The Devil Knows You're Dead by Lawrence Block

change without busting your hump to do it.
    “But you’re a contrary bastard, and on top of that you’re as stubborn as a fucking mule. Instead of just taking your guy and shining him on, which is all he really wanted in the first place, whether he knows it or not, you’ll have to make sure you give him his money’s worth. And you’ll find a way to convince yourself there’s a possibility the brother didn’t do it, and you’ll put in the hours, and you’ll break everybody’s balls, mine included. By the time you’re done you’ll have so much time invested that you’ll be lucky to clear minimum wage for your troubles, and you’ll have come to the reluctant conclusion that Lonesome George is every bit as guilty as everybody knows he is, but you’ll have done everything in your power to fuck up an open-and-shut case. Why are you staring at me like that?”
    “I was just wishing I had a tape of that speech. I could play it for prospective clients.”
    He laughed. “You think I went overboard there? Well, it’s a Monday morning. You have to make allowances. Seriously, Matt, just go through the motions on this one, will you? It’s a high-profile case. We solved it fast with some good police work, but the media’s in love with the story. You don’t want to give ’em an excuse to open it up again.”
    “What would they find?”
    “Nothing. The case is solid. It was a good bust.”
    “Were you on the case, Joe?”
    “The whole precinct was on it, along with half of Manhattan Homicide. I didn’t have much to do with closing it. Once they picked him up it was closed. He had the brass in his pocket, for Chrissake. The casings. What more do you need?”
    “How did you know to pick him up?”
    “Information received.”
    “Received from whom?”
    He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Can’t tell you that.”
    “From a snitch?”
    “No, from a priest who decided it was time to violate the seal of the confessional. Yes, of course from a snitch. As far as the identity of the snitch is concerned, don’t ask.”
    “What did the snitch have to say?”
    “I can’t tell you that.”
    “I don’t know why not,” I said. “Was he on the scene? Did he see something, hear something? Or did somebody just pass on a rumor that led you to George?”
    “We have an eyewitness,” he said. “How’s that?”
    “An eyewitness to the actual shooting?”
    He frowned. “I always tell you more than I planned,” he said. “Why do you figure that is?”
    “You know it’s the best way to get rid of me. What did your eyewitness see?”
    “I already said too much, Matt. There’s a witness and there’s hard physical evidence and there’s the next best thing to a confession. Sadecki says he figures he probably did it. The case is so solid even the perp’s convinced.”
    It had me convinced, too, but I had a fee to earn. “Suppose what the witness saw was the aftermath,” I said. “George bending over the body, picking up the shells.”
    “After somebody else shot him.”
    “It’s possible.”
    “Oh, sure, Matt. Somebody fired from the grassy knoll. You ask me, the CIA was in on it.”
    “Holtzmann could have been mugged,” I said. “It’s not exactly unheard-of in that neighborhood. He could have been shot resisting a robbery attempt.”
    “No evidence of it. He had a wallet on his hip with over three hundred dollars in it.”
    “The mugger panicked after the shooting.”
    “Funny way to panic. First he fires a very deliberate fourth shot into the back of the neck, then he panics.”
    “Who else was on the scene? Who else did the witness get a look at?”
    “He saw George. That was enough.”
    “What was Holtzmann doing there? Did anybody bother to check that out?”
    “He went for a walk. It’s not like commercial aviation, you don’t have to file a flight plan first. He was restless and he went for a walk.”
    “And he stopped to make a phone call? What was the matter with the phone in his