Before Another Dies by Alton L. Gansky Page B

be ridiculous, Jon. Anyone who has attended council meetings knows that we often begin the meeting with a guest minister leading in prayer. It’s a very old tradition. You’ve seen it scores of times. It began with Ben Franklin.”
    â€œStill the issue of separation of church and state—”
    â€œDon’t go there, Jon. If I want to hear talk like that, I’ll join the ACLU.” I stepped up my pace. The air in the hall was getting thick. “All I did was have a brief, personal prayer with my pastor. If you have a problem with that, then . . . you have a problem—period.” I stopped outside the outer door to my office. “What did you want?”
    â€œThe police are asking a lot of questions about your murder victim,” Tess said. “We should talk about how to control the press on the matter.”
    â€œHe was not my murder victim, Tess. He is the responsibility of the police. All I did was drive to work and make a phone call.”
    â€œStill, everyone knows you’re the one who found him,” Tess persisted.
    â€œIf one of the maintenance crew found the body, would you be dogging his heels?”
    â€œIf you haven’t noticed,” Jon piped in, “you’re not on the maintenance crew. You’re the mayor.”
    â€œYeah, Jon, that occurred to me. As far as controlling the media, it can’t be done. The media does what the media does. I’ve already spoken to Doug Turner—”
    â€œYou called Doug Turner?” Tess was aghast.
    â€œNo, I didn’t call him; he came to me.”
    â€œWhat did you tell him?”
    â€œThe truth. Read the paper when it comes out.” I crossed the threshold into my office and stopped short. Tess and John almost collided with me. I turned on them. “I have work to do. I’m sure you understand.” I turned again, nodded at Floyd as he stood behind his desk—he always stood when I entered the room—and marched into my private office. I hoped Jon and Tess would retreat to their underground boroughs.
    â€œMayor . . .” Floyd began.
    I longed for a few moments alone, but I was destined to keep on longing. Judson West sat in front of my desk reading the Register .
    â€œDetective West is here to see you,” Floyd said.
    â€œI see that, Floyd.” I said thanks and closed the door behind me.
    Unlike Floyd, West didn’t rise. He just folded the paper and set it on the empty seat to his right. I plopped down in my chair and rubbed my eyes. I should have felt some apprehension at seeing West, but instead I felt a measure of comfort. I always felt good in his presence. He was a comfortable man; comfortable with himself and with his surroundings.
    People act strangely around me. As mayor, they either voted for me, against me, or not at all; in some cases, as with city employees, I’m their boss; in other cases, I’m the city scapegoat. With West, I always felt that I was just me.
    â€œI don’t know how you put up with those two,” West said.
    â€œYou heard?”
    He nodded. “I admire your control. Strength under pressure. It suits you.”
    â€œIt’s not a very comfortable fit today,” I admitted. “Do you get people like that in the police department? What do you do with them?”
    â€œWe shoot them and drop their bodies just beyond territorial waters.” He kept a straight face.
    â€œIs that just for sworn officers of the law or does it extend to elected officials?”
    â€œWe’re always looking for ways to branch out.” He smiled and straight white teeth became visible. He looked good. His dark hair was just the right length, and his eyes shone with rested confidence. “I’ve been interviewing everyone in city hall as part of the investigation. I saved you for last.”
    â€œYou’re personally interviewing everyone in the building?”
    â€œI have a couple of senior officers helping.