would have a heart attack! He's on record saying I confessed to the killing. Don't tell me that doesn't put a little damper on your so-called investigation!”
Dave stared straight ahead. Except for a grimly set jaw, he gave no sign that he even heard my outburst. He turned onto Broadway. The police station cum jail was just three blocks away.
"If I don't find out who really killed Pop, I'll spend the rest of my life in a small cage!"
Two blocks.
"Will you please look at me, and tell me to my face that you believe I committed murder!"
But he didn't look at me.
One block.
"Come on, I'm just a regular guy with a wife and two kids and a minivan! I even helped you solve a murder, Dave! Or have you forgotten?!"
We were there. He parked at the police entrance.
"You lame excuse for a cop, LOOK AT ME!"
Finally he looked. And then he spoke—softly, almost tenderly. "Jake, I've been a cop for a long time. And I've learned the simplest, best thing for everyone is to just play it by the book."
"Dave," I whispered, "I'm innocent."
"You don't know how many people have told me that—"
I touched his arm. "But this time it's true."
He moved his arm away. "What can I tell you? A cop's been killed. I'm taking you in."
He got out of the car and came over to my side, to get me out. I sank down into my seat. Maybe if I sank low enough, he wouldn't find me.
Then I saw someone with distinguished silver hair come walking up the sidewalk toward us. Oh great, the chief—just what I needed to make my day complete. I sank even lower.
"What's the word, Dave?" Chief Walsh asked. "You looking for dirt on Burns, or you just sitting on your ass as usual?"
Christ, here it comes. I waited, trembling.
Dave didn't answer right away. Then finally he said, "Yeah, I'm working on it, Chief."
I blinked. What the... ?
Dave got back in the car. "Stay down," he ordered me in a low hiss, out of the side of his mouth.
I stayed down, all right.
He pulled away from the curb. "Fuck the chief," he said. "I'm bringing you home."
10
"Thanks," I said, when my voice returned.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a damn idiot. Just don't tell the chief, he'll can my ass in a second. Be fifteen years' pension shot to shit, and I'm still not sure you didn't do it."
"I'm sure."
He grunted and turned right on Washington, toward the West Side and home. I started breathing a little more normally.
"So who do you think did do it?" I asked. "If it wasn't me, that is." Personally, my money was still on Tony, but I kept that to myself.
Instead of answering, Dave asked, "How about offering a reward?"
I snorted. "You mean like O.J. did? Or JonBenet Ramsey's parents? If I offer a reward, it'll just make me look even guiltier."
Dave nodded thoughtfully and chewed on his lips as we drove past the Grand Hotel. I noticed a couple of construction trucks and a big sign: currently under renovation . It sure hadn't taken them long to get started.
Meanwhile Dave was silent for so long I wondered if he'd forgotten my question. But at last he said, "The truth? About who killed Pop? Could've been a lot of people."
"Like who?"
We turned onto Elm. The media types were still off at dinner. We parked in front of Dave's house, and he lit a cigarette. "I didn't know you smoked," I said.
"I don't." He took a deep drag. "Look, do you know how many houses Pop owns—owned—on the West Side?"
I added them up in my head. "Four?"
"No. Seven. And three of them have crack dealers for tenants. Far as I can tell, there's no other dealers on the entire West Side. Interesting, huh?"
It took a moment, but then I caught on. "So you're telling me the dealers who rented from Pop got a break? Like, bribing him for protection was part of the rent?"
"No, I'm not telling you that. I'm a cop. I would never say something like that about a fellow cop." He flicked an ash into the tray. "You, on the other hand, can say anything you want."
All my available brain cells raced into action. This would explain what
Dave stared straight ahead. Except for a grimly set jaw, he gave no sign that he even heard my outburst. He turned onto Broadway. The police station cum jail was just three blocks away.
"If I don't find out who really killed Pop, I'll spend the rest of my life in a small cage!"
Two blocks.
"Will you please look at me, and tell me to my face that you believe I committed murder!"
But he didn't look at me.
One block.
"Come on, I'm just a regular guy with a wife and two kids and a minivan! I even helped you solve a murder, Dave! Or have you forgotten?!"
We were there. He parked at the police entrance.
"You lame excuse for a cop, LOOK AT ME!"
Finally he looked. And then he spoke—softly, almost tenderly. "Jake, I've been a cop for a long time. And I've learned the simplest, best thing for everyone is to just play it by the book."
"Dave," I whispered, "I'm innocent."
"You don't know how many people have told me that—"
I touched his arm. "But this time it's true."
He moved his arm away. "What can I tell you? A cop's been killed. I'm taking you in."
He got out of the car and came over to my side, to get me out. I sank down into my seat. Maybe if I sank low enough, he wouldn't find me.
Then I saw someone with distinguished silver hair come walking up the sidewalk toward us. Oh great, the chief—just what I needed to make my day complete. I sank even lower.
"What's the word, Dave?" Chief Walsh asked. "You looking for dirt on Burns, or you just sitting on your ass as usual?"
Christ, here it comes. I waited, trembling.
Dave didn't answer right away. Then finally he said, "Yeah, I'm working on it, Chief."
I blinked. What the... ?
Dave got back in the car. "Stay down," he ordered me in a low hiss, out of the side of his mouth.
I stayed down, all right.
He pulled away from the curb. "Fuck the chief," he said. "I'm bringing you home."
10
"Thanks," I said, when my voice returned.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a damn idiot. Just don't tell the chief, he'll can my ass in a second. Be fifteen years' pension shot to shit, and I'm still not sure you didn't do it."
"I'm sure."
He grunted and turned right on Washington, toward the West Side and home. I started breathing a little more normally.
"So who do you think did do it?" I asked. "If it wasn't me, that is." Personally, my money was still on Tony, but I kept that to myself.
Instead of answering, Dave asked, "How about offering a reward?"
I snorted. "You mean like O.J. did? Or JonBenet Ramsey's parents? If I offer a reward, it'll just make me look even guiltier."
Dave nodded thoughtfully and chewed on his lips as we drove past the Grand Hotel. I noticed a couple of construction trucks and a big sign: currently under renovation . It sure hadn't taken them long to get started.
Meanwhile Dave was silent for so long I wondered if he'd forgotten my question. But at last he said, "The truth? About who killed Pop? Could've been a lot of people."
"Like who?"
We turned onto Elm. The media types were still off at dinner. We parked in front of Dave's house, and he lit a cigarette. "I didn't know you smoked," I said.
"I don't." He took a deep drag. "Look, do you know how many houses Pop owns—owned—on the West Side?"
I added them up in my head. "Four?"
"No. Seven. And three of them have crack dealers for tenants. Far as I can tell, there's no other dealers on the entire West Side. Interesting, huh?"
It took a moment, but then I caught on. "So you're telling me the dealers who rented from Pop got a break? Like, bribing him for protection was part of the rent?"
"No, I'm not telling you that. I'm a cop. I would never say something like that about a fellow cop." He flicked an ash into the tray. "You, on the other hand, can say anything you want."
All my available brain cells raced into action. This would explain what
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