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"He sent the FBI office pictures of themselves at work," Washington said. "In a plain brown envelope."
"Jesus Christ, that's childish!" Wohl said disgustedly.
"I would tend to agree," Washington said.
"Didn't he know Homicide would want to talk to these guys?" Wohl asked, and then, before there could be a reply, he thought of something else: "And the goddamn FBI! They must have known what went down. Why didn't they come forward?"
"Far be it from me to cast aspersions on our federal cousins," Washington said dryly, "but it has sometimes been alleged that the FBI doesn't like to waste its time dealing with the local authoritiesunless, of course, they can steal the arrest and get their pictures in the newspapers."
"I'll be a son of a bitch!" Wohl said furiously.
"Can I say something to you as a friend, Inspector?" Washington asked.
"Sure," Wohl said. "I just can'tbelieve this shit! God damn those arrogant bastards! DeZego was murdered! Assassinated! And the fucking FBI can't be bothered with it!"
"Peter, go by the book," Washington said.
"Meaning?"
"There is a departmental regulation that says any contact with federal agencies will be conducted through the Office of Extradepartmental Affairs. There's a captain in the Roundhouse-"
"Duffy," Wohl said. "Jack Duffy."
"Right. Go through Duffy."
Wohl looked at Washington for a long moment, his jaws working.
"When you're angry, Peter," Washington said, "you really give the word a whole new meaning. You getangry. And youstay angry."
A faint smile appeared on Wohl's face.
"You remember, huh, Jason?"
"I'm one of the few people who knows that it's not true you have never lost your temper," Washington said.
"Now Sherlock Holmes knows too," Wohl said, nodding at Matt Payne. "He tell you about the pimp?"
"No."
"What pimp?" Matt asked.
"That's right," Wohl said. "You don't know, either, do you?"
"No, sir."
Wohl related the whole sequence of events leading up to the death of Marvin Lanier.
"So what I think you should do, Jason," he concluded, "is get on the radio and get in touch with Tony Harris, and see what, if anything, they-he and D'Amata-have come up with. And then tell Tony I saw the mayor this morning, and he wants the Magnella shooting solved. I wish he'd get back on that."
"You saw the mayor? I saw your car at City Hall."
"Just a friendly little chat, to assure me of his absolute faith in me," Wohl said dryly.
"Yes, sir," Washington said. "You want me to take Payne with me? Or have you got something for him to do?"
Wohl gathered the photographs together, stacked them neatly, and put them back in the envelope. "Payne, you go out to Bustleton and Bowler, driving slowly and carefully, obeying all the speed limits. When you get there, telephone Captain John J. Duffy at the Roundhouse and tell him that I would be grateful for an appointment at his earliest convenience."
"Yes, sir."
