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“That’s a tough one,” Sabara began. “Mr. Chason, we’re working on something—I can’t answer that question. You understand.”
“Horseshit,” Tony Harris said. “Mike, I’ve known Phil for twenty years. If there are two honest cops in the whole department, Phil’s the other one. The more he knows about what we’re trying to do, the more useful he’s going to be.”
That was a clear case of insubordination. Not to mention using disrespectful language to a superior officer. And, for that matter, Harris was clearly guilty of being on duty needing a shave and a haircut.
But on the other hand . . .
“The other honest cup? You mean you and him?”
“Well, maybe Washington and Wohl, too,” Harris said. “That would make four, but I’m not so sure about Wohl. . . .”
“For the record, Tony, I told you not to tell him . . .”
“So report me.”
“. . . so I will tell him,” Sabara finished. “With the understanding none of this leaves this room, Mr. Chason?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Vincenzo Savarese’s granddaughter is in the psychiatric ward of University Hospital, in pretty bad condition,” Sabara began. “Somebody called up there and said she had been orally raped.”
“I don’t get the connection,” Phil said.
“Ronald R. Ketcham is the girl’s boyfriend,” Tony said. “And no one seems to know where he is.”
“Ketcham must be a ladies’ man,” Chason said. “What I heard was he was carrying on hot and heavy with a Main Line—Bala Cynwyd—princess named Longwood.”
“Same girl, Phil,” Tony Harris said.
“And she’s Savarese’s granddaughter? And this guy raped her? Don’t hold your breath until you find him, Tony,” Phil said and then had a chilling thought.
“Oh, shit! And I told Joey Fiorello, who told Savarese . . .”
“How were you to know?” Tony Harris said. “Phil, let’s start at the beginning again. Maybe there’s something there.”
“About a year ago,” Phil began.
Despite his intention to rise at noon, Detective Harry Cronin had woken a little after three P.M. to the sound of cooking utensils banging in the kitchen. He rose from the couch and went into his kitchen.
“Hi, baby!” he said to Mrs. Cronin.
She gave him a sadly contemptuous look but did not reply.
“I’m sorry about last night, honey. What happen
ed was I went by the Red Rooster—”
“And got plastered,” Patty finished for him.
He accepted the accusation with a chagrined nod.
“Just because you’re back on nights, Harry,” Patricia said, “does not mean you’re going to start going to the Red Rooster and—”
“It was a one-time thing, baby.”
“It better have been, Harry,” Patty said, then closed the conversation by adding, “You better take a shower and a shave. It’s time for you to go to work.”
“Right,” Harry agreed.
