"Isn't that fairly obvious, Dave?" Wohl said sarcastically. " Officers McFadden and Martinez decided that since no one else has any idea who shot Mr. DeZego and Miss Detweiler, it was clearly their duty to solve those crimes themselves, even if that meant leaving their assigned patrol area, which we, not having the proper respect for their ability as super-cops-they are, after all, former undercover Narcs-had so foolishly given them."
I said that, he thought, because I'm pissed at what they did and wanted to both let them know I'm pissed, and to humiliate them. Having done that, I now realize that I am very likely to be humiliated myself. I have a gut feeling these two are at least going to be part of the solution.
"I used to be a Homicide detective," Wohl said. "Let me see if I still remember how. McFadden-first of all, what was your relationship to Marvin Lanier?"
"He was one of our snitches. When we were in Narcotics."
"Then I think we'll start with that," Wohl said. "Let me begin this by telling you I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Leave nothing out. You are already so deeply in trouble that nothing you admit can get you in any deeper. You understand that?"
The two mumbled "Yes, sir."
"Okay. Martinez, tell me how you turned Marvin Lanier into a snitch."
Wohl was convinced that the story was related truthfully and in whole. He didn't particularly like hearing that they had turned Lanier loose with a kilogram of cocaine-and could tell from the look on his face that Dave Pekach, who had been their lieutenant, was very embarrassed by it-but it convinced him both that McFadden and Martinez were going to tell the whole truth and that they had turned Lanier into a good snitch, defined as one that was more terrified of the cops who were using him than of the people on whom he was snitching.
He noticed, too, that neither Sabara, Pekach, or D'Amata had added their questions to his. On the part of D'Amata, that might have been the deference of a detective to a staff inspector-he didn't think sobut on the parts of Sabara and Pekach, who were not awed by his rank, it very well could be that they could think of nothing to ask that he hadn't asked.
Christ, maybe what I should have done was just stay in Homicide. I'm not all that bad at being a detective. And by now I probably would have made a pretty good Homicide detective. And all I would have to do is worry about bagging people, not about how pissed the mayor is going to be because one of my people ran off at the mouth.
"So when Marvin wanted to put his jack in the backseat instead of his trunk," Hay-zus said, "we knew there was something in the trunk he didn't want us to see. So there was. A shotgun."
"A shotgun?" Joe D'Amata asked. It was the first time he had spoken. "A Remington 12 Model 1100, 12-gauge?"
"A Model 870," Martinez said. "Not the 1100. A pump gun."
"Is there an 1100 involved?" Wohl asked.
"There was an 1100 under his bed," D'Amata said. "I've got it out in my car."
"And you say there was an 870 in his trunk?" Wohl asked Martinez.
"Yes, sir."
"Where is it?"
"Outside in my car."
"You took it away from him? Why?"
"On what authority?" Pekach demanded. Wohl made a calm-down sign to him with his hand.
"He didn't know it was legal," McFadden said.
"So you just decided to take it away from him? That's theft," Wohl said.
"We wanted something on him," McFadden protested. "We was going to turn it in."
Bullshit!
"That's when he told us another guinea shot Tony DeZego," Hay-zus said. "I don't know if that's so or not, but Marvin believed it."
"He didn't offer a name?" Wohl asked.
"We told him to come up with one by four this afternoon," McFadden said.
"And you think he would have come up with a name?"
"If he could have, he would have. Yes, sir."
Wohl looked at Mike Sabara.
"Do you know where Washington is?"
"No, sir. But Payne's outside. They're working together, aren't they?"
"See if either of them is still there," Wohl ordered.
Pekach went to the door and a moment later returned with Matt Payne.
"Do you know where Washington is?"
"No, sir. He told me he would either see me here or phone."
"Find him," Wohl ordered. "Tell him I want to see him as soon as I can."
"Yes, sir," Matt said, and left the room.
Wohl looked at Joe D'Amata.
"You know where this is going, don't you?" he asked.
"Sir, you're thinking there's a connection to the DeZego shooting?"
"Right. And since Special Operations has that job, I've got to call Chief Lowenstein and tell him I want the Lanier job-and that means you, too, Joe, of course-as part of that."
"He's not going to like that," Sabara said.
"If you're sure about that, Mike, you call him," Wohl said, and let Sabara wait ten seconds before he reached for the telephone himself.
To Peter Wohl's genuine surprise Chief Lowenstein agreed to have D'Amata work the Lanier job under Special Operations supervision with absolutely no argument.
"I don't believe that," he said when he hung up. "All he said was that you're a good man, D'Amata, and if there is anything else I need, all I have to do is ask for it."
"Well, how do you want me to handle it?" D'Amata asked.
"Very simply, ask Washington howhe wants it handled. Aside from one wild one, I am about out of ideas."
"Wild idea?"
"I want to send the two shotguns to the lab. I have a wild idea that one of them is the one that popped DeZego."
"Yeah," D'Amata said thoughtfully, "could be."
"Do you two clowns think you could take the shotguns to the lab and tell them I need to know, as soon as possible, if the shells we have were ejected from either of them, without getting in any more trouble?"
"Yes, sir," Martinez and McFadden said in unison, and then McFadden asked, "You want us to come back here, sir?"
"No," Wohl said. "You're working four to twelve, right?"
"Yes, sir. Twelve to twelve with the overtime."
"I haven't made up my mind what to do with you," Wohl said. "Let your sergeant know where you're going to be, in case Washington or somebody wants to talk to you, and then report for duty at four. Maybe by then Captain Pekach can find somebody to sit on the both of you. Separately, I mean. Together you're dangerous."
"Yes, sir," they chorused.
"Dave," Wohl said, turning to Pekach, "as soon as D'Amata gets Sherlock Holmes and his partner the shotgun, tell D'Amata what happened in the Ristorante Alfredo," Wohl ordered.
"Yes, sir."
The door opened. Matt Payne put his head in.
"Can't find Washington, sir. He doesn't answer the radio, and he's not at home."
"What I told you to do, Payne, is find him. Not report that you can't. Get in a car and go look for him. The next time I hear from you, I want it to be when you tell me Detective Washington is on his way here."
"Yes, sir," Matt said, and quickly closed the door again.
The telephone rang. Obviously his calls were being held. So the ring indicated that this call was too important to hold.
"Inspector Wohl," he said, answering it himself.
"Dennis Coughlin, Peter."
"Good morning, Chief."
"We're due in the mayor's office at 10:15. You, Matt Lowenstein, and me."
"Yes, sir."
"He's mad, Peter. I guess you know."
"Yes, sir."
The phone went dead.
Well, that explains Chief Lowenstein's inexplicable spirit of enthusiastic cooperation. He knew we were all going to have a little chat with the mayor. He can now go on in there and truthfully say that this very morning, when I asked for it, he gave one more of his brighter detectives and asked if there was anything else he could do for me.