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“I’ll go have a look,” Quaire said.
“Take Detective Payne with you,” Lowenstein said. “He might be useful—he was first on the scene—and he might learn something.”
Matt Payne, looking a little surprised, stood up.
Chief Lowenstein waited until Quaire and Payne were out of earshot, then turned to Washington.
“Jason, we’ve been friends for a long time.”
“‘Uh-oh,’ the Apache warrior said, aware that he was about to be schmoozed by the Big Chief,’” Washington said.
Lowenstein smiled, and then the smile vanished.
“I know what you’re doing, Jason.”
“Excuse me?”
“And for what it’s worth, if I had to pick somebody to do it, it would be you. Or Peter Wohl. Or the both of you, which is the way I hear it is.”
“Chief, we have been friends a long time, and what you’re doing is putting me on a hell of a spot.”
“Yeah, and I know it. But goddamn it…”
Washington looked at him, met his eyes, but said nothing.
“I’m going to ask you some questions. If you feel you can answer them, answer them. If you feel you can’t, don’t.”
Washington didn’t reply, but after a moment, nodded his head.
“How bad is it?”
Washington, after ten seconds, which seemed like much longer, said, “Bad.”
“How high does it go?”
“There’s a captain involved.”
“Suspicion, or something that can be proved?”
Washington thought that question over before replying.
“There will be indictments.”
Lowenstein met his eyes and exhaled audibly.
“Anybody I know?”
“Chief, you know a lot of people.”
“If I ran some names by you, would you nod your head?”
“No.”
“Mike Weisbach heard some talk abut Vito Cazerra.”
Washington didn’t reply.
“He’s working on it. Weisbach’s a damned good investigator.”
