.
Billie Brewster led a contingent of uniformed police officers up a slate path to the front door. Zeke Forbus, her heavyset partner, rang the doorbell and slammed a lion' s-head knocker against the door while shouting, Open up, police. When an anxious face peered through a break in the living room curtains, Brewster flashed her badge. Moments later, the door was opened by Prochaska's current girlfriend, Maxine Hinkle, a performer at the Jungle Club, a strip joint that Martin Breach owned.
Billie identified herself and showed Maxine the search warrant.
I don't know if I can let you in without asking Artie, Maxine said.
Miss Hinkle, this warrant gives us the right to enter Mr. Prochaska's house with or without his permission, Billie said politely. You don't want to get in trouble, do you?
No, Maxine answered quickly, alarmed by the possibility.
And we don't want you to get in trouble for resisting a lawful court order, Brewster continued in a reasonable tone. So I'll tell you what. Why don't you call Mr. Prochaska and tell him we' re here and what we' re doing. I'll even speak to him if that will make you feel better. But I'm going to do that from inside this house, because the judge says I can. So, please step aside.
Maxine did as she was told, and Billie assigned an officer to watch her. Then she gave the other officers their assignments while Forbus looked around. The house was neat and decorated in good taste, like something out of House & Garden.
Not the kind of place I expected a goon like Prochaska would be living in, he told Billie.
Maybe he's trying to get in touch with his feminine side, she cracked.
Forbus snorted. Let's see if we can find anything that'll tie this scumbag to the Ballard murder. I'll take the ground floor.
Billie suspected that Forbus had volunteered to search the ground floor so he wouldn't have to climb the stairs. With the weight he already carried, and his atrocious eating habits, Billie figured her partner had less than a fifty-fifty chance of making it to retirement without having a major coronary.
The bedroom was messier than the rest of the house, but the furniture, the rug, and the drapes looked as if they had been selected by an interior decorator. Billie went through Prochaska's dresser and nightstands without finding anything unusual, but she hit pay dirt when she pulled over a chair and searched the top shelf in the bedroom's walk-in closet. At first, all she could see were an extra blanket and pillow. When she moved them aside, she saw something else: a shiny 9-mm Glock and a box of 9-mm Remington ammunition. As they came into view, Billie's lips curled into a triumphant smile.
Chapter 9.
FRANK JAFFE WAS A
Art Prochaska and Martin Breach had been violent offenders since they extorted lunch money from the weaker kids in elementary school, but breaking legs for loan sharks had provided their entry into organized crime. The combination of a genius IQ and no conscience had catapulted Breach to the top of his chosen profession, and he had brought Art with him every step of the way. Prochaska was the only person in the world Breach trusted.
Art was now worth several million dollars, most of which was stashed in a Swiss bank account that Martin Breach had set up for him. But, following Martin's example, Prochaska lived modestly in a ranch house in a middle-class Portland suburb. He paid taxes on the reported profits of the bars he managed, and his only ostentatious possession was a cherry-red Cadillac that he parked in his garage so as not to attract the attention of his neighbors. At eight o' clock at night, those neighbors were drawn to their front windows by the flashing bubble lights on the police cars that were parked in Prochaska's driveway and in front of his house.
Billie Brewster led a contingent of uniformed police officers up a slate path to the front door. Zeke Forbus, her heavyset partner, rang the doorbell and slammed a lion' s-head knocker against the door while shouting, Open up, police. When an anxious face peered through a break in the living room curtains, Brewster flashed her badge. Moments later, the door was opened by Prochaska's current girlfriend, Maxine Hinkle, a performer at the Jungle Club, a strip joint that Martin Breach owned.
Billie identified herself and showed Maxine the search warrant.
I don't know if I can let you in without asking Artie, Maxine said.
Miss Hinkle, this warrant gives us the right to enter Mr. Prochaska's house with or without his permission, Billie said politely. You don't want to get in trouble, do you?
No, Maxine answered quickly, alarmed by the possibility.
And we don't want you to get in trouble for resisting a lawful court order, Brewster continued in a reasonable tone. So I'll tell you what. Why don't you call Mr. Prochaska and tell him we' re here and what we' re doing. I'll even speak to him if that will make you feel better. But I'm going to do that from inside this house, because the judge says I can. So, please step aside.
Maxine did as she was told, and Billie assigned an officer to watch her. Then she gave the other officers their assignments while Forbus looked around. The house was neat and decorated in good taste, like something out of House & Garden.
Not the kind of place I expected a goon like Prochaska would be living in, he told Billie.
Maybe he's trying to get in touch with his feminine side, she cracked.
Forbus snorted. Let's see if we can find anything that'll tie this scumbag to the Ballard murder. I'll take the ground floor.
Billie suspected that Forbus had volunteered to search the ground floor so he wouldn't have to climb the stairs. With the weight he already carried, and his atrocious eating habits, Billie figured her partner had less than a fifty-fifty chance of making it to retirement without having a major coronary.
The bedroom was messier than the rest of the house, but the furniture, the rug, and the drapes looked as if they had been selected by an interior decorator. Billie went through Prochaska's dresser and nightstands without finding anything unusual, but she hit pay dirt when she pulled over a chair and searched the top shelf in the bedroom's walk-in closet. At first, all she could see were an extra blanket and pillow. When she moved them aside, she saw something else: a shiny 9-mm Glock and a box of 9-mm Remington ammunition. As they came into view, Billie's lips curled into a triumphant smile.
Chapter 9.
FRANK JAFFE WAS A
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