CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
A copy of the front page of the Reporter is spread out over Specs’ desk. The big black headlines read, “WHERE IS THIS KILLER?” Underneath is the face of smiling, handsome Bobby Mason.
Just as I’m admiring the layout, a cane slashes down across the copy and the sound that follows is like the firing of a high-powered rifle. The cane belongs to David V. Sacks, owner and publisher of the Reporter. Specs’ office is packed to the brim with startled spectators including the DA, old Ben, Specs, his secretary Jan, Joseph, Sacks chauffeur and, of course, yours truly. The decibel level is at the max as Sacks speaks.
"McLain, your career was saved by a fluke. When that Mexican found those bodies it was the luckiest day of your life. But you couldn’t leave well enough alone, could
