W.E.B Griffin - The Murderers

“In other words, you would say you take the precautions a prudent businessman would take under the circumstances.”

“I think you could say that, yes.”

“We’ve found, over the years-and I certainly hope you won’t take offense over the question-that in some cases, employees have a connection with robberies of this nature.”

“I guess that would happen.”

“Would you mind giving me your opinion of Thomas Melrose?” Washington asked. “He was, I believe, the bartender on duty that night?”

“Tommy went off duty before those men came in,” Atchison replied, and then hesitated a moment before continuing: “I just can’t believe Tommy Melrose would be involved in anything like this.”

“But he was aware that you frequently kept large amounts of cash in your office.”

“Yes, I guess he was,” Atchison said reluctantly.

“How long has Mr. Melrose been working for you?” Washington asked.

“About nine months,” Atchison replied, after thinking about it.

“He came well recommended?”

“Oh, absolutely. You have to be very careful about hiring bartenders. An open cash drawer is quite a temptation.”

“Do you think you still have his references? I presume you checked them.”

“Oh, I checked them, all right. And I suppose they’re in a filing cabinet someplace.”

“When you feel a little better, Mr. Atchison, do you think we could have a look at them?”

“Certainly.”

“Mr. Melrose said that business was slow the night of this incident.”

“Yes, it was.”

“He said there was, just before he went off duty, only one customer in the place; and that when that last customer left, you took over for him tending bar.”

“That’s right. I did. You have to stay open in a bar like mine. Even if there’s no customers. There might be customers coming in after you closed, and the next time they wanted a late-evening drink, they’d remember you were closed and go someplace else.”

“I understand.”

“The one customer who left just before you took over from Mr. Melrose: Do you remember him? I mean, was there anything about him? You don’t happen to remember his name?”

Atchison appeared to be searching his memory. He shook his head and said, “Sorry.”

Washington stood up. “Well, I hate to leave good company, and especially such fine coffee, but that’s all I have. Thank you for your time, Mr. Atchison.”

“Have another before you go,” Atchison said. “One for the road.”

“Thank you, no,” Washington said. “I think Mr. Melrose said the customer was named Frankie. Does that ring a bell, Mr. Atchison?”

Atchison shook his head again. “No. Sorry.”

“Probably not important,” Washington said. “I would have been surprised if you had remembered him, Mr. Atchison. Thank you again for your time.”

He put his hand out.

“Anything I can do to help, Sergeant,” Atchison said.

“Cool customer,” Jason Washington said with neither condemnation nor admiration in his voice, making it a simple professional judgment.

“You gave him two chances to remember Frankie Foley,” Matt said.

“It will be interesting to see if Mr. Foley remembers Mr. Atchison,” Washington said, and then changed the subject: “Did your father really leave you in durance vile overnight?”

“Swann told you, did he?”

“Your father’s wisdom made quite an impression on Lieutenant Swann,” Washington said. “And you haven’t been behind bars since, have you?”

“No,” Matt said, and then thought aloud: “Unless you want to count the time those Narcotics assholes hauled me off the night Tony the Zee got himself hit.”

“I’m not sure you have considered the possibility that the Narcotics officers were simply doing their job.”

“Taking great pleasure in what they were doing.”

“Well, the tables have turned, haven’t they?” They thought they had a dirty cop. And now you’re going to see if it can be proved that they are dirty.”

“Am I going to work on that?”

“You and everybody else. Compared to coming up with something on the Narcotics Five Squad that will result in indictments, bringing Atchison before a grand jury will be fairly easy.”

“How come?”

“We have a crime scene on the Inferno job, and other evidence. We have two good suspects. I think we can get a motive without a great deal of effort. A good deal of shoe leather may be required, but it isn’t a question of if we will get Atchison, but when. So far as the Narcotics Five Squad is concerned, we don’t know what they have done, only that they have done it, and we don’t know what ‘it’ is, except the Widow Kellog’s definition of ‘it’ as dirty.”

“You can’t get any specifics out of her?”

“Not a one,” Washington replied. “But I believe she believes she is telling the truth that the whole squad is dirty. And to support that, they do own, without a mortgage, a condominium at the shore, and a boat. Their combined, honestly acquired, income is not enough to pay for those sorts of luxuries. And then we have the threatening telephone call.”

“How do you think Five Squad heard she had talked to you?”

“There’s no way that they could have. I think the simple explanation for that is that someone on Five Squad knew that Homicide would be talking to her, and they didn’t want her volunteering any information.”

“And you think that’s why Kellog was killed?”

“It looks to me as if there are two possibilities, one of which no one seems to have considered very much. That he was killed in connection with his honest labor as a Narcotics officer. He knew something-where are the tapes from his tape recorder?-and had to be silenced. And of course it is entirely possible that he was killed by someone on the Five Squad for the same reason. His wife had left him. He might have wanted her back bad enough…”

“Milham and Mrs. Kellog seem pretty tight; I don’t think she was going to go back to her husband.”

“I noticed that,” Washington said. “But neither of us have any way of knowing what Kellog was thinking, perhaps irrationally. Losing your wife to another man is traumatic. If she left him because of what he was doing, or, more to the point, because of what it was doing to him, and thus to their relationship, it’s entirely possible that he thought by stopping what he was doing he might be able to get her back. Whatever was on those tapes that we can’t find might have been his insurance.”

“Excuse me?” Matt interrupted. He was having trouble following Washington’s reasoning; the introduction of the missing tapes left him wholly confused.

“I’m quitting, I’m through,” Washington said. “I’m not going to squeal, but just to keep anyone from getting any clever ideas, I have tapes of whatever that will wind up in the hands of Internal Affairs if anything happens to me.”

“This is starting to sound like a cops show on television,” Matt said. “A very convoluted plot.”

“Yes,” Washington said thoughtfully. “It does. And that bothers me.” He was silent for a moment, then changed the subject. “For a number of reasons, including not wanting Wally Milham to think I’m pushing him out of the way, I am not going with you when you chat with Mr. Foley.”

“OK,” Matt said. “You going to tell me the other reasons?”

“I’ll take you back to the Media police station,” Washington said, ignoring the question. “We will get Wally Milham on the telephone and decide where you are to meet. Then you can get in your car and meet him. Relay to him in appropriate detail the essence and the ambience of our conversation with Mr. Atchison.”

“OK.”