Ride the Lightning Read Online Free PDF Page A

to burn down to butt size so they mercifully could be extinguished.
    Nudger made his tone more amicable. “Mind if I look at the file on the Colt case?”
    Hammersmith gazed thoughtfully at Nudger through a dense greenish haze. He inhaled, exhaled; the haze became a cloud. “How come this fiancée didn’t turn up at the trial to testify for Colt? She could have at least lied and said he was with her locked in steamy sex that night. Hell, that’s traditional.”
    The smoke was beginning to affect Nudger’s stomach violently; he felt as if he ought to swallow, but he didn’t allow it to happen. It made talking difficult. “Colt apparently didn’t want her subjected to taking the stand,” he said in an odd, phlegmy voice.
    “How noble,” Hammersmith said. “What makes this fiancée think her Prince Charming is innocent?”
    “She knows he was somewhere else when the shopkeepers were shot.”
    “But not with her?”
    “Nope.”
    “Well, that’s refreshing.”
    Maybe it was refreshing enough to make up Hammersmith’s mind. He picked up the phone and asked for the Colt file. Nudger could barely make out what he was saying around the fat cigar, but apparently everyone at the Third was used to Hammersmith and could interpret cigarese.
    Nudger finally allowed himself to swallow. Yuk. Beyond the hazy office window, the summer air looked clear and sweet and shimmering, beckoning in bright sunlight. St. Louis, the Sultry City, had its alluring moments.
    The file, which was mostly a mishmash of fan-fold computer paper, didn’t reveal much that Nudger didn’t know. Same account of the crime as was in the newspapers. Same eyewitness testimony, almost word for word. Twenty minutes after the liquorstore shooting, Colt was interrupted by officers Wayne Callister and Elvis Jefferson while buying cigarettes from a vending machine at a service station on Hanley Road. A car that had been parked near the end of the dimly lighted lot had sped away before they’d entered the station’s office. Both Callister and Jefferson had gotten only a glimpse of a black or dark green old Ford; they hadn’t made out the license-plate number, but Callister thought it started with the letter L .
    Colt had surrendered without a struggle, and that night at the Third District station the four eyeball witnesses had picked him out of a lineup. Their description of the getaway car matched that of the car the police had seen speeding from the service station. The loot from the holdup, and several gas-station holdups committed earlier that night, wasn’t on Colt, but it was probably in the car. A paraffin test on Colt’s hands turned up nitrate traces, indicating that he’d recently fired a weapon.
    “Colt’s innocence just jumps out of the file at you, doesn’t it, Nudge?” Hammersmith said. He was grinning a fat grin around the fat cigar.
    “Paraffin tests aren’t foolproof,” Nudger said. But he knew they were virtually always right; Colt had fired a gun.
    “They aren’t even admissible in court,” Hammersmith said. “The evidence against Colt was so strong, that didn’t make any difference.”
    “What about the murder weapon?”
    “Colt was unarmed when we picked him up.”
    “Seems odd.”
    “Not really,” Hammersmith said. “He was planning to pay for the cigarettes. And maybe the gun was still too hot to touch, so he left it in the car. Maybe it’s still hot; it got a lot of use for one night.”
    Closing the file folder and laying it on a corner of Hammersmith’s desk, Nudger stood up. He was relieved to find that the air was more breathable in the upper half of the room. “Thanks, Jack. I’ll keep you tapped in if I learn anything interesting.”
    Hammersmith waved the cigar gracefully, almost as if conducting a silent orchestra. “Don’t bother keeping me informed on this one, Nudge. It’s over. I don’t see how even a fiancée can doubt Colt’s guilt.”
    Nudger shrugged, trying not to breathe too deeply in the