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“Tony,” Coughlin said, as they shook hands. Then Coughlin asked, “They found something?”
“Jason didn’t think they found enough,” Harris said. “That’s why he sent them back.”
“The famous Jason Washington’s ‘never leave a stone unturned’ philosophy?”
“Never leave the stones under the stone unturned,” Harris said.
“Can you walk it through for me, Tony? Bright Eyes here just might learn something.”
“Sure,” Harris said. “Two doers. They came through that door. Two young black guys, one of them fat. They-I got this primarily from a guy who works here-took a look around, then the fat one walked to the last booth on the left and sat down, and the other one sat in the first booth-where you are, Matt. My eyewitness, who was mopping the floor by the door, ducked into the kitchen. He looked out, saw the fat guy take a revolver-wrapped in newspaper-from his jacket, and told the kitchen supervisor. She called 911.
“The next thing my eyewitness knew, there was a shot.” Harris pointed to the ceiling above where Matt was standing. “We recovered the bullet. Full jacket. 38. If we can find the gun, we can most likely get a good match. Then the fat doer went into the kitchen….”
“Let’s have a look,” Coughlin said.
“Yes, sir,” Harris said, and led them through the restaurant to the kitchen doors.
“We have a bunch of prints from both sides of the doors,” Harris said. “All the employees had been fingerprinted, so we’re running the ones we lifted against those.”
He pushed the door open.
“My eyewitness was behind the door, with his back against the wall,” Harris said. “He saw the fat doer grab the telephone, listen a moment-presumably long enough to hear she was talking to Police Radio-rip the phone from the wall, call her an obscene name, hold his revolver at arm’s length, and shoot her. She slid down the wall, and then fell forward.”
He pointed to the chalked outline of a body on the floor, and to blood smeared on the wall.
“Then the fat doer herded everybody but my eyewitness, who he didn’t see, into the cooler, and jammed a sharpening steel into the padlock loops.”
He pointed to the cooler door, then went on. “Then he went back into the restaurant, not seeing my eyewitness, and started to take wallets, et cetera, from the citizens. Doer Number One, meanwhile, is taking money from the cash register.
“Right about then, Kenny Charlton came through the door. Doer Number One is crouched behind the cashier’s counter. Kenny saw him, the doer jumps up, wraps his arm around Kenny, wrestles with him. The fat doer then runs up, sticks his gun under Kenny’s bulletproof vest, and fires. Kenny goes down. Doer Number One steps over Kenny’s body, takes two shots at it, and then follows Doer Number Two out the door and down Snyder. Mickey O’Hara got their picture, but it’s a lousy picture. No fault of Mickey’s.”
“Why did the fat doer stick his gun under Charlton’s vest?” Matt asked. “Why not just shoot him in the head? Or the lower back, below the vest?”
Coughlin gave him a look Matt could not interpret, and finally decided it was exasperation at his having asked a question that obviously could not be answered.
Tony Harris held up both hands in a helpless gesture.
The restaurant manager walked up to them with three mugs of coffee on a tray.
“I thought you and the other detectives might like…”
“That’s very nice of you,” Coughlin said.
“Mr. Benetti, this is Commissioner Coughlin,” Harris said.
“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry…”
“I like to think I’m still a detective,” Coughlin said. “No offense taken.”
“I… uh… don’t know how to say this,” Benetti said. “But I’m glad to see you here, Commissioner. I would hate to have what those animals did to Mrs. Fernandez and Officer Charlton… wind up as an unsolved crime.”
“We’re going to try very hard, Mr. Benetti, to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Coughlin said.
Benetti looked at Coughlin, then put out his hand.
“Thank you,” he said, and walked away.
Coughlin looked over his shoulder, then pointed to one of the banquettes. He slid in one side, and Tony Harris and Matt into the other.
