Ghost of a Chance

“No, but that may be coming soon,” Alex said, only half joking. “I’m on my way over to the Central Office to give Detweiler everything I’ve got on Duane King. In the meantime, I want you to run over to the library and look up everything you can on that tabloid reporter, Billy Tasker.”

“You want the whole works?”

“Everything you can find,” he said. “I need this guy off my back.”

“All right,” she said. “Just remember why I won’t be here if you need someone to bail you out.”

Alex hadn’t thought of that, but shrugged it off. He really didn’t want the Mayor coming after him and if that meant he had to miss his date because he spent the weekend in jail then so be it. Jessica would understand.

You hope.

“Wish me luck then,” Alex said, then he hung up and went to meet his fate.

21 The Chief

The late afternoon sun lit up the Central Office of Police as Alex approached it for the second time that day. This time he wasn’t going to meet Danny, or even Callahan. Callahan disliked P.I.s but still held a fair amount of respect for Alex and his work. Detweiler, on the other hand, viewed Alex as a bungler who was making his job harder through incompetence and leaking to the press. He’d never believe that the information in the Sun had come from a different source.

The only way Tasker could have learned about the list of names Alex had given the police was from a cop. The Sun obviously had a source inside the Central Office, but Alex knew he’d never be able to sell that idea. Detweiler simply wouldn’t believe it. If it came down to a choice between Alex being a rat or one of his own, Detweiler would blame Alex every time.

Taking a deep breath, Alex savored what might be his last moments of freedom for the foreseeable future. He wouldn’t put it past Detweiler to lock him up just out of spite.

He needed a plan.

The man’s married to the Captain’s favorite niece, Alex thought. And the Captain is a political appointee. He’s concerned with his image. Two-to-One Detweiler’s cut from the same cloth.

Alex needed to appeal to the Lieutenant’s ego.

It wasn’t a great plan, but it wasn’t nothing. Alex crossed the street and entered the lobby. The crowd of reporters seemed to have lessened from the other day, but there were still a half dozen or so sitting in the waiting area.

Alex caught sight of the young reporter with the brown suit that had accosted him the other day. Not wishing a repeat performance, he hurried across to the elevators.

When he reached the fifth floor, Alex found a uniformed officer leaning against the wall just outside the door.

“You Lockerby?” he asked in a bored voice.

Alex felt a twinge of fear. He didn’t think Detweiler was dumb enough to throw him in a holding cell without hearing him out first. After all, Alex had given him good information before. That said, the Lieutenant might want to let Alex cool his heels for a few hours just out of spite.

“That’s me,” Alex said, pasting a friendly smile on his face.

“Detweiler said to bring you upstairs,” he said, nodding for Alex to get back on the elevator.

That took Alex by surprise. The Detectives for Manhattan all worked out of the fifth floor. Above them were several floors of clerks, functionaries, interview rooms, and, at the top, the higher ups. Captain Rooney had an office there, as did the Chief of Police, though the Chief spent most of his time in a satellite office in city hall.

It wasn’t likely that Detweiler wanted Alex in an interrogation room; he could grill Alex just fine in his own office. In fact, that would be better for him as his detectives would get to see him dressing down a meddlesome P.I. Going upstairs could only mean one thing — the Captain wanted in on whatever Detweiler had in mind.

Alex felt his hands shaking, but didn’t dare take a swig out of his flask. The cop escorting him would think it was a sign of weakness and tell Detweiler. Alex didn’t want to give the Lieutenant anything he might be able use against him.

The elevator dinged and Alex and the cop got off on the tenth floor. The Captain’s Office was down the hallway to the right; Alex had been there before the previous year. That time the Captain wanted to hang the murder of a customs inspector on him.

Before Alex had time to wonder what Rooney would accuse him of this time, the cop escorting Alex turned left.

“Where are we going?” Alex asked, falling into step beside him.

“Keep walking,” the cop said in a bored voice.

Alex didn’t have to wonder long. At the end of the hallway they turned again, and the cop opened an ornate door of dark wood with a brass plaque in its exact center. The name Arnold Montgomery was engraved on the plaque.

Arnold Montgomery was the Chief of Police for New York City.