Fighting Chance(50)

Gregor’s response to this had been practical. He only involved himself in cases where the local law enforcement had asked him in and paid him for coming in. That did not make him an instant insider, but it at least gave him an official standing. It meant that the local police were obliged to talk to him, and the local suspects were obliged to take him seriously.

And then, in spite of all those precautions, he still often found himself in the position of being resented and obstructed at every turn.

This afternoon, Gregor was more than aware that he had no official standing, at least not publicly. And he didn’t kid himself about what his unofficial standing would bring in its wake. He was, in this case, everything he shouldn’t be: He was a close friend of the prime suspect. He was a close friend of the mayor, which made him a representative of an interfering outside political force. He had a big public reputation, which made him a glory hound. He was the last person Homicide would want to see.

Gregor said none of this to George Edelson as they crossed to the building where they were to have their appointment with the two detectives who had been handed the case, but he would have been very surprised if it hadn’t occurred to Edelson himself.

“They’re good men,” Edelson kept assuring him. “First-rate professionals. Lots of experience.”

Gregor made a noncommittal noise. He’d have preferred two men with less experience and no bullheadedness, but the chances that he would ever have gotten something like that were nearly nil. You didn’t put two new men on a case that was going to suck up national attention.

“I know you probably feel that they’re jumping to conclusions,” George said, “but I can assure you, they are not—and they never have done any such thing. It’s just that this case, well. This case does look—”

“Open and shut,” Gregor said. “I know.”

Gregor thought he was ready for what he could expect, but he let Edelson lead him through the long corridors of the Homicide Division without protesting. When had every police department and Social Services office and Department of Motor Vehicles building become a warren of corridors made out of pasteboard and put up on rollers? Had something happened to architecture and aesthetics when he wasn’t looking?

Gregor followed Edelson into an actual corridor, with real walls, and then down a single flight of heavily fire-protected steps to an open area full of round tables with laminated tops that were peeling in every direction.

“It’s what passes around here for a lunchroom,” Edelson explained. “You’ve got to bring your own.”

The room was empty except for two young men sitting at the back. Both of them were thin, short, and dark. Both of them were very upset.

“There they are,” Edelson said.

Then he walked himself and Gregor up to the table where the two young men were sitting and said, “Tony, Ray, this is Gregor Demarkian.”

Tony and Ray looked up from where they were sitting and made noncommittal grunting sounds. Gregor had no idea which one was which.

“So,” George Edelson said. “We should get started. You two are busy. I’m busy. Mr. Demarkian is busy.”

This time, there wasn’t even a noncommittal grunt. This was much worse than Gregor had been expecting.

George Edelson pulled out a chair. Gregor stopped him before he could sit down.

“Do us both a favor,” Gregor said. “Go wander around someplace for half an hour.”

George Edelson looked startled. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, do you? John said—”

“I can guess what John said,” Gregor said, “and he means well, but the best thing you can do right now is to get lost for half an hour. Or forty-five minutes. Go wait for me somewhere. Play something on your cell phone.”

Tony and Ray were watching all this very carefully, but they were not moving. They weren’t even blinking.

George Edelson looked from one to the other and then at Gregor. He looked resigned. “All right,” he said. “If that’s the way you want to play it. I think you’re wrong.”

“If I’m wrong, I can always come and get you and we can start all over again.”

“Right,” George Edelson said. “But I know these two, and you don’t.” Then he took himself off, moving very slowly, as if he expected to be called back any minute.

Gregor waited until George Edelson was all the way out the door, and then turned to Tony and Ray. “Which of you is which?” he asked them. “Tony who, and Ray who.”

The slightly shorter one stirred. “Tony Monteverdi,” he said. “That’s Ray Berle.”