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"Is that all?"
"Unless you can think of something."
"Not a fucking thing. If I think of something, I'll give you a call."
"I'd really appreciate that," Washington said.
"And like I said, I'll call my friend in the photo lab and have him run off a set of prints for you."
"Thank you," Washington said.
****
Jason Washington parked his unmarked car in the parking lot behind the Roundhouse at 7^th and Race and walked purposefully toward the building.
There are four anomalies vis-a-vis Sergeant Dolan and his photographs.
One, Dolan had told me that he and his partner had been trailing the Detweiler girl and had trailed her to the parking garage. There were no photographs of Penelope Detweiler; they were all of Anthony J. DeZego. Why?
Two, there were no photographs of Matt Payne and his girlfriend in the Porsche. If he thought Matt was dealing drugs, there should have been.
Three, there were only thirteen photographs in the stack Dolan showed me. Thirty-five millimeter film comes in twenty-four- and thirty-six-exposure rolls. Ordinarily almost every frame on a roll of film is exposed, and ordinarily every exposed frame on a roll is printed. And since it is better to have too many photographs than too few, it seemed likely that Dolan would have taken far more than thirteen photographs during the time he had been watching DeZego. Probably a roll at the hotel, and then a fresh one, starting from the moment DeZego left the hotel. Probably a thirty-six-exposure roll, so he wouldn't run out at the wrong time. That's what I would have done.
Four, he suddenly turned obliging at the end. He would call a pal in the photo lab and have his pal make a set of prints and send, them to me. Had he suddenly joined the Urban League and vowed to lean over backward in the interests of racial harmony and/or interdepartmental cooperation? Or did he want to control what pictures the lab sent me to include in my report?
Three guys were on duty in the photo lab. One of them seemed less than overjoyed to see Detective Jason Washington. Washington consequently headed straight for him.
"Morning!" he said cheerfully.
"I just this minute got off the phone," the lab guy, a corporal, said. "With Dolan, I mean."
"Good," Washington said. "Then you know why I'm here."
"I'll get to it as soon as I can," the corporal said. "You want to come by about two, or do you want I should send them to you?"
"I want them now," Washington heard himself say. "Didn't Sergeant Dolan tell you that?"
"What do you mean, 'now'?"
"Like, I'll wait," Washington said.
"It don't work that way, Washington, you know that. Other people are in line ahead of you."
"No," Washington said. "I'm at the head of line."
"The fuck you are!"
"Well, you can either take my word for that or we can call Inspector Wohl and he'll tell you I'm at the head of the line."
"Wohl don't run the photo lab," the corporal said.
This Irish bastard is sweating too. What the hell have I found here?
"Well, you tell him that."
"What I am going to do is find the lieutenant and ask him what to do about your coming in here like Jesus Christ Almighty. Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway?"
"Let's go see him together," Washington said.
