"Yes, sir," Matt said.
"Washington, can I talk to you private?" Dolan asked. "It's not what you think it is."
"How do you know what I think it is?"
"It's dumb but it's not dirty," Dolan said, "is what I mean."
Detective Washington's face registered suspicion and distaste.
"Come on, Washington," Sergeant Dolan said, "I've got as much time on the job as you do. I told you this isn't dirty."
"But you don't want Payne to hear it, right?" Washington said. "So you tell me about it, and later it's your word against mine?"
"That's not it at all," Dolan said.
"Then what is it?"
"Well, okay, then. But not here in the fucking corridor."
Washington let him sweat fifteen seconds, which seemed to be much longer, and then he said, "Okay, Dolan. I know you're a good cop. You and I will find someplace to talk. Alone. And Payne will wait here until we're finished."
Dolan nodded. He looked at Matt Payne. "Nothing personal, Payne."
Matt nodded.
Washington took Dolan's arm and they walked down the wide, highceilinged corridor. Washington opened a door, looked inside, and then held it wide for Dolan to precede him.
Matt waited where he had been told to wait for three or four minutes, and then curiosity got the better of him and he walked down the corridor. Through a very dirty pane of glass he saw Washington and Dolan in an empty courtroom. They were standing beside one of the large, ornately carved tables provided for counsel during trial.
Matt walked back down the corridor to where he had been told to wait.
A minute later Washington and Dolan came out of the courtroom. Dolan walked toward Matt. Washington beckoned for Matt to follow him and then walked quickly in the other direction, toward the staircase. Dolan avoided looking at Matt as he passed him. Matt thought he looked sick.
Washington didn't wait for Matt to catch up with him. On the stair landing Matt looked down and saw Washington going down the stairs two at a time. He ran after him and caught up with him in the courtyard. By then Washington was in his car, and had taken the microphone from the glove compartment.
"W-William One, W-William Seven," Washington said.
"W-William One."
"Inspector, I'm at City Hall. Can I meet you somewhere?"
"I'm headed for Bustleton and Bowler. Did Payne find you?"
"Yeah. But I would rather talk to you before you get to the office."
"Okay. I'm at Broad and 66^th Avenue at the Oak Lane Diner. I'll wait for you there."
"On my way. Thank you," Washington said, and put the microphone away. He looked at Payne. "You ever readThrough the Looking Glass!"
Matt nodded.
"Profound book, although I understand he wrote it stoned on cocaine. Things really are more Curiouser than you would believe. If I lose you in traffic, Wohl's waiting for us in the Oak Lane Diner at Broad and 66^th Avenue."
He pulled the door closed and started the engine.
Matt ran across the interior courtyard to the Porsche. There was an illegal parking citation under the windshield wiper.
He didn't see Washington in traffic, but when he got to the Oak Lane Diner, Washington's car was parked beside Wohl's. When he went inside, a waitress was delivering three cups of coffee to a booth table, on which Washington was spreading out the eight-by-ten photographs he had shown Sergeant Dolan.
Wohl looked up.
"Mr. Payne, well-known tracer of lost detectives," he said, "sit." He slid over to make room.
Washington was smiling.
"Okay, I give up," Wohl said. "What am I looking at?"
Matt looked at the photographs. A neatly dressed man carrying an attache case and looking in the window of the cocktail lounge of the Warwick Hotel. A bald-headed man driving a Pontiac. The first man getting into the Pontiac. There were a dozen variations.
"Your FBI at work," Washington said.
"What?"
"They were apparently-what's the word they use, surveilling?surveilling Mr. DeZego."
"Where'd these come from?"
"Sergeant Dolan."
"Why haven't we seen them before?"
"You're not going to believe this," Washington said.
"Try me."
"Sergeant Dolan does not like the FBI."
"So what? I'm not all that in love with them myself," Wohl said.
"So he decided to zing them," Washington said.
"What does that mean?"
"He wanted to make them squirm, to let them know that their surveillance was not as discreet as they like to think it is."
"You've lost me."
"He sent the FBI office pictures of themselves at work," Washington said. "In a plain brown envelope."
"Jesus Christ, that's childish!" Wohl said disgustedly.
"I would tend to agree," Washington said.
"Didn't he know Homicide would want to talk to these guys?" Wohl asked, and then, before there could be a reply, he thought of something else: "And the goddamn FBI! They must have known what went down. Why didn't they come forward?"
"Far be it from me to cast aspersions on our federal cousins," Washington said dryly, "but it has sometimes been alleged that the FBI doesn't like to waste its time dealing with the local authoritiesunless, of course, they can steal the arrest and get their pictures in the newspapers."
"I'll be a son of a bitch!" Wohl said furiously.
"Can I say something to you as a friend, Inspector?" Washington asked.
"Sure," Wohl said. "I just can'tbelieve this shit! God damn those arrogant bastards! DeZego was murdered! Assassinated! And the fucking FBI can't be bothered with it!"
"Peter, go by the book," Washington said.
"Meaning?"
"There is a departmental regulation that says any contact with federal agencies will be conducted through the Office of Extradepartmental Affairs. There's a captain in the Roundhouse-"
"Duffy," Wohl said. "Jack Duffy."
"Right. Go through Duffy."
Wohl looked at Washington for a long moment, his jaws working.
"When you're angry, Peter," Washington said, "you really give the word a whole new meaning. You getangry. And youstay angry."
A faint smile appeared on Wohl's face.
"You remember, huh, Jason?"
"I'm one of the few people who knows that it's not true you have never lost your temper," Washington said.
"Now Sherlock Holmes knows too," Wohl said, nodding at Matt Payne. "He tell you about the pimp?"
"No."
"What pimp?" Matt asked.
"That's right," Wohl said. "You don't know, either, do you?"
"No, sir."
Wohl related the whole sequence of events leading up to the death of Marvin Lanier.
"So what I think you should do, Jason," he concluded, "is get on the radio and get in touch with Tony Harris, and see what, if anything, they-he and D'Amata-have come up with. And then tell Tony I saw the mayor this morning, and he wants the Magnella shooting solved. I wish he'd get back on that."
"You saw the mayor? I saw your car at City Hall."
"Just a friendly little chat, to assure me of his absolute faith in me," Wohl said dryly.
"Yes, sir," Washington said. "You want me to take Payne with me? Or have you got something for him to do?"
Wohl gathered the photographs together, stacked them neatly, and put them back in the envelope. "Payne, you go out to Bustleton and Bowler, driving slowly and carefully, obeying all the speed limits. When you get there, telephone Captain John J. Duffy at the Roundhouse and tell him that I would be grateful for an appointment at his earliest convenience."
"Yes, sir."
"And then contact me and tell me when Captain Duffy will be able to see me."
"Where will you be, Inspector?"