Part 62 (1/2)
”Any friend of Karl's . . .” Sabara said. ”He and I went to Wheel School together. He was a sergeant . . .”
He waved Chason into an upholstered chair.
”Now that I'm here,” Chason said, ”I'm beginning to wonder if this was such a hot idea.”
”You said you wanted fifteen minutes. You've got it.”
”All I've really got is that a guy I suspect-can't prove-has ties to the mob wants-is willing to pay a thousand dollars for-the names of some narcs, and told me a complicated bulls.h.i.+t story to explain why.”
”Who's the guy you think has ties to the mob?”
”Joey Fiorello,” Phil said. ”He runs a car lot on Essington Avenue-”
”I know who Joey is,” Sabara interrupted. ”Why does he want the names of the narcs?”
”I don't know, but the story he gave me is bulls.h.i.+t.”
”You want to start at the beginning?” Sabara said. ”How did you come into contact with Joey Fiorello?”
”Well, I went out on medical disability. I got bored, so I got myself a private investigator's license and put an ad in the yellow pages. About a year ago, Fiorello called me, said he saw the ad.”
”Called you to do what?”
”What I guess you could call a background investigation. He said he was thinking of offering a guy a job as a salesman, sales manager, and wanted to know about him. I checked out the first one, he was a solid citizen. A couple of months later, same story. Another solid citizen. And he called me a third time, just a little while ago. This time the guy was a real sleazeball, a stockbroker named Ketcham.”
”What was that name?”
”Ketcham, Ronald R. You know it?”
”Tommy!”
Officer O'Mara put his head in the door.
”See if Sergeant Was.h.i.+ngton is upstairs, will you? If he is, here, now, Tommy.”
”Yes, sir.”
”Who's Sergeant Was.h.i.+ngton?” 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 Was.h.i.+ngton 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.”
”f.u.c.k 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 s.h.i.+t?” 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.
”That's a tough one,” Sabara began. ”Mr. Chason, we're working on something-I can't answer that question. You understand.”
”Horses.h.i.+t,” 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.”