The Cabinet of Curiosities

Custer turned back toward the living room. But Rocker put out a hand to stop him.

“And, Captain? Once you’re done with Harriman, I’d suggest you get to work on this new case of yours. Get right to work. Catch that killer. You don’t want another, fresher stiff turning up on your watch—do you? Like I said, you’ve got a little breathing space here. Make use of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rocker continued to peer at him from beneath lowered brows. Then he grunted, nodded, and gestured Custer on ahead of him.

The living room was, if possible, even more crowded than it had been moments before. At the commissioner’s signal, a tall, slender man stepped out of the shadows: horn-rimmed glasses, slicked-back hair, tweed jacket, blue oxford shirt, tasseled loafers.

“Mr. Harriman?” Rocker said. “This is Captain Custer.”

Harriman gave Custer’s hand a manly shake. “Nice to meet you in person, sir.”

Custer returned the handshake. Despite his instinctive distrust of the press, he found himself approving of the man’s deferential attitude. Sir. When was the last time a reporter had called him sir?

The commissioner glanced gravely from one man to the other. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Captain? I have to get back to One Police Plaza.”

Custer nodded. “Of course, sir.”

He watched the man’s broad back as it disappeared through the door.

Noyes was suddenly there, in front of Custer, hand extended. “Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, sir.”

Custer shook the limp hand. Then he turned back to Harriman, who was smiling beneath the horn-rims, impeccably knotted repp tie snugged against a buttoned-down collar. A dweeb, without doubt. But a very useful dweeb. It occurred to Custer that giving Harriman an exclusive would take that other pesky reporter—the one whose voice was still clamoring out in the street—down a few notches. Slow him down, get him off their asses for a while. It was bracing how quickly he was adjusting to his new responsibility.

“Captain Custer?” the man said, notebook poised.

“Yeah?”

“May I ask you a few questions?”

Custer gestured magnanimously. “Shoot.”

EIGHT

O’SHAUGHNESSY STEPPED INTO the captain’s outer office, automatically looking around for Noyes. He had a pretty good idea why Custer wanted to see him. He wondered if the subject of the prostitute’s two hundred bucks would come up, as it sometimes did when he got a little too independent for some ass-kisser’s taste. Normally he wouldn’t care; he’d had years to practice letting it all roll off his back. Ironic, he thought, that the shit was about to come down now—now, just when he’d gotten on an investigation he found himself caring about.

Noyes came around the corner, chewing gum, his arms full of papers, his perpetually wet lower lip hanging loose from a row of brown teeth. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.” He dropped the pile on his desk, took his sweet time sitting down, then leaned toward a speaker.

“He’s here,” he called into it.

O’Shaughnessy sat down, watching Noyes. The man always chewed that nasty, old-fashioned, violet-scented gum favored by dowagers and alcoholics. The outer office reeked of it.

Ten minutes later the captain appeared in the door, hiking up his pants and tucking in his shirt. He jerked his chin at O’Shaughnessy to indicate he was ready for him.

O’Shaughnessy followed him back into the office. The captain sank heavily into his chair. He rolled his eyes toward O’Shaughnessy with a stare that was meant to be tough but only looked baleful.

“Jesus Christ, O’Shaughnessy.” He wagged his head from side to side, jowls flapping like a beagle. “Jesus H. Christ.”

There was a silence.

“Gimme the report.”

O’Shaughnessy took a long breath. “No.”

“Whaddya mean, no?”

“I don’t have it anymore. I gave it to Special Agent Pendergast.”

The captain stared at O’Shaughnessy for at least a minute. “You gave it to that prick?”

“Yes, sir.”

“May I ask why?”

O’Shaughnessy did not answer immediately. Fact was, he didn’t want to get put off this case. He liked working with Pendergast. He liked it a lot. For the first time in years, he found himself lying awake at night, thinking about the case, trying to fit the pieces together, dreaming up new lines of investigation. Still, he wasn’t going to kiss ass. Let the showdown come.

“He requested it. For his investigation. You asked me to assist him, and that’s what I did.”

The jowls began to quiver. “O’Shaughnessy, I thought I made it clear that you were to seem to be helpful, not to be helpful.”

O’Shaughnessy tried to look puzzled. “I don’t think I quite understand you, sir.”

The captain rose from his chair with a roar. “You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

O’Shaughnessy stood his ground, feigning surprise now as well as puzzlement. “No, sir, I don’t.”