Read Nailed for Free Online Page A

a campus setting on the shore of Lake Adeline, the police and fire departments anchored the ends of the complex. The mayor’s office, the town council chamber, and the municipal court formed the centerpiece. The health department, building department, parks and recreation, and street maintenance all had offices there. The public library and the center for the performing arts had the best views of the lake. The mayor and town council were considering the addition of an outdoor ice skating rink.
    All of the buildings were connected by tree-shaded paths and an underground complex which included spaces leased from the town for private restaurants and shops.
    The whole idea — Clay Steadman’s idea — was to make town government as accessible and welcoming as possible. His philosophy of governance was to make sure the people who paid the taxes got the biggest bang for their buck. The motto for all municipal employees was: Be citizen friendly. The Or else was clearly implied.
    Police headquarters was carpeted, furnished in gleaming oak, provided with all the latest communications and computer technology, and nearly as quiet as the town library. The chief’s office had a view of the lake, and if the ice skating rink went in, he’d be able to watch the skaters, too. Rumor had it that the striking shade of blue of the tailored police uniforms was the result of the designer matching the color of the mayor’s eyes. There were six holding cells that smelled of fresh, unmarked paint rather than urine, vomit and despair. Prisoners were rare commodities.
    When Ron first took Oliver on a tour of the facility, the police officer who had worked inner-city L.A. was agog. “Man, Disneyland don’t have a cop-shop this nice,” he said.
    Now, as Ron and Oliver entered the chief’s office, it was time to see if a twenty-four officer police department that worked in such genteel surroundings, in such a gilded community, had the smarts, stomach and will to solve a truly vicious murder. Probably the town’s first since local prospectors stopped settling claim disputes with pickaxes.
    Ron took a seat behind his desk, buzzed his secretary, and asked her to send in Sergeant Stanley. The door opened immediately and Stanley walked in like he’d been standing there all along, just waiting for his cue like some kind of comedy gag.
    Casimir “Caz” Stanley was fifty years old. He was the longest-serving officer in the department, a man entirely sure of himself, and not about to be bothered by two younger outsiders being brought in to fill the two top slots.
    But then, while Ron and Oliver set policy and made command decisions, Sergeant Stanley was the one who ran the department on a day-to-day basis, and the boys from the LAPD were smart enough to let him do it. He nodded politely and greeted his superiors.
    “I was just on my way in to see you, Chief.”
    “You heard?” Ron asked.
    The sergeant’s reputation for omniscience, regarding both the department and the town, was the stuff of legends. Clay Steadman had once told Ron that Caz and God drank at the same bar. Caz bought the drinks and God dished the dirt.
    But Stanley was smart enough to admit the occasional development that slipped past him. “I have big news, Chief. But I’ve got the feeling you have some of your own.”
    “We had a homicide, Sarge,” Oliver said. He plugged the digital camera into Ron’s computer and brought up a full-body shot of the crucifixion victim.
    Sergeant Stanley blinked once as he absorbed the gruesome image. Then he nodded briefly to himself. “I recognize that tree. It’s on Highway 99, about a mile down from the Tightrope. Got hit by lightning last summer, went up like a torch. Only reason it didn’t char half the mountainside is because rain swept in right behind the lightning. Came down in buckets.”
    Oliver clicked his way through several more images of the victim. He stopped on a close-up of the victim’s face. “Use this one?” he asked