Nailed by Joseph Flynn

camera zoomed in close on it. It was a full-length picture of the crucifixion victim, one of the shots Oliver had taken. Ron hadn’t known the mayor had requested it, but he couldn’t have stopped him from getting it in any event.
    “This man was killed in our town this morning,” Clay said in voice-over as the gruesome image continued to fill the screen. “He was crucified.”
    Ron said a silent prayer that the mayor wouldn’t give away all the details of the killing. That’d he’d leave the police something to distinguish any real tips they might get from the flood of crackpot calls that would soon inundate the department’s phone lines.
    The angry face of the mayor came back on the screen.
    “To say that this is the work of a sick, twisted sonofabitch belabors the obvious. To understand why it happened here is not so simple.”
    Oliver Gosden came into Ron’s office and took a seat on the corner of his desk to watch the mayor speak.
    “You look at what was done to this man …” Ron was glad that Clay chose not to show the crucifixion picture again. “… and you know that someone wanted to achieve more than the taking of his life. Someone wanted to send a grotesque message.”
    Clay Steadman let his audience think about that while he took a sip of water.
    “The first conclusion you might reach is that this killing is racially motivated. Somebody hated this man for the color of his skin. Our country’s history is tragically filled with such outrages. And why else would anyone go to the trouble of staging such a vile, sacrilegious execution?”
    Oliver exchanged a glance with Ron.
    “The answer is we don’t know. But that’s exactly what we have to find out. Was this man killed for what he looked like … or was he killed for who he was … or for something he did? Only when we know the answer to those questions will we be able to pursue his killer.”
    The mayor paused for another sip of water.
    Oliver asked Ron, “You think he’s gonna—”
    “Yeah,” Ron answered, not needing to hear the rest of the question.
    “The first thing our police department needs to know is this man’s identity,” Clay said. “Please take a good look at him. See if you know him.”
    Sergeant Stanley stepped into Ron’s office as a headshot of the victim filled the TV screen. The sergeant stood next to the deputy chief.
    “Please call the number on your screen if you know who this man is,” Clay narrated as the telephone number for police headquarters appeared on the screen below the victim’s face. “Do not call 911. Leave that line open for emergencies.”
    All three cops listened for the sound of their main phone line starting to ring. The first call came within five seconds.
    “At least we won’t have to do a house to house canvas now,” Sergeant Stanley said. “I’ll get additional clerical help to cover the phones.”
    The mayor came back on the screen. “I know everybody in town wants to catch this bastard as badly as I do. And I know this murder couldn’t have been committed without somebody in Goldstrike having some information that will help our police catch the killer. But I’m also aware that in a situation like this people can sometimes be afraid to come forward. So I am offering a reward …
    “You were right,” Oliver told Ron.
    “… I will pay $100,000 from my own pocket for information leading to the arrest and conviction of whoever killed this man.”
    The victim’s face reappeared on the screen, as did the police phone number.
    Sergeant Stanley left to find the clerical help he’d need.
    “You think our boy’s packing his bags right about now?” Oliver asked.
    Ron knew the question was more than just rhetorical, and he nodded.
    “Might not be a bad idea, at that, to have a few units out watching for anybody leaving town and looking spooked,” Ron answered.
    There were only four roads out of town that hooked up with the interstate system. It was just another of Goldstrike’s