Read Online The Case of the Murdered MacKenzie: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Seven) by Howard Fast - Free Book Online Page B

of about sixty years, with white hair and cold blue eyes, said quickly and firmly, “Of course we have no objection. On the contrary, I’m certain Lieutenant Delt is as delighted as we are. If there have been any dirty tricks around this awful accident, we are more eager than anyone to clear them up.”
    Delt was silent, and Geffner asked, “Who are you, sir, and who are the we?”
    â€œI’m Alan Soames. I’m general manager at the Fenwick Works.” And nodding to his companion, “This is Mr. Slocum. And if you’re curious about why we’re here, well, the highway patrol informed us immediately.”
    â€œWas Mrs. Mackenzie with you this evening?”
    â€œI’m afraid so. Tragically. Otherwise she might not have been driving through the canyon and this awful thing might never have happened.”
    â€œCould I ask what she was doing at the Fenwick Works?” Masuto said.
    â€œNo, I don’t think so, Sergeant—what did you say your name was?”
    â€œMasuto.”
    â€œMasuto? Japanese—or as you say, Nisei. You’re a policeman?”
    â€œI’m afraid so. My name is Masao Masuto, Beverly Hills police force. And just for the record, Mr. Soames, may I have it that you refuse to answer any questions regarding Eve Mackenzie’s reasons for being at your plant and driving home through the canyon?”
    â€œNo, you may not. You’ve twisted my words out of shape, and I don’t like that, Masuto, not one bit. I did not say I refuse to answer questions. No, sir! I simply said that I deny your right to ask them.”
    â€œAh, so. Very plain.”
    With that Soames turned on his heel and walked off, followed by Slocum, who remained unidentified. Delt stared at Geffner and Masuto, his hands on his hips. “What is it you want?” he asked them. “Another murder? Someone tampered with her car and dumped her over the cliff? Or is it just that the California Highway Patrol is too damn stupid to know which side is up—until a Beverly Hills cop decides to tell us?”
    â€œCome on, Lieutenant,” Masuto said softly. “We have no vendetta going, so let’s not start one. Soames will get into his big limo back there and go off to wherever such people go. You and I, we remain cops. I need a favor, you need a favor.”
    â€œOkay, we’ll cool it. But how the hell would you feel if we walked into Beverly Hills and told you that you didn’t know what the hell you were doing.”
    â€œMostly we don’t.” Masuto grinned. “So any time you feel like, come by. I’ll welcome you with open arms.”
    â€œBullshit.”
    â€œSo what do you think?” Masuto asked him. “That little Mercedes down there is one of the best cars in the world. Why did she go through the guardrail?”
    â€œBecause the best cars in the world are no better than who drives them. Maybe she was loaded.”
    â€œWill there be an autopsy?”
    â€œMasuto, I can’t ask for an autopsy until I have some indication that a crime was committed. You know that.”
    â€œBut her family can,” Geffner said. “She has a sister in Santa Barbara.”
    â€œThat’s up to them.” Delt turned to Hendricks. “Are you really good with car accidents?”
    â€œSo they say.”
    â€œAll right.” And to Masuto, softly, “I don’t like being pushed around any more than you do, and I don’t work for Soames or Fenwick and I don’t like being told what to do and what not to do. I wasn’t going to stand between you and that car wreck. Hendricks can go over it with a fine-tooth comb, and if he finds something, then sure as hell it was done between here and the Fenwick Works.”
    But Hendricks found nothing—at least nothing in the way of mechanical manipulation of the car. He spent almost an hour going over every inch of it, and he found no severed brake lines,