The Case of the Poisoned Eclairs: a Masao Masuto Mystery
“Fredericks, a uniformed cop, was leaving, and Masuto asked him, “Who’s in there?”
“Wainwright, the city manager, and the mayor. They’ve been at it since eight-thirty.”
The mayor was an unsalaried position. Like the president of the lodge who was the butt of everyone’s anger, he did it for the “honor.”
“There is no police force in the world,” Wainwright was saying, his voice clear through the thin door, “that can prevent crime. I got a forty-page report from the F.B.I., if you want to read it. There’s just no way we could have anticipated what happened to Mrs. Greene.”
“As I understand, there were two policemen on the scene.” That was the city manager.
“There could have been ten cops on the scene. How would they know that the car was wired? You don’t look for a wired car in Beverly Hills.”
“All right. That happened.” The mayor’s voice. “But the rumor’s out that three other murders are tied into this.”
A long silence.
“Well, for Christ’s sake, yes or no?”
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