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“Michael, my friend, how are you?” he greeted O’Hara with obvious sincerity, plus a warm smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“Hey, Jason,” O’Hara said. “I have a lousy picture of the doers.”
He pointed to the photograph lying on the detective’s desk. Washington picked it up, examined it carefully, then looked at O’Hara.
“I concur in your judgment of the quality,” he said. “And the source, Mickey?”
“I went in on the robbery-in-progress call,” O’Hara said. “When I got there, these two were leaving. I took that picture. ”
“And you believe these were the doers?”
“Yeah, that’s them,” O’Hara said. “They match the description I got from one of the employees.”
“The camera zeroed in on the light in the doorway,” Washington said. “Pity.”
“Its twelve hundred dots to the inch. Maybe the lab’ll be able to salvage more than I could,” Mickey said.
“Detective Fenson,” Washington said. “Didn’t you think, considering Mr. O’Hara’s reputation as one of the more skilled photographers of the dark side of our fair city, that it behooved you to get this photograph to the lab as quickly as possible?”
“That’s a pretty bad picture, Lieutenant.”
“But a picture nevertheless, Detective Fenson,” the Black Buddha said softly. “I constantly try to make the point that no stone should ever be left unturned.”
Fenson picked up the picture and walked out of the room.
“I am grateful for the photograph, Mickey,” Washington said. “Even if others may not be. I have a feeling that this case isn’t going to be as easy to close as everyone else seems to feel it will be.”
“Why’s that?”
“Intuition,” Washington said. “Nothing concrete.”
“Your intuition is… what? Legendary?”
“That has been said,” Washington said, smiling, then added, “I just have the feeling, Mick. I really hope I’m wrong.”
“I got a couple of shots of the bodies, too,” O’Hara said, and handed him the manila envelope.
Washington looked at them, then raised his eyes to O’Hara.
“I presume that these will shortly appear in the Bulletin?”
“I cleaned them up some,” O’Hara said. “But yeah, they will.”
Washington took O’Hara’s meaning.
“Thank you, Mickey.”
O’Hara gave a deprecating shrug.
“Buy you a cup of decent coffee, Jason?”
“Cafe Royal? In the Four Seasons?”
“Why not? The Bulletin’s paying.”
“Then I accept your kind offer,” Washington said.
TWO
