Pretenses Read Online Free

6
    T HE BODIES were still being photographed when I entered the Taylor house. Flynn and Ford had already briefed me on the crime scene, so I knew that powerful hands had broken Judge Taylor’s neck, which meant the assailant was probably a man. What bothered me was that Webster Taylor was shot in the forehead. As I looked down at Webster, I wondered why the killer hadn’t shot them both.
    Was Webster’s murder personal? Was that why he was shot in the head? Or was Judge Taylor’s death personal? This is strange. Did the killer or killers take some pleasure in killing Judge Taylor? If so, maybe we should start by looking into some of her cases. Find out who might hold a grudge.
    I had spoken with the neighbor who had found them. According to her, she had seen Webster watching an NBA playoff game around 9:30 the previous evening through the Taylors’ large picture window. She went on to tell me that the Taylors were perfectly suited for each other, sharing a love of books, theater, art, romantic movies, the symphony, and the law. The couple had celebrated their silver anniversary recently, and they were still very much in love. Judge Taylor had told her that she and her husband had planned to make some popcorn and watch the basketball game that evening. Later, they planned to get into the Jacuzzi, which overlooked Dogue Creek, and watch the stars.
    They had so much to look forward to, I thought. In just four days, Jennifer Taylor’s confirmation hearing would have begun. If confirmed,she would have been only the third woman to sit on the Supreme Court. According to Michelson, retiring Justice Patterson had handpicked her as his replacement. President Harrison Palmer Davidson, Patterson’s college roommate and best friend, was a year-and-a-half shy of finishing his second term and wanted to appoint one more justice to the bench before he left office.
    A media firestorm ensued the day President Davidson made Patterson’s replacement known. Judge Taylor was a very vocal conservative who didn’t support abortion on demand. The court was currently split on the abortion issue, with Justice Street, a moderate who often voted conservatively, carrying the deciding vote. Women’s rights organizations were furious. Angry women picketed in front of the White House daily, carrying signs that read, “Abort Taylor!”
    The most demonstrative group was led by a militant feminist named Patricia English. Patricia had remained silent about Taylor’s stance on abortion, but when President Davidson nominated Taylor to replace Justice Patterson, Patricia organized an all-out attack on her qualifications.
    â€œAnyone ever tell you, you look just like Jada Pinkett?” a Secret Service agent asked me.
    â€œTell me, what do you think of all of this?” I asked him, avoiding the question I’d heard much too often. It really annoyed me to be asked that question constantly.
    â€œI think I’d like to ask you out on a date,” he replied, trying to charm me.
    I looked at him. He was a tall black man, with a thick, neatly trimmed mustache. He smiled. I could tell he was too impressed with himself and probably used his Secret Service credentials to get dates. “You ever work a murder scene before?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œThen what the hell are you doing here?” I snarled.
    â€œThe president wanted one of our guys here. I’m Agent Andrew Jordan. My friends call me A.J.”
    â€œAgent Jordan, if you don’t know what’s going on, get the hell outta the way. This is a crime scene, not a pickup bar.”
    He looked around to see who might have heard my rancorous comment, then rolled his eyes, said something into the microphone tucked into his right sleeve, and left the area.
    Kelly was examining Judge Taylor’s body. “You getting any vibes, Kelly?” I called out.
    â€œYeah, I’m thinking this is strange, Phoenix,” she called back.