Read Online The Judge by Steve Martini - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve Martini
Tags: Fiction
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with me," she says, and grabs me by the coat sleeve.
A second later I find myself tripping toward the crime scene, following a woman who, if not legally drunk, is at least staggering under false colors.
Thirty feet down the alley Tony is chewing the fat with another cop. Seeing us, he stops talking and separates himself from his buddy. He seems a bundle of nervous gestures tonight, over-the-shoulder glances, anxious looks at the other cops down the alley closer to the garbage bin, as if he knows that if he is caught here talking to us his ass is grass. Though he shakes my hand and says hello, Arguillo seems put off seeing me here, his own lawyer.
"I thought you were coming alone." He says this to Lenore, up close, but I can hear it.
"Paul wanted to drive," she says. She asks him who's heading up the investigation. He gives her a name I do not recognize, and motions down the alley to where some guys dressed in overalls are pawing through mounds of garbage by the handful.
"Has Kline been around?" says Lenore. Self-preservation. First things first.
"They have a call out. Ordinarily they wouldn't bother," says Tony. But seeing as she was a witness in a case. They caught him somewhere on the road to San Francisco for a meeting tomorrow morning. Word is, he's on his way back."
"Then we don't have much time," says Lenore. "What happened?" she presses.
"Maybe we should talk over there." He points to the other side of the tape.
"We're not going to ogle the body," says Lenore. "Just tell us what happened and we'll get out of here. Who found the body?"
"Some vagrant, less than an hour ago. He flagged down a squad car driving by." Tony tells us that he wasted no time in calling Lenore, the first call he placed from his own squad car after picking up the computer signal that the body had been found. Squad cars now use computer transmissions to cut down on the number of eavesdroppers in delicate calls.
Two cops in overalls have drawn the less desirable duty. They are inside the Dumpster, passing items out as others sort through piles of trash they have assembled in the alley. Every few seconds I can see a flash of light from a strobe inside the bin, pictures being taken to preserve what might be evidence. There are two detectives huddled over a mass of bumps covered by a white sheet. There are no obvious signs of blood.
"Did he see anything? This vagrant?" Lenore asks.
"Like who dumped the body?" says Tony. He shakes his head. "Our man was too far into a paper bag and the bottle inside of it to notice.
Cars come and go in the alley. He says he doesn't pay any attention." "Maybe he's afraid," says Lenore.
"This guy's too far gone for fear." "How did he find her?" says Lenore.
"You kiddin'?" Tony gives her a sideways glance. "A metal Dumpster, roof over your head, and four walls. Street of dreams. Haifa dozen burns sleep in there on any given night. If a truck picks it up and dumps it that day, the place is Triple A approved."
"Only today it wasn't empty?" I say.
"No." Tony eyes me warily. I think perhaps he has been counseled by Phil Mendel so that I am now persona non grata, no longer to be trusted.
"He found the body just dumped in there? Must have been quite a shock," I say.
"It was wrapped." Tony says this as one would describe a tuna sandwich in a lunch box. "Rolled up in a blanket. They pore through the shit like rodents." He's talking about the homeless men who make this particular metal box home.
"He thought maybe he found some treasure when he saw the blanket," says Tony. "We're lucky he didn't sleep with her for a couple of nights before he called us." Tony does not think much of the under class.
"How did she die?" asks Lenore.
"Could be strangulation. Some marks on the throat. The M.E. hasn't made a call yet. She wasn't exactly overdressed," he says.
"What do you mean?"
"She was wearing a pair of panties and a cotton top. Had a small towel wrapped around her head like a
A second later I find myself tripping toward the crime scene, following a woman who, if not legally drunk, is at least staggering under false colors.
Thirty feet down the alley Tony is chewing the fat with another cop. Seeing us, he stops talking and separates himself from his buddy. He seems a bundle of nervous gestures tonight, over-the-shoulder glances, anxious looks at the other cops down the alley closer to the garbage bin, as if he knows that if he is caught here talking to us his ass is grass. Though he shakes my hand and says hello, Arguillo seems put off seeing me here, his own lawyer.
"I thought you were coming alone." He says this to Lenore, up close, but I can hear it.
"Paul wanted to drive," she says. She asks him who's heading up the investigation. He gives her a name I do not recognize, and motions down the alley to where some guys dressed in overalls are pawing through mounds of garbage by the handful.
"Has Kline been around?" says Lenore. Self-preservation. First things first.
"They have a call out. Ordinarily they wouldn't bother," says Tony. But seeing as she was a witness in a case. They caught him somewhere on the road to San Francisco for a meeting tomorrow morning. Word is, he's on his way back."
"Then we don't have much time," says Lenore. "What happened?" she presses.
"Maybe we should talk over there." He points to the other side of the tape.
"We're not going to ogle the body," says Lenore. "Just tell us what happened and we'll get out of here. Who found the body?"
"Some vagrant, less than an hour ago. He flagged down a squad car driving by." Tony tells us that he wasted no time in calling Lenore, the first call he placed from his own squad car after picking up the computer signal that the body had been found. Squad cars now use computer transmissions to cut down on the number of eavesdroppers in delicate calls.
Two cops in overalls have drawn the less desirable duty. They are inside the Dumpster, passing items out as others sort through piles of trash they have assembled in the alley. Every few seconds I can see a flash of light from a strobe inside the bin, pictures being taken to preserve what might be evidence. There are two detectives huddled over a mass of bumps covered by a white sheet. There are no obvious signs of blood.
"Did he see anything? This vagrant?" Lenore asks.
"Like who dumped the body?" says Tony. He shakes his head. "Our man was too far into a paper bag and the bottle inside of it to notice.
Cars come and go in the alley. He says he doesn't pay any attention." "Maybe he's afraid," says Lenore.
"This guy's too far gone for fear." "How did he find her?" says Lenore.
"You kiddin'?" Tony gives her a sideways glance. "A metal Dumpster, roof over your head, and four walls. Street of dreams. Haifa dozen burns sleep in there on any given night. If a truck picks it up and dumps it that day, the place is Triple A approved."
"Only today it wasn't empty?" I say.
"No." Tony eyes me warily. I think perhaps he has been counseled by Phil Mendel so that I am now persona non grata, no longer to be trusted.
"He found the body just dumped in there? Must have been quite a shock," I say.
"It was wrapped." Tony says this as one would describe a tuna sandwich in a lunch box. "Rolled up in a blanket. They pore through the shit like rodents." He's talking about the homeless men who make this particular metal box home.
"He thought maybe he found some treasure when he saw the blanket," says Tony. "We're lucky he didn't sleep with her for a couple of nights before he called us." Tony does not think much of the under class.
"How did she die?" asks Lenore.
"Could be strangulation. Some marks on the throat. The M.E. hasn't made a call yet. She wasn't exactly overdressed," he says.
"What do you mean?"
"She was wearing a pair of panties and a cotton top. Had a small towel wrapped around her head like a
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