Trial by Fury (9780061754715) by Judith A. Jance Page B

newspaper as I put the cookies on my desk. “Want one?” I asked.
    â€œAre you kidding? That much sugar will kill you, Beau. What are you doing, peddling them for one of your neighbors?”
    â€œPeddling, hell! I’m giving this stuff away, all in the line of duty.”
    â€œDon’t tell me you bought that many cookies last night when you were talking to that little girl about the Ridleys.”
    â€œShe’s a terrific salesman.”
    â€œAnd you’re an easy mark.”
    For the remainder of the morning, while Peters and I valiantly worked at running a check on Joanna Ridley and tried to dredge a copy of the check out of a combination of Girl Scout and bank bureaucracy, our two desks became the social hub of the department. Word of free cookies spread like wildfire, and everyone from Vice to Property managed to stop by with a cup of coffee. Including Captain Lawrence Powell.
    He wasn’t above taking a cookie or two before he lit into us. “Whenever you two finish socializing, how about stopping by my office for a little chat.”
    Larry Powell’s glass-enclosed, supposedlyprivate office offers all the privacy of a fishbowl, which is what we call it. It isn’t sound-proofed, either. You don’t have to be a lip-reader to know everything that’s going on behind Powell’s closed door.
    â€œYou’re out of line, Beau,” he said. “Dr. Baker has sent a formal complaint to the chief.”
    â€œThat jerk,” I said.
    â€œDetective Beaumont, this is serious. Just because you can literally buy and sell city blocks in this town doesn’t give you the right to run roughshod over elected public officials.”
    â€œLook, Larry, we’re not talking net worth here. Baker demanded information before I had it. Then he pitched a fit because I wouldn’t give it to him.”
    â€œThis is a sensitive case, Beau. If you’re going to go off half-cocked, I’ll pull you two off it and give it to someone who isn’t as hot-headed.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t be such a sensitive case, as you put it, if Peters and I hadn’t figured out who he was. Darwin Ridley was just an unidentified corpse by a garbage dumpster until we got hold of him, remember?”
    â€œWe’re making progress,” Peters put in helpfully, hoping to defuse the situation a little.
    Powell turned from me to Peters. “You are?”
    â€œWe’ve been working one possibility all morning.”
    â€œWell, get on with it, then, but don’t step on any more toes. You got that?” Powell had worked himself into a real temper tantrum.
    â€œYou bet! I’ve got it all right.” I steamed out of the fishbowl with Peters right behind me. Making a detour past our cubicle, I grabbed up our jackets, tossed Peters his, and shrugged my way into mine.
    â€œWhere are we going?” Peters asked.
    â€œOut!” I snapped.
    It took a while for the attendant to free my Porsche. It had been buried among a group of all-day cars as opposed to short-term ones. Once out of the garage, I hauled ass through Pioneer Square, driving south.
    â€œI asked you before, where are we going?”
    â€œAny objections to letting Joanna Ridley know we know she’s a lying sack of shit?”
    â€œNone from me.”
    â€œGood. That’s where we’re going.”
    â€œDo you think it’ll work?” he asked.
    â€œShe’s no pro. She’s not even a particularly good liar. It won’t take much to push her over the edge, just a little nudge, especially in her condition.”
    Peters nodded in agreement.
    By the time we got off the freeway, fast driving had pretty well boiled the venom out of my gut. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard sly references to the fact that having money had somehow spoiled J. P. Beaumont. Money doesn’t automatically make you an asshole. Or a prima donna, either. Damn Doc Baker anyway.
    We drove