they are? They’re all shit. Total and complete crazy shit. You know why? Because everybody wants in on the action when it’s somebody big who gets killed. Everybody, even the marginally sane ones, has a fact or a theory. And you know what else? See these other piles? I got about thirty-eight active cases, and I can’t get a frickin’ tip on any of ’em. Know why?”
“Well, I’d guess—”
“Because they’re nobodies. They’re just people. Regular joes. All ages. All races. Bad guys, good guys. But none of them are a congressman, and none of them had a wife who was shtupping a big-shot society doctor.”
“Well, Gary and Jeannine’s relationship isn’t really—”
“So, I’ll take this CD, since you’re so insistent on dropping it off in person, and we’ll put it through the sniff test. And even though I have better things to do, I’ll drive back to the Colstons’ place and get that frame.”
“I can go back and get the—”
“You can go to your hospital or your crazy junkie doctor office, and let us do what we get paid to do.”
“You’re not going to listen to that disc right now?”
Bryzinski sighed. “Look, Doctor.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to tell you how this really works. You see, like I said, I’ve been doing this job for a long time. Trust me when I tell you that I know guilty when I see guilty. Your buddy, McHugh, may be a great guy ninety-nine percent of the time, but he wasn’t so great when he blew away Congressman Colston. It happens—the way of the world. Someone loses it, someone else dies. So, you can add your CD to the pile of conspiracy theories for me to investigate, and I’ll listen to it. But I’m not going to rush and do it this minute, and I’m not going to do it with a big, happy smile on my face. Does that make sense?”
“No, it doesn’t make sense,” Lou said, “but it’s obviously how it’s going to be. I’ll tell you one more time before I leave you to all your overwhelming piles of work. Listen to this disc, and you’ll realize there’s a motive for another man to have killed Elias Colston.”
“I’ll hear it, all right,” Bryzinski said. “But on my time.” He stood with some effort, and lumbered to the door.
Lou followed, giving one last forlorn look back at the CD. “Should I call you?” Lou asked.
Bryzinski grinned. He was Abbott having just been served up a slow softball pitch from Costello. “Don’t call us,” he said. “We’ll call you.”
CHAPTER 14
The Baltimore City Detention Center loomed like a medieval castle, plunked down in a neighborhood advisable to keep away from after dark. The gray stone edifice featured four tall towers framing a steep-pitched roof, each tower topped by a metal turret. Stone-arched frames held rows of grimy windows, each several stories high and nearly obscured by rusty bars. Impenetrable, imposing, and inescapable were words that popped into Lou’s head as he and Cap passed underneath an entrance awning built against an expanse of chain-link fencing and razor wire.
Lou swallowed hard as he entered the brightly lit whitewashed lobby. It was one thing to be reminded of his arrest a decade ago, but something far more terrible to be back inside a detention center. This was the purgatory of the corrections system—a hellhole, lumping together guilty and innocent, each awaiting trial or transfer to a more long-term incarceration in prison. These were men who could not make bail or, worse, whose alleged crimes were deemed so severe that a judge had denied them bail of any size. Gary McHugh fell into the latter category—alleged murderers, who almost never got bail. In fact, Lou needed special permission from the Maryland Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services just to arrange this face-to-face meeting.
Lou and Cap approached the lobby window together. They turned over their IDs, and after explaining to the woman working the counter whom they were here to see, a metal door
“Well, I’d guess—”
“Because they’re nobodies. They’re just people. Regular joes. All ages. All races. Bad guys, good guys. But none of them are a congressman, and none of them had a wife who was shtupping a big-shot society doctor.”
“Well, Gary and Jeannine’s relationship isn’t really—”
“So, I’ll take this CD, since you’re so insistent on dropping it off in person, and we’ll put it through the sniff test. And even though I have better things to do, I’ll drive back to the Colstons’ place and get that frame.”
“I can go back and get the—”
“You can go to your hospital or your crazy junkie doctor office, and let us do what we get paid to do.”
“You’re not going to listen to that disc right now?”
Bryzinski sighed. “Look, Doctor.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to tell you how this really works. You see, like I said, I’ve been doing this job for a long time. Trust me when I tell you that I know guilty when I see guilty. Your buddy, McHugh, may be a great guy ninety-nine percent of the time, but he wasn’t so great when he blew away Congressman Colston. It happens—the way of the world. Someone loses it, someone else dies. So, you can add your CD to the pile of conspiracy theories for me to investigate, and I’ll listen to it. But I’m not going to rush and do it this minute, and I’m not going to do it with a big, happy smile on my face. Does that make sense?”
“No, it doesn’t make sense,” Lou said, “but it’s obviously how it’s going to be. I’ll tell you one more time before I leave you to all your overwhelming piles of work. Listen to this disc, and you’ll realize there’s a motive for another man to have killed Elias Colston.”
“I’ll hear it, all right,” Bryzinski said. “But on my time.” He stood with some effort, and lumbered to the door.
Lou followed, giving one last forlorn look back at the CD. “Should I call you?” Lou asked.
Bryzinski grinned. He was Abbott having just been served up a slow softball pitch from Costello. “Don’t call us,” he said. “We’ll call you.”
CHAPTER 14
The Baltimore City Detention Center loomed like a medieval castle, plunked down in a neighborhood advisable to keep away from after dark. The gray stone edifice featured four tall towers framing a steep-pitched roof, each tower topped by a metal turret. Stone-arched frames held rows of grimy windows, each several stories high and nearly obscured by rusty bars. Impenetrable, imposing, and inescapable were words that popped into Lou’s head as he and Cap passed underneath an entrance awning built against an expanse of chain-link fencing and razor wire.
Lou swallowed hard as he entered the brightly lit whitewashed lobby. It was one thing to be reminded of his arrest a decade ago, but something far more terrible to be back inside a detention center. This was the purgatory of the corrections system—a hellhole, lumping together guilty and innocent, each awaiting trial or transfer to a more long-term incarceration in prison. These were men who could not make bail or, worse, whose alleged crimes were deemed so severe that a judge had denied them bail of any size. Gary McHugh fell into the latter category—alleged murderers, who almost never got bail. In fact, Lou needed special permission from the Maryland Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services just to arrange this face-to-face meeting.
Lou and Cap approached the lobby window together. They turned over their IDs, and after explaining to the woman working the counter whom they were here to see, a metal door
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