The Headsman Read Online Free PDF Page B

a few of the other cops, some of whom were senior to him by many years.
    But what the hell, that was human nature, wasn’t it? So he could live with it, and in the meantime he’d try to justify the town fathers’ faith in him by doing as good a job as possible, and by making improvements in the operation without alienating anybody in the BPD.
    From Water Street he turned into Maple Avenue, and as he tooled along in the blue-and-white he noted the traffic seemed a touch heavier than usual. But that was typical of a Saturday, he reminded himself, with people shopping and running errands.
    As he approached a corner he saw two black guys moving around a car parked on the opposite side of the street. He eased over to the curb and sat watching them, sipping his coffee. There weren’t many blacks in Braddock, and those who did live there were mostly hardworking citizens who kept their noses clean. There was a fair amount of grass trade among them, but probably no more than what went on with the whites, especially the high school kids. At least there was no crack problem. Not yet, anyway.
    The black men seemed young, in their early twenties, he would guess. Both wore windbreakers, and one of them had a flattop haircut. The other guy had on a baseball cap. Neither of them paid any attention to him, and he couldn’t tell whether they knew he was there or not. The car was an older sedan, a grayish Pontiac. As he watched, the one wearing the cap walked around to the rear of the car, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a set of keys. Then he bent over and opened the trunk.
    So it was nothing, Jud thought. Car thieves do not use keys, nor do they mess with aging clunkers. He continued to sit there with his engine running, however, as the two guys went about getting a jack and a spare out of the trunk.
    And now what? Watch people change a tire? He knew the truth was that he was just dragging his feet, delaying going on in to his desk at the stationhouse and facing the stack of paperwork that inevitably waited there to greet him. Maybe it was just habit ingrained by years of patrolling the streets and roads that ran through and around Braddock, maybe not. But he had to admit he missed this part of the job. Reluctantly he swallowed the last of his coffee and stuffed the cup into the small plastic garbage bag on the floor. Then he dropped the Plymouth into gear and slipped out into the stream of traffic.
    He’d gone about a block when the radio came to life. The dispatcher was Tony Stanis, whose style was usually a bored monotone. This morning, however, Stanis sounded so excited he could hardly get the words out. “Car Five, Car Five, go to Three-twenty Ridgeview Drive on a Code One. Repeat, Three-twenty Ridgeview Drive on a Code One.”
    MacElroy snapped to full alert. Code One? That was a homicide. He snatched up the mike and waited as Five—driven by Bob Kramer—acknowledged. Then he hit the key. “Tony, Chief MacElroy. Code One?”
    “Affirmative, Chief. Just came in.”
    “Who is it?”
    “It’s a kid—uh, seventeen-year-old female. Name, Marcy Dickens.”
    “That Ed Dickens’ daughter?”
    “Right.”
    “Perpetrator?”
    “Unknown. Not at the scene.”
    Jud switched on the cruiser’s flasher and siren and skidded the car into a U-turn, scaring the shit out of the driver of a van in the oncoming lane. Jud could see the guy’s eyes popping as he jammed on the van’s brakes.
    Jesus Christ . Dickens was president of the Braddock National Bank. His daughter was an only child. Jud felt heat course through his neck and shoulders as his body pumped adrenalin. He whipped the car in and out of the stream of traffic until he came to Pemberton Road, a narrow blacktop that would take him to the Ridgecrest area. He turned into Pemberton and increased his speed.
    He pressed the transmitter button again. “Tony, Chief MacElroy. Who called it in?”
    “A neighbor. Mrs. Keevis.”
    “What happened?”
    “Don’t know.