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What’s this “we” shit? This is my job, pal, not yours. Butt the hell out.
“Yeah, sure.”
“There will be a telephone in the hospital, I’m sure,” Matt went on. “Or, if you would like us to, we can get word to him to meet you at Hahnemann Hospital.”
More of this “we” shit! Just who the hell do you think you are, Payne?
“That’s very nice of you,” Atchison said. “His name is Sidney Margolis. I got his number here in the card file.”
He started to reach for it, and Matt stopped him.
“It would be better, Mr. Atchison, if you didn’t touch that, either, until the technicians have done their thing. Is he in the phone book? Or is his number unlisted?”
“I remember it,” Atchison said, triumphantly calling it forth from his memory.
“If you give that to me again,” Matt said, “I’d be happy to call him for you.”
“Would you, please? Tell him what happened here, and ask him to meet me at Hahnemann.”
Matt took a small notebook from his pocket and wrote the number down.
“Can I see you a minute, Payne?” Wally said, and took Matt’s arm and led him out of the office. “Be right with you, Mr. Atchison.”
He led Matt a dozen steps down the corridor, then stopped.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, Payne,” he snap
ped. “But shut your fucking mouth. This is my job. When I want some help, I’ll ask for it.”
“Sorry,” Matt said. “I was just trying to help.”
“Do me a favor. Don’t.”
“OK. Sorry.”
Wally’s anger had not subsided.
“I’ll tell you what I do want you to do,” he said. “First, give me that lawyer’s phone number, and then get your ass down to the Roundhouse and wait for me there. I want your statement. I may have to put up with that ‘I’ll get my statement to you in the morning’ shit from Washington, but I don’t have to put up with it from you.”
Matt, his face red, tore the page with the phone number from his notebook and handed it to Wally. Wally took it and went back down the corridor.
Matt watched him a moment, then went up the stairs, as two uniformed officers, one carrying a stretcher, came down them.
Chief Lowenstein was gone. Jason Washington, alone at the table where they had been sitting, stood up when he saw Matt.
“Well, did you learn anything?”
“A,” Matt replied, “Detective Milham has all the charm of a constipated alligator, and B, he wants my statement tonight, not tomorrow.”
Washington’s right eyebrow rose in surprise.
“Shall I have a word with him?”
“No. No, thanks. Now that I think of it, I’d just as soon get it over with now. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
“All right. Walk me back to your place, and I’ll drop you off at the Roundhouse on my way home. Or you can get your car.”
“I’ll take the ride, thanks. And catch a cab home later.”
