"Charles L. Harness-George Washington Slept Here" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

He punched "run." The rear door of Reed's car opened and the great man got in.
Who opened the door for him? thought Potts. Of course, the chauffeur might have done it by remote.
He punched "reverse," then "run."
There. A hand; a blurred face. Potts zoomed in. Poor definition. yet... Was it possible? His heart
began to pound. Judge Roule. Maximum Max.
It doesn't necessarily mean a thing, he told himself. Maybe they're old buddies from college. Maybe
they're working together on a local charity. And maybe I'm the queen mother.
His voice was a dry crackle. "Breakdown, Roule's assets."
"Unavailable."
"Does Roule have an equity position in Reed Construction?"
"Unavailable."
"Terminate Reed. Give me the police report on the death of Fenleigh York, last night."
He watched the lines scroll up.
"York car accompanied by truck crashed through cable railings on Palisade Drive. York vehicle found
on its back at bottom of hill. Truck burned midway to river. Unidentified witness states truck forced the
car off the cliff, but locked bumpers with it at the last moment and went over with it. Truck reported
stolen Wednesday last."
Then the ambulance report. Hospital report. Both York and truck driver DOA.
"Any holos?" asked Potts.
"No."
"Where was he going?"
"Data insufficient."
"Does Palisade Drive lead to the airport?"
"Yes."
"Did Mr. York hold a reservation?"
"No."
That didn't mean much, one way or the other. On a commuter flight you didn't generally need a
reservation.
"Did he make a phone call to Capital City yesterday?"
"Checking. Yes."
"To whom?"
"It's listed simply as the Judicial Grievance Committee."
Oh God. Fenleigh was going to blow the whistle on something or somebody. The judge? Marcus
Reed? But they had found out. And they took his whistle away. Permanently. His friend had been
murdered.
And where, he mused, does that leave me?
"Fasten your seat belts," ordered the bland dead voice of the stewardess. "Extinguish all smoking
materials. We are landing at Sena City Airport."
***


2. SENA

He parked his rental car in a nearby lot, dashed up the courthouse steps, and found the right
courtroom by instinct. And so up the aisle and through the swinging gate at the bar.
They were all waiting for him.
 The woman was a striking beauty. Light amber complexion, lustrous black hair and eyes. "Oliver
Potts," he puffed. "Your new lawyer, if you want me."
She shrugged, as if to say, Do I have a choice? Then her mouth twisted into a half-smile. "Yes, Mr.
Potts. Of course I want you."