Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [133]
"I don't think that would be any problem with Mr. Colt," the mayor said. "Do you, Commissioner?"
"The problem, Mr. Mayor," Mariani replied, "would be making sure that Mr. Colt understood that whatever he saw, or heard, when he was with Sergeant Payne couldn't go any further."
"I don't think that would be a problem at all," Monsignor Schneider said. "I'm sure Stan would understand. After all, he's played a detective on the screen so often."
The commissioner smiled. A little wanly, Matt thought.
A Traffic Unit sergeant walked up to them, saluted, and said, "Commissioner, Mr. Colt's airplane's about to land."
[THREE]
Lieutenant Ross J. Mueller of the Forensic Laboratory of the Pennsylvania State Police in Harrisburg rose to his feet and extended his hand when Tony Harris was shown into his office.
"What can we do for you, Detective?" he asked, smiling cordially.
Mueller was a very large, muscular man who wore a tight-fitting uniform and his hair in a crew cut. Tony remembered what Dick Candelle had said about him probably having trouble finding his ass with both hands.
"Thank you for seeing me, sir," Tony said, "but I really hoped I could see Lieutenant Stecker."
Mueller looked at his watch.
"At the end of this tour--in other words, in an hour and five minutes--Lieutenant Stecker will hang up his uniform hat for the last time, and enter a well-deserved retirement. I'm taking his place. Now, how can Headquarters help Philadelphia?"
"Sir, I'm working a homicide. . . ."
"In what capacity?"
"Sir?"
"As the lead detective? One of the investigators? In what capacity?"
"I'm the lead detective on the job, sir."
"And you're here officially?"
"Yes, sir, I'm here officially."
"I thought perhaps that was the case. I don't recall hearing that you were coming."
"Sir, I just got in the car and came out here."
"You didn't check with your supervisor so that he could make an appointment for you?"
"No, sir, I did not."
"And who is your supervisor?"
"Lieutenant Jason Washington, sir."
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Lieutenant Mueller said, writing Washington's name on a lined pad.
If you don't know who Jason Washington is, Herr Storm Trooper, you really can't find your ass with both hands.
"Could you give me his phone number, please?" Lieutenant Mueller asked.
Tony gave him, from memory, the number of the commanding officer of the K-9 Unit of the Philadelphia police department. It was in his memory because he had noticed that it was identical, except for the last two digits, which were reversed, to that of the Homicide Unit.
He had made the quick judgment that despite his implied offer to help, Lieutenant Mueller was going to be part of the problem, not a solution.
"I'm going to call your Lieutenant and introduce myself," Lieutenant Mueller said, "and suggest the next time he thinks we can help Philadelphia, he call and set up an appointment."
"Yes, sir. Sir, I wasn't aware that was necessary, and I don't think Lieutenant Washington is, either."
"Probably not," Mueller said, smiling. "But you've heard, I'm sure, Detective . . . Harris, was it?"
"Yes, sir."
"That a new broom sweeps clean."
"Yes, sir, I've heard that."
"I'm the new broom around here."
"Yes, sir."
"But you're here. So how may we be of assistance?"
"Sir, as I said, I'm working a homicide. We have a visor hat . . . like a baseball cap, without a crown, that the doer left at the scene. Our lab, specifically Mr. Richard Candelle, has been able to lift only a partial that's probably an index finger."
"Candelle, you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"I believe I have met your Mr. Candelle. African-American, isn't he?"
"Yes, sir. He is."
"Go on, Detective Harris."