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“Frankly, Chief,” Wohl said, smiling, “I sort of expected you would ask me in here, thank me for my services, and tell me not to let the doorknob hit me in the ass on my way out.”
“Don’t be a wiseass, Peter,” Lowenstein said.
“Chief, I hope you understand that what I did at the diner was at the commissioner’s orders,” Wohl said. He saw that Lowenstein was still angry.
“The implication, of course, is that everybody in Homicide is a fucking barbarian, too dumb to figure out for themselves how to handle a woman like that,” Lowenstein said.
“I don’t think he meant that, Chief,” Wohl said. “I think what it was was just that I was the senior supervisor at the Waikiki Diner. I think he would have given the same orders, would have preferred to give the same orders, to anyone from Homicide.”
“The difference, Peter, is that nobody from Homicide would have called the Polack. They would have followed procedure. Why did you call him?”
“A couple of reasons,” Wohl said, deciding to stand his ground. “Primarily because he and Dutch were close.”
“And the woman?”
“And the woman,” Peter said. “I’m sorry if you’re angry, but I don’t see where what I did was wrong.”
“Was Dutch fucking her?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said. “I thought it was possible when I called the commissioner, and that if they had something going on between them, what I should do was try to keep anybody from finding out.”
“Maybe the Polack was already onto it,” Lowenstein said.
“Excuse me?”
“Just before you came in, Peter, I talked with the Polack,” Lowenstein said. “I was going to call him anyway, but he called me. And what he told me was that he wants you in on this, to deal with the Dutton woman from here on in.”
“I don’t understand,” Wohl said.
“It’s simple English,” Lowenstein said. “Whatever Homicide has to do with that woman, they’ll do it through you. I told the Polack I didn’t like that one damned bit, and he said he was sorry, but it wasn’t a suggestion. He also said that I shouldn’t bother complaining to the mayor, the mayor thought it was a good idea, too. I guess that Wop sonofabitch is as afraid of the goddamned TV as the Polack is.”
“Well, it wasn’t my idea,” Wohl said, aware that he was embarrassed. “I went to Nazareth, and went through Dutch’s personal possessions, and then I went to the medical examiner’s office. I was going to come here to tell you what I found—which is nothing—and then I was going to call the commissioner and tell him.”
Lowenstein looked intently at him for a moment.
“And go back to where I belong,” Peter added.
“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen,” Lowenstein said. “I was going to give you a little talk, Peter, to make it clear that all you’re authorized to do is keep the TV lady happy; that you’re not to get involved in the investigation itself. But I don’t think I have to do that, do I?”
“No, sir,” Wohl said. “Of course you don’t.”
“And I don’t think I have to ask you to make sure that I hear anything the Polack hears, do I?”
“No, sir.”
“The trouble with you, Peter, you sonofabitch, is that I can’t stay mad at you,” Lowenstein said.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Wohl said, smiling. “What do you think I should do now?”
“I suspect that just maybe the assigned detective would like to talk to the witness,” Lowenstein said. “Why don’t you find him and ask him? Where’s the dame?”
“At her apartment,”
Peter said. “Who’s got the job?”
“Jason Washington,” Chief Inspector Lowenstein said. “I expect you’ll find him outside, just a titter with excitement that he’ll now be able to work real close to a real staff inspector.”
“There’s a rumor going around, Chief,” Wohl said, “that some people think staff inspectors are real cops.”
