Read Dirty Harry 07 - Massacre at Russian River for Free Online Page A

that looked like they’d been fashioned entirely of corrugated tin and cardboard.
    “This,” declared Davenport, almost with perverse pride, “is Russian River’s slum.”
    The street gave way altogether, becoming something less than a street but not quite a lot in which were clustered several miserable crammed structures. The sun glared harshly off their insubstantial metal roofs.
    “And why have you taken me here?” Harry inquired.
    “This is where most of our snitches live. I figured that one of them might have an idea who it was that shot down that chopper. You see, there are a great many people who rely on us, they pass us some information, we give them a few bucks, it helps them feed their habits. We know what they’re doing. So does the sheriff’s office. But there’s just too much shit around to try and bust every single one of them. Our jail isn’t that big, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
    “What does Turk think of this?”
    “Turk’s got his eyes on those hills. He doesn’t give a goddamn about what goes on here in town.”
    “I imagine people don’t take kindly to being seen with you even so.”
    Those few people Harry had observed in the vicinity in fact did not appear pleased to see either of them encroaching on what they believed was their turf. They had the depleted looks and the pallor of those who have dropped one tab of acid too many along the way.
    “Well, ordinarily, that’s the case,” Davenport admitted. “But in something like this, with the helicopter, they know that we’re not fooling around. Four counts of murder, destruction of government property, nobody does that kind of shit unless they’re willing to take on the Feds. These people here, they’re not up to a scam like that.”
    “So you’re convinced they’ll cooperate?”
    “Convinced? Hell, I’m not convinced of shit, Callahan. But I think there’s a reasonable chance we might pick up a few leads.”
    Two days had passed since the Sikorsky was downed over Rain Mountain. Turk was still laid up in the hospital where he was supposed to be undergoing further tests, specifically a CAT scan of the brain to determine whether he had sustained serious injury to his head. The D-Day invasion of marijuana country was going to have to be delayed a bit. Not that Turk wouldn’t abandon his hospital bed if he could, but Wardell Marsh had sent someone to watch him, ostensibly to protect him in the event that those parties interested in his demise struck again. Marsh, of course, didn’t like the way things were developing at all.
    Davenport said, “Marsh realizes that as soon as Turk is back to normal, he’ll take the whole case out of his hands and deal with it himself. You watch, he’ll pull it off. It might not be successful, this little blitzkrieg of his, but hell, he’ll make it happen. That’s how Turk is.”
    In spite of Davenport’s assessment of the slum dopers’ mood, none of them proved particularly forthcoming. Davenport may have had an inflated idea of his capacity to acquire information.
    Nobody knew a thing. They could not imagine who would have been so idiotic as to try to shoot down a helicopter carrying three detectives and a federal narcotics officer, they said. They were fearful of a giant bust in retaliation; accordingly, they were far more interested in obtaining Davenport’s assurance that this wouldn’t happen than in providing him with any useful leads.
    They wanted Davenport to think that they could be counted on, however.
    “You know me, Frank,” they’d say, “you know how I’ve helped you in the past.”
    But Davenport was disheartened. “Either there’s something going on that they truly don’t know about, or else they are too scared to say what they do know.”
    As they were proceeding back toward Van Buren, Davenport stopped. He said, “You remember I told you that Turk had a girl?”
    “I remember.”
    “She doesn’t live so far from here. I was thinking you might go pay her