One for My Baby (Phoenix Noir Book 4) Read Online Free

Not “positively identified him as looking nothing like the robber.” Fuck, fuck, fuck.
    He wondered if the piece was motivated by vindictiveness on the part of Rankin, or just laziness on the part of the reporter. For decades, New Times had been the best newspaper in Arizona, but in recent years the owners had gutted it, replacing professional journalists with low-paid amateurs and replacing costly investigative reporting with cheap innuendo. Had Rankin asked the paper to run the story, or had the reporter just heard about what happened from a cop and used it to fill space?
    As he waited for his food to arrive, Mark emailed a friend, an attorney in New York, who had been a public defender in Phoenix: “In Arizona, if you're wrongfully arrested, and released without charge the next day, how long does your mugshot and arrest information remain a public record?”
    He was halfway through his beer when the reply came. “For ever.”
    He wrote back, explaining what had happened, leaving out the fact that he was guilty, and asked, “What can I do about this? Surely it can’t be legal to do this to someone who wasn’t charged.”
    “Let me get this straight.  They put web cameras in the female inmates’ toilet and you're surprised about the popo releasing mug shots? There are some states, and I believe Arizona is one, where the law provides that someone can ask a court to seal their arrest records upon a showing of actual innocence.  It is at the complete discretion of the judge. But, unless you take the affirmative step to request this relief, the arrest record remains public forever, at least in Arizona.”
    His food arrived. He wanted to leave it, not eat it, leave the bar, but he forced himself to keep sitting there, and to eat. His lawyer friend had once remarked, in a late night bar-room conversation, “People don’t go to prison for breaking the law. They go to prison for being stupid. They don’t keep their mouths shut, or they get paranoid and fuck up. Innocent people go to prison because they talk to cops, but I know lifelong career criminals who’ve never done any time, because they stay calm and don’t talk.”
    So Mark decided to stay calm, eat his food, drink his beer, behave like a law-abiding citizen instead of following his impulse to rush back to his apartment and see what he needed to move in case the cops showed up with a search warrant. He chewed and swallowed and made a mental inventory of what he had at his place that he wouldn’t want anyone to know about. His Glock was in the canal along with the money, and the current would have carried it far by now. There was about a few thousand in cash in one of his drawers.  Could he explain that as money saved from tips at his gigs? He had used public computers, with no login required, to search for information about suitable targets, and everything on his own machine was encrypted.
    He finished his meal and paid his tab—enduring a couple more jokes from Tony—and left.
    ––––––––
    T he restaurant was busier than usual. Linda wondered if it was because some people wanted to see the scene of the robbery the night before. At one point, without warning, she began to shake, and, holding back tears, told Joel she needed a break for a few minutes. She went to the rest room, locked herself in a cubicle, expected to cry, but the tears didn’t come. The shakes continued. She waited for them to stop. They didn’t, but when they reduced to tremors, she went back to work. Joel asked her if she needed to go home, and she said she was all right and that she needed the paycheck and tips. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She could tell that he was enjoying playing protector, and she wondered if another poem was on the way.
    Casci was sitting at the bar. He had been there since she arrived, but, aside from a  smile and a hello, hadn’t spoken to her. Joel had tried to chat with him, but Casci didn’t seem to be feeling talkative. He