Part 67 (1/2)
He walked out of the room and into the interview room.
Wordlessly, he took a dozen eight-by-ten-inch photographs from it and spread them on the table before Mr. Ronald R. Ketcham.
Ketcham did his best to appear to be confused by the photographs.
”Where's my clothing?” he asked. ”You said someone had gone for my clothing.”
”Would you please examine the photographs, Mr. Ketcham, and identify the police officer who committed oral rape upon the person of Miss Cynthia Longwood?”
”I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”
”The time has come, Mr. Ketcham, for you to disabuse yourself of the notion that you are intellectually equipped to parry with me, and that you will somehow be able to dig yourself out of the hole you dug for yourself.”
”I want my lawyer.”
”We know, Mr. Ketcham. All you are doing is wasting time.”
”You know what?”
”Please examine the photographs, Mr. Ketcham, and identify the police officer who, following your detention in connection with illegal trafficking in controlled substances, committed oral rape upon the person of Miss Cynthia Longwood.”
”I have never been arrested in my life, and neither has Cynthia. Where the h.e.l.l are you coming from?”
”If you are willing to cooperate with us in the prosecution of this police officer, which would require your testimony in a court of law, on our part we will do whatever is necessary to protect you, and additionally will not bring narcotics charges against you.”
”Protect me from what? Who?”
”The same persons who took you to the NIKE site and left you there to die of starvation.”
”Oh, come on. I told you the whole thing is a case of mistaken ident.i.ty.”
”You don't believe that any more than I do,” Was.h.i.+ngton said. ”Mr. Savarese knew precisely whom he ordered be taken to-and left to die a painful death by starvation at-the NIKE site.”
”Mr. who?”
”Mr. Vincenzo Savarese.”
”The gangster?”
”It has been alleged that Miss Longwood's maternal grandfather has a connection with organized crime.”
”You're not actually trying to tell me that gangster is Cynthia's grandfather?”
”You seem surprised. You really didn't know?”
”No. I didn't know, and I don't believe it now.”
”In other words, you decline to identify the rapist and cooperate with us in his prosecution?”
”I don't know what the h.e.l.l you're talking about.”
”We all must make decisions in our lives,” Was.h.i.+ngton said. ”I must in all honesty tell you I think you have just made the wrong one. But I'm sure you have your reasons. If you will wait here, Mr. Ketcham, I'll inform the FBI agent that we're through with you. Perhaps they're finished with your clothing by now.”
”What does the FBI want with me?”
”Your being taken to the NIKE site against your will const.i.tutes kidnapping. That's a federal offense. They will ask your help in identifying the people who committed this crime against you.”
”And I will tell them the same thing I told you. I have no idea. It was obviously a case of mistaken ident.i.ty.”
”You don't really believe that will make any difference to Vincenzo Savarese, do you?” Was.h.i.+ngton asked. ”You are the man who not only introduced his beloved granddaughter to the use of cocaine, but put her in a dangerous situation where she was brutally raped.”
Was.h.i.+ngton walked to the door, put his hand on the k.n.o.b, and then turned to look at Ketcham.
”Shortly after the FBI releases you-Mickey O'Hara of the Bulletin Bulletin is outside, convinced that his many readers will be fascinated to learn about the stockbroker who was found in a deserted NIKE site wearing nothing but an overcoat-Mr. Savarese will learn you are still alive. The next time he abducts you, it will be to a place where no one will find you.” is outside, convinced that his many readers will be fascinated to learn about the stockbroker who was found in a deserted NIKE site wearing nothing but an overcoat-Mr. Savarese will learn you are still alive. The next time he abducts you, it will be to a place where no one will find you.”
Mr. Ronald R. Ketcham looked at Detective Jason Was.h.i.+ngton, licked his lips, and announced, ”The b.a.s.t.a.r.d that did that to Cynthia is the one on the top.”
Was.h.i.+ngton said nothing.
Ketcham picked up the photograph of Officer Herbert Prasko of the Five Squad of the Narcotics Unit of the Philadelphia Police Department and held it up for Was.h.i.+ngton to see.
”He was dressed like a b.u.m when he did it, but that's the son of a b.i.t.c.h!”
”You're quite sure?”
”G.o.dd.a.m.n it, of course I'm sure. He handcuffed me to the toilet, and then did that to Cynthia. The filthy b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” Ketcham said, and then self-righteous outrage overcame his discretion. ”And he stole twenty thousand dollars from me!”
”Nice job, Jason,” Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin said to Sergeant Was.h.i.+ngton when Was.h.i.+ngton came back into the room adjacent to the interview room.
”The question, Chief,” Was.h.i.+ngton said, not quite able to convincingly pretend he was not interested in the compliment, ”is now that we know, what are we going to do?”
”Who did he pick out?” Inspector Wohl asked.
”Officer Prasko,” Was.h.i.+ngton said as if he had something distasteful in his voice.
”What do we have on Prasko?” Wohl asked.
”The pertinent personnel doc.u.ments are in my briefcase,” Was.h.i.+ngton said. ”If memory serves, there was nothing significant-”
He stopped in midsentence when the door opened.
”I've taken my walk,” Mickey O'Hara said, ”and am not in a receptive mood for a suggestion to take another one.”
”Mickey, what would it take for you to go home and call me in the morning?” Chief Coughlin replied. ”With the understanding that I would fill you in completely then?”
”A blare of celestial trumpets, and a voice even deeper than Jason's saying, 'Mickey, my son, do what the nice old man asks you to do.' Failing that . . .”
Wohl and Was.h.i.+ngton chuckled, which earned them a dirty look from Chief Coughlin.