The Mayor of Lexington Avenue Read Online Free Page B

the Third.
    The Fourth was stuck and he’d been stuck for almost ten years when Wesley Brume walked into his office to discuss the investigation of Lucy Ochoa’s murder. This case might be the opportunity he’d been looking for to jettison himself out of Cobb County once and for all. He had to control it, publicize it, and most important, make sure he won it.
    Neither man liked the other. Wes saw Clay as a pompous ass and Clay saw Wes as a dumb cop, but a dumb cop who could be manipulated under the right circumstances.
    “What have you got so far?” Clay asked after the formalities of shaking hands and making very small talk were over. He’d already read the investigative file but he wanted the latest and he wanted it firsthand.
    “Well, we’ve had the blood analyzed and we’ve canvassed the neighborhood. We’ve got a suspect, a kid who works at the convenience store around the block from the murder. One of the neighbors identified him and two others described him pretty close.”
    It was an overly optimistic description of the evidence, but Wes could always be overly optimistic if the circumstances called for it.
    “We’ve done a profile on him—no priors. Everybody we talked to seems to like him. He lives with his mother. He’s a little slow. I went over and talked to his high school principal and looked at his school records. The principal confirmed the kid had a low IQ but he worked hard and his mother was very involved both in his education and with the school. The last two years he couldn’t do the work so they put him on a vocational track and gave him an attendance certificate after four years.”
    The Fourth was anxious for the bottom line. He didn’t want a biography.
    “Did you pick him up?”
    “No. I was waiting to talk to you. We don’t want any screwups.”
    “You’ve certainly got grounds to pick him up for questioning. Take his blood, see if it matches. Put him in a lineup and let the neighbors pick him out.”
    Clay started to walk out of his office. It was his signal to Wes that the meeting was over, but the portly detective didn’t move.
    “There is one problem,” he added before the Fourth could sweep out of the room to go God knew where. Clay stopped in his tracks and wheeled around.
    “A problem? What problem?” He was in his superior role now, glaring down at the pudgy little detective. Wes wanted to drop the bastard right there but this was important business.
    “You know about the semen?” Wes asked.
    “Of course.” Harry Tuthill had filled him in that very morning.
    “We were able to get a blood type from it. The blood type in the living room and on the glass is O positive but the blood type in the semen is AB.”
    Clay turned this new information around in his brain. Two people did this murder? Not likely. A robbery or a burglary maybe, but not this. This could be a problem. A thought rolled around in the Fourth’s devious skull but he needed more information to pursue it.
    “Bring the kid in right away for questioning. If he’s as dumb as you say he is, maybe he’ll confess. Do your first interview without a video or a tape recorder. If he gives you something, you can always redo it on tape. If he’s wishy-washy, it’s your word against his.”
    Wes knew exactly what Clay was talking about. He’d used the same tactic many times in the past. It was strange, he had never seen this side of Clay before. Usually Clay didn’t give a shit one way or the other. He headed for the door but the Fourth called him back.
    “Who else knows about the blood samples?” he asked.
    “Just me and Harry.”
    “Don’t tell a soul about it. I’ll talk to Harry.”
    “Will do,” Wes replied. He knew the Fourth was up to something, but he couldn’t tell what.

Five
    Rudy had a morning ritual before going to work. After breakfast he would take his boat and go fishing down the Okalatchee. “Boat” was stretching it—it was actuary an old dinghy he’d bought from one of the