The restaurant wasn't a cop place. It was an expensive seafood restaurant in the South Street fish-market area, a stockbroker's paradise full of guys yapping about liquidity and arbitrage. They knew Hart, greeted him as "Chief" when he and Janek walked in. The headwaiter seated them in a booth. Hart ordered Manhattan clam chowder, grilled sole and a bottle of white wine. "Lovely wine," he said after he chewed it awhile. Then he signaled the waiter to pour.
While Janek talked he watched Hart eat his soup. There was a rhythm to the way he dipped his spoon. Janek tried not to let that annoy him as he toured the perimeters of Switched Heads and Peter Lane. Just as he was finishing the waiter brought their fish.
"That it?" asked Hart as he began to bone his sole. He fileted it like a surgeon.
"Isn't that enough?"
Hart looked up from his handiwork. "No, Frank. Not nearly enough."
"You heard what I—"
"I heard every word. You got a goddamn kiss and some alleged artistry you think you saw in the crime-scene photos. And then you got a lot of psychological mumbo-jumbo that adds up to exactly zilch. You got no physical evidence, no witnesses and no plausible motive. Your suspect is a famous film director. The only connection between him and one of your victims is that he happens to have a view."
"We know he goes to whores."
"Screw the whores. So what that this guy Lane goes to whores? Half the men I know go to them and the other half are married to them. Take that to the DA and he'll puke all over it. What's worse, Lane will sue us for harassment." Hart lifted the skeleton out of his fish and laid it carefully on his bread-and-butter plate. "It's crap, Frank. A real crock. So tell me—what do you want?"
"Extra men."
"How many?"
"Enough to watch Lane full time."
"That's an awful lot of detectives. I don't know. If he's as smart as you say he is he's not going to do anything anyway."
Janek didn't argue or nod. He watched Hart eat for a while. There was something disgusting about the way Hart chewed his fish. And the look on his face—the look of a man who had the world by the tail. Janek reached into his pocket and pulled out the snapshot Al had given Caroline. He propped it up against the salt and pepper shakers.
Hart glanced at it. "So what's that?" He squinted at Janek to show he wasn't impressed.
"Another case."
"Looks like three young cops having a laugh." There was a sneer in his voice. He turned back to his food.
"Three young cops. Except now two of them are dead."
Hart shrugged.
"You told me you didn't know Al when we drove back from the burial."
"So I bullshitted you. So what? I invited you into the car to give you a case, not to reminisce about the past."
"Why do you think he shot himself?"
Hart puffed out his cheeks. "Beats me."
"What do you mean it beats you? He called you that morning. What did you say to him?"
"I didn't say anything. He started telling me."
"Now, look—"
"You look. Guy shot himself. No doubt of that. He did it—not me or anybody else. Whatever I said or didn't say, he's the one who pulled the trigger." Hart picked up the snapshot, squinted at it again, laid it down on Janek's side of the table, then gazed steadily into Janek's eyes. "You know I think very highly of you, Frank. Consider you one of my best detectives. There's a precinct command coming up in Brooklyn. Ever think about a captaincy?"
"Sure, I'd like to be a captain. But I don't want a precinct command."
"What do you want?"
"I like to work cases."
"Everyone likes to work cases. But if you're going to be a captain you have to do administrative work."
"Then maybe I'm not ready yet."
"Not ready to be a captain? Why the hell not?"
"Just don't see myself shuffling papers."
"There's retirement. You'd do a hell of a lot better if you went out at a higher grade."
"The pension's important, but I'm a detective. Do I get extra men or not?"
Hart gazed at him. "Never let go, do you? Get an idea into your head and hold on to it no matter what. You got some mystical idea about detective work, you some kind of metaphysician, Frank? I've heard that before and I don't respect it. A police career's about power. You either get more power or you stall in place."
The waiter asked if they wanted dessert. Janek shook his head. Hart ordered pumpkin pie. "Reminds me of Halloween," he said. "Tricks and treats. Jack-o'-lanterns in the windows, then mashed pumpkin on the streets. Heard about this case where this guy slipped in some pumpkin, broke his back, sued the city, said Sanitation was 'irresponsible and derelict.' City attorney I know handled it. Told me he looked for precedents. 'Basically,' he said, 'what we were dealing with was a classic slipped-on-the-old-banana-skin case.'" Hart laughed. "Okay, so you like to work cases. Then stick to the case you got. You think Lane did it, go ahead and prove it. Or start looking at someone else."
They sipped coffee in silence. Much as he hated Hart, Janek couldn't help but admire his cool. He appeared unshaken, and it occurred to Janek that maybe that was what had finally discouraged Al. There was no way to reach such a man; the smart move for Al would have been to put the case aside. But he couldn't do that, so he ate his gun.
After Hart paid the check Janek saw his cold little eyes turn appraising once again.
"I know your trouble. You think taking a captaincy would be selling out, like you're important enough to be offered a pact with the devil and so pure you can refuse it on the spot. Well, I got news for you. Enlisted man's pride—that's all the fuck it is. You and all the other assholes who like to work cases. Where does it get you? A stinking house in nowhere Queens and a stupid cow of a wife and a barbecue pit. Be smart, Frank, and think it over before you turn down what every detective in the division would give his left ball to have." He paused. "You got till the end of the year on Ireland/ Beard. After that the only extra personnel you're going to see is the guy I put in your place."
He stood, picked up his raincoat, then bent down very close to Janek and whispered harshly in his ear.
"Like I said, Frank, you think you got a case. But all you got are photographs."