Treachery in the Yard Read Online Free Page B

mistress, and she was obviously the victim of a homicide. But no murder weapon had ever been found, and Osamu had experts testify that the mistress had tripped on a settee while trying to strike Duncan, hitting her head on the hard floor. Of course, a fall like that would not cause massive skull damage, but that was where a good lawyer, in those heady heights, gets brainy. Or was it because the autopsy was conducted by someone who needed some extra cash? The autopsy did not support a murder charge, thus the opportunity to nail Duncan went down the toilet. The jury ruled it an accidental death, and Duncan walked out a free man. Osamu had won his first (but not last) truly sensational case. Suddenly, he was transported into the league of attorneys with millionaire clients. There were plenty of crooks who needed his services. It took no time at all for him to start buying very expensive new cars.
    I was not surprised to see Osamu at the headquarters. He was a frequent visitor, as his clients were of the criminal persuasion. I noticed a young man with him, wearing an odd-looking trench coat and a knit cap—odd because why would he wear such heavy clothes in the heat? He looked young enough to be a college student, not more than twenty-two. His lanky frame was delicate, his clothesa bit more expensive than usual. There was a nasty scar on his right cheek. He appeared nervous, shifting from one foot to the next, avoiding eye contact with me as I looked over at him.
    I wondered what the lawyer Osamu and his friend were doing here. Whom had he sprung this time?
    Since I was not on greeting terms with him, I ignored him and his young friend. But I figured I would see Osamu again, sooner rather than later.

CHAPTER FIVE
    I walked up the steps and into the building. Some of the officers saluted when they saw me, some waved, few stopped. I chatted with a few friends as I walked through the lobby, then took the stairs up to the second floor, preparing myself to meet Chief. By the time I stopped at the steel-framed door, I was ready. The smile on my lips was quite suitable for a mid-ranked officer, I thought. I opened the door to Chief’s office and entered without knocking.
    Stella, Chief’s secretary, looked up from her Imperial manual typewriter as I stepped into the carpeted office. Stella was a small, neat woman. She wore no makeup, combed her hair straight—nothing fancy. My guess was she had no boyfriend—her whole life seemed to be working for Chief. She kept her distance from the men in the block.
    The air conditioners kept everything cool. The more importantthe official, the better his air conditioners, the cooler his office. Chief of Police Isaac Olatunji was
very
important.
    Stella excelled at pretending to welcome anyone who came through the door. “Good morning, Tammy.”
    â€œYou look exceptionally happy to see me this morning,” I said.
    â€œWith you, I pretend extra hard.”
    â€œThanks. Is Chief in?”
    â€œYes, but he’s with someone. You have to wait, and don’t bother with your usual attempts at being friendly.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked, looking into her dark eyes. “When have I ever tried to be friendly?”
    â€œHa ha. Sit down and be quiet. I have work to do.”
    â€œYes, Stella. Say, how did you get that name, anyway?”
    â€œMy mother was once married to Marlon Brando. Now, sit and be quiet.”
    I barely had time to sit in one of the comfortable chairs before Chief emerged from his office, escorting a well-dressed young man. Chief was in uniform, tall and imposing. The man wore an expensive suit and was new to me. He looked like a high-profile business executive. He was well fed, his nails manicured, his expensive shoes polished. Calluses covered his fingers but they were old ones—he had probably been a manual laborer, but at least ten years ago. Mr. Young-and-Well-Dressed seemed happy enough—he appeared to have