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Matt looked at Washington, who nodded.
"On our way," Matt said into the microphone.
They got out of the Ford. Washington opened the trunk and took out a briefcase, and then a second, and handed one to Matt.
They walked up Farragut Street, hoping they looked like two successful real estate salesmen beginning their day early, crossed the intersection, and walked halfway down the block.
There they climbed the stairs of a house, crossed the porch, and rang the doorbell.
They could hear footsteps inside but it was a long minute before the door was finally opened to them by a woman of maybe thirty-five, obviously caught three quarters of the way through getting dressed for work.
"Yes, what is it?" she asked, somewhat shy of graciously, looking with curiosity between them.
Washington held out his identification.
"Madam, I'm Sergeant Washington of the Police Department and this is Detective Payne. We would very much like a moment of your time. May we please come in?"
The woman turned and raised her voice.
"Bernie, it's the cops!"
"The cops?" an incredulous voice replied.
A moment later Bernie, a very thin, stylishly dressed, or halfdressed, man appeared.
"Sir, I'm Sergeant Washington of the Police Department and this is Detective Payne. We would very much like a moment of your time. May we please come in?"
"Yeah, sure. Come on in. Is something the matter?"
"Thank you very much," Jason Washington said. "You're Mr. and Mrs. Crowne, is that right?"
"I'm Bernie Crowne," Bernie said.
The woman colored slightly.
You are not, I deduce brilliantly, Matt thought, Mrs. Crowne.
"Say, my wife's not behind this is she? My ex-wife?" Bernie Crowne asked.
"No, sir. This inquiry has to do with your neighbor, Mr. Wheatley."
"Marion?" Bernie asked. "What about him?"
"We've been trying to get in touch with Mr. Wheatley for several days now, Mr. Crowne, and we can't seem to catch him at home."
"What did he do? Rob a bank?"
"Oh, no. Nothing like that. Actually, we're not even sure we have the right Mr. Wheatley. There has been a fire in New Jersey, at a summer place, in what they call the Pine Barrens. The New Jersey State Police are trying to locate the owner. And they don't have a first name."
"Bullshit," Mr. Crowne said. "They don't send sergeants and detectives out to do that. My brother is a lieutenant in the 9^th District, Sergeant. So you tell me what this is all about, or I'll call him, and he'll find out."
"Call him," Washington said flatly. "If he has any questions about what I'm doing here, tell him to call Chief Inspector Lowenstein."
Bernie looked at Washington for a moment.
"Okay. So go on. Marion's got a house in Jersey that burned down?"
"Do you have any idea where we could find Mr. Wheatley?"
