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“Yes, sir.”
“Who’s Sergeant Washington?” Phil asked.
“Great big black guy? Used to work Homicide? The Black Buddha?”
“Jason’s here, and a sergeant?”
“I don’t how he feels about being a sergeant, but he doesn’t like being here.”
Officer O’Mara reported that Sergeant Washington was not in the building but Detective Harris was.
“Ask him to join us, please, Tommy,” Sabara said.
“Tony Harris, too?” Phil asked.
“Equally unhappy at not being in Homicide,” Sabara said.
Tony Harris came into the office two minutes later.
“Jesus, look what the tide washed up. The poor man’s Sam Spade.”
“Fuck you, Tony!” Phil replied.
Sabara was pleased. Obviously, Harris and Chason were friends. That spoke well for Chason, who had spent twenty-six years on the job, but whom Sabara could not remember ever having seen before he walked into his office.
“Mr. Chason was just telling me that he was engaged just a few days ago to investigate Mr. Ronald R. Ketcham,” Sabara said.
“No shit?” Tony asked, looking at Phil.
Phil nodded.
“How did you know we’re looking for him?”
“I didn’t, but I’m not surprised. He’s a sleazeball.”
“You didn’t see the Locate, Do Not Detain?” Sabara asked, just to be sure.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Who hired you to check Ketcham out?” Tony asked.
“Joey Fiorello,” Phil said.
Tony grunted.
“You don’t happen to know where he is, do you, Phil?”
“Sorry.”
“The other interesting thing Mr. Chason had to say, Tony, was that Fiorello is also interested in learning the names of some other narcotics officers.”
“Narcotics Five Squad officers?” Tony asked quietly.
“I don’t know about that, but there was a drug bust at the Howard Johnson motel last Thursday. . . .”
“That’s interesting,” Sabara said.
“Can I ask what’s going on?” Phil asked.
