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“What the hell is that for?” A cop harshness crept in.
“I’m just surprised you’d listen to Dodds, considering what he’s said about you and all, David.”
“Don’t fucking call me David!” he sputtered. “What are you talking about? What about Dodds?”
“I’ve said too much.”
“Hell, no. Tell me.”
Will turned back to face him, looking him in the eye, then looking away and sighing. “Oh, hell, Stan, not your fault you washed out of homicide. It’s a shit job anyway. Look where you are now. Better than any of us.” Berkowitz had stopped swinging his legs and now had his hands flat on the tops of his thighs, his suit jacket open wide, exposing a little .38 Smith & Wesson in his belt. Will went on, “Let’s just say Dodds wasn’t your friend when you were on loan to the detail…”
“Goddamn it!” Berkowitz slapped the table, slid down, and walked heavily over to his desk, seeming to seek safe harbor. “I always knew it, always knew it. Shit, he wouldn’t even have that job if the department wasn’t under pressure to hire people of a Nubian persuasion, if you get my drift. All the shit we used to take from the Sentinels—hell, they have their own organization! They won’t even support the FOP! I always knew Dodds did me in. I was a good detective.”
Will didn’t bother to correct him: black officers were members of the Fraternal Order of Police, too. The right hot button had been pushed, and how. Will hadn’t exactly lied: Berkowitz had failed to make it in homicide and Dodds had thought he was a lightweight. When the shouting stopped, Will spoke again.
“So tell me about Judd Mason.”
“Yeah, screw Dodds.” Berkowitz flopped into his chair. “Judd Mason. I know him. He’s a circulating nurse. Used to work in the OR.”
“He worked in the operating room with Dr. Lustig.”
“That’s right, now that you mention it.” He rubbed his chin and stared down at the neat piles of papers on his desk. “I always wondered about him. We had a nurse here a couple of years ago, said he was a stalker. I guess they had a thing going and she tried to break it off. We try not to get involved in these kinds of things—hell, there’s more screwing going on around here than you’d believe. But she filed a complaint and I talked to him.”
“Is she…?”
“She left. Moved to Columbus. He left her alone after I talked to him. But he kind of seemed to have a screw loose.”
“How so?” Will asked.
Berkowitz shrugged. “Just something about the guy. Something quiet and strange. I guess he’s an okay nurse. Strange to me to see guys as nurses anyway. What’s their thing unless they’re homos, right?”
“So did you think about Mason when Dr. Lustig was killed?”
“Not really,” he said, crooking his mouth into a downward U. Will looked at him long enough for him to exclaim, “What?”
“Just seems kind of strange,” Will said. “He was stalking a nurse. He had worked with Lustig. She received telephone threats.”
“Didn’t seem connected to me.” Berkowitz held out his hands guilelessly.
“Did this Mason have any cop connections?”
“Huh? Cop connections?”
“Did he have cop friends? Drop any names when you talked to him about stalking?”
He waved it away. “Hey, I’d love to visit all day, but I’ve got a meeting. Off-site, as they say. I’ll let you in on a little secret, Borders. I’m about to leave this dump and take a job as head of security at University Hospital.”
“Congratulations.”
“Hell, yes. Thanks. This place…who knows what’s going to happen. Those neuro docs wanted all the paperwork put on computers. I heard they were going to pull out their practice if it didn’t happen. So they bring in these kids from Silicon Valley, get a big federal grant, and a year later, nothing. Your Dr. Lustig was part of this. Now that she’s dead it’ll be delayed even longer. This place can’t survive on just treating the ghetto. Neuro’s good, though. You were lucky. Lucky to have that city insurance, too. Anyway, University is where this old cop is headed. No more budget cuts. No more worrying about gangbangers coming in to finish off some schmuck they shot down in the ’hood.”
“Why is the hospital covering up this murder?” Will tossed it gently, just as Berkowitz took a breath to continue speaking.
“What are you talking about?”
“A doctor murdered at a city hospital. When I was on homicide that would have been a red ball. Unless somebody had the juice to make it go away.”
Berkowitz sprang up—that effortless move to his feet seemed like a miracle—and started for the door.
