Read Online Without Due Process by J. A. Jance - Free Book Online Page B

for me. Why kill a dead man?”
    “Maybe they didn’t know he was already dead. Who all knew you were here tonight? Anyone at home?”
    “No, I have company from out of town, but at the time the call came in and I left the house, Big Al and I had no idea where we were going or when we’d be back.”
    “Anybody follow you?”
    “Are you kidding? Even if they were, who would notice? Do you watch the rearview mirror when you’re on your way to a crime scene?”
    “Hardly ever.”
    “I rest my case.”
    “Have you been in any kind of a beef with someone here at the department?”
    I hesitated for a fraction of a second before I answered, remembering Janice Morraine’s blurted theory that a fellow cop might have killed Ben Weston. But I couldn’t think of anyone at Seattle PD who would be that happy if J. P. Beaumont was no more.
    “You mean other than you?” I returned.
    Kramer glared at me. “Yeah. Who else other than me? I’d already gone home, remember?”
    “I don’t know of anyone.”
    “The place was crawling with reporters. I know you don’t like them. Is the feeling mutual?”
    “Most likely, but I can’t think of any of them who’d have balls enough to take a shot at someone they didn’t like. Besides, the ones I know are mostly opposed to guns as a matter of principle.”
    Kramer made another note. “Who all was still here when this happened?”
    “Janice Morraine and the rest of her crew from the Crime Lab. And there were two officers from Patrol who were left on duty guarding the front and back doors. They’re the ones who brought me back here, Officers Simmons and Deddens.”
    “And nobody got a good look at the car?”
    “No. It was dark—maroon or black maybe, but I can’t be sure. It was too far away to get even a glimpse of the license.”
    It was morning now. People leaving their houses on their way to school and work slowed and stared openly at the two men sitting on the steps of Ben Weston’s house—at the two men and also at the grim-looking yellow tape that had been wrapped around the outside of the yard.
    Kramer got up stiffly and stretched. “I’m going to go take a look at that hole in the wall. Is the slug still in it?”
    “No, Janice Morraine had one of her guys dig it out. They’re gone now, but they said they’d have it whenever anybody needed it.”
    I let Kramer go by himself to examine the bullet hole. He certainly didn’t need me holding his hand while he looked at the shattered mirror and the crater in the wallboard. I was waiting for him to come back out on the porch when a beater of a BMW stopped in the street, and a tall black man got out. He started toward the gate. He stopped at the barrier created by a strand of yellow crime scene tape.
    “You can’t come in here,” I called. “It’s off limits.”
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    “I’m a police officer.”
    “Oh,” he said. “Good. You’re just who I’m looking for.” With that he ignored what I had said, stepped easily over the tape, and came on into the yard anyway.
    Knees creaking, heels yelping in pain, I got up and limped forward to head him off. “I tell you, you can’t come in here. Who are you?”
    When he stopped next to me, I realized he dwarfed me. He held out his hand. “Johnson,” he said. “Carl Johnson. I’m the principal of McClure Middle School.”
    If I hadn’t been two thirds brain-dead, I would have made the connection without him having to draw me a picture, but I was too slow on the uptake.
    “Douglas Weston attends my school,” he explained. “One of my parents called me at home and told me something had happened, that police cars had been here during the night. I’m always concerned about anything that affects one of my children, so I came by to see if I could be of any help. What’s going on?”
    For a moment, I didn’t know whether to hug the man or what. His appearance was an answer to a prayer. “Do you happen to know how to get hold of Adam