Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [51]
“Using racist slang.”
“Just words, for christsake.”
“Words are tough, Hatch. Words can kill.”
“What words ever killed anybody?”
“Words that came out of Hitler’s mouth rallied millions of Germans to kill Jews.” Carter was known for seldom raising his voice. It had gone up a notch now. “Words send people to wars to kill and die. Words are powerful, Hatch.”
“I hear you people use them all the time, you know, slang about your people.”
“ ‘My people,’ ” Carter said, sighing. “I thought we were in this together. ‘My people.’ ‘Your people.’ Hatch, if we use slang, it’s okay because it’s between us. It’s not all right for someone who isn’t one of—‘our people.’ Understood? At any rate, Williams and Shrank are willing to drop their charges if you’ll agree to knock off the racial comments and apologize.”
Hatcher said nothing.
“Otherwise,” Carter continued, “they’ll go forward with the charges. Your call, Detective.”
“Apologize?”
Carter nodded.
“Yeah, all right, I’ll say something.”
“Good. Now, let’s get back to the Curzon case. PA tells me City Paper is doing a piece on it. They’re claiming many members of Congress are nervous about whether the victim kept a black book with the names of her tricks.”
“If she did, we didn’t find it,” Hatcher said.
“But you found the tapes.”
“Right. I brought them to you right after we looked at them.”
“The guy who’s writing the piece knows about them, Hatch.”
“The tapes?”
“Yes. Who leaked it?”
“Beats me, Chief.”
“What about… ?” He consulted papers on his desk. “What about Jackson or Hall?”
“I don’t know. I mean, maybe one of them did. Jackson’s a little bit of a loose cannon, you know?”
“I didn’t know. Find out for me.”
“I’ll try. It wasn’t me, that’s for sure. We done? I want to pick up this suspect I told you about.”
“We’re almost finished, Hatch. The reporter at City Paper is claiming that one of the suspects in the case is a police officer.” He stared intently at Hatcher.
“Manfredi,” Hatcher said flatly.
“Who leaked that?”
Hatcher shrugged.
“Detective Hall was the one who recognized him from the tapes.”
“Right. She and Jackson went out to the academy and confronted him. He blew them off.”
“From now on we’ll handle him internally. Understood? No one approaches him again from your squad.”
Hatcher was tempted to say what he was thinking, that it had the odor of a police cover-up. Instead, he said, “Yeah, I understand.” He winced.
“You all right, Hatch?” Carter asked.
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.”
The chief broke out a paternal smile. “You’re pretty close to packing it in, aren’t you, Hatch?”
“That’s right, pretty close.”
“There comes a time when retirement makes sense. It’s one of the passages of life. You devote most of your working life to a job, and then it’s time to pass the torch and enjoy the fruits of your labors.”
Hatcher didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing.
“Thanks for coming in,” Carter said. “Try to wrap up this Curzon case as quickly as possible. If you need more manpower, I’ll see what I can do.”
Hatcher went downstairs, where he bought a candy bar from a vending machine. He walked outside and drew in gulps of air as he devoured the candy. His anger had pushed the headache to the sidelines.
While sitting with Carter, he’d felt like a schoolboy being admonished by a teacher. How dare he treat me that way? I’ve forgotten more about being a detective than he’ll ever know. Uppity bastard, sitting behind his desk in his white shirt and telling me, Walter Hatcher, how to conduct an investigation. Carter’s caving in to that dirtbag congressman was typical. The world—and the Washington MPD—had sunk to a new low. What did the congressman expect, tea and crumpets and a pat on the head? Morrison was known in Congress as a staunch conservative who championed family values at every turn. Typical. Say one thing to get elected and then do the opposite. Had he killed