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MAYOR OF NEW YORK, DIARY, 1845
EIGHTEEN
Saturday, 10:15 p.m., to Sunday, 5:30 a.m.
Hit me again, Lon."
Rhyme drank through a straw, Sellitto from a glass. Both took the smoky liquor neat. The detective sank down in the squeaky rattan chair and Rhyme decided he looked a little like Peter Lorre in Casablanca.
Terry Dobyns was gone--after offering some acerbic psychological insights about narcissism and those employed by the federal government. Jerry Banks had left too. Mel Cooper continued to painstakingly disassemble and pack up his equipment.
"This is good, Lincoln." Sellitto sipped his Scotch. "Goddamn. I can't afford this shit. How old's it?"
"I think that one's twenty."
The detective eyed the tawny liquor. "Hell, this was a woman, she'd be legal and then some."
"Tell me something, Lon. Polling? That little tantrum of his. What was that all about?"
"Little Jimmy?" Sellitto laughed. "He's in trouble now. He's the one ran interference to take Peretti off the case and keep it out of the feds' hands. Really went out on a limb. Asking for you too, that took some doing. There were noses outa joint over that. I don't mean you personally. Just a civilian in on a hot case like this."
"Polling asked for me? I thought it was the chief."
"Yeah, but it was Polling put the bug in his ear in the first place. He called soon as he heard there'd been a taking and there was some bogus PE on the scene."
And wanted me? Rhyme wondered. This was curious. Rhyme hadn't had any contact with Polling over the past few years--not since the cop-killer case in which Rhyme had been hurt. It had been Polling who'd run the case and eventually collared Dan Shepherd.
"You seem surprised," Sellitto said.
"That he asked for me? I am. We weren't on the best of terms. Didn't used to be anyway."
"Why's that?"
"I 14-43'd him."
An NYPD complaint form.
"Five, six years ago, when he was a lieutenant, I found him interrogating a suspect right in the middle of a secure scene. Contaminated it. I blew my stack. Put in a report and it got cited at one of his IA reviews--the one where he popped the unarmed suspect."
"Well, I guess all's forgiven, 'cause he wanted you bad."
"Lon, make a phone call for me, would you?"
"Sure."
"No," Thom said, lifting the phone out of the detective's hand. "Make him do it himself."
"I didn't have time to learn how it works," Rhyme said, nodding toward the dialing ECU Thom had hooked up earlier.
"You didn't spend the time. Big difference. Who're you calling?"
"Berger."
"No, you're not," Thom said. "It's late."
"I've been reading clocks for a while now," Rhyme replied coolly. "Call him. He's staying at the Plaza."
"No."
