were focused on me with the intensity of a blow torch. ‘When Justin Whitlock came up clean,’ he admitted, ‘it surprised everyone.’
But that, of course, was the irony. Justin Whitlock was exactly what he appeared to be: a hard-working manager who kept the inventory up and the deliveries flowing, who cashed his check at the end of the week and went home to his wife.
‘Justin still works at Greenpoint Carton, making that commute from Gravesend every weekday. Personally, I don’t see why he does it. Him and his wife, they own a nice little co-op, with no mortgage, in a nice little neighborhood. Plus they both have pensions and social security. Justin could just lay back and enjoy the remaining years, but…’
‘Is there a point here?’ Sarney finally interrupted.
‘Only that Justin Whitlock told me, if I should run into you, to remember to say hello for him.’ I smiled. ‘Hello, Bill.’
When Sarney didn’t reply, I turned to a cluster of photographs on the wall to the right of the window: Sarney shaking hands with Rudolph Giuliani, with Michael Bloomberg, with George Pataki, with Hillary Rodham Clinton, with two police commissioners, with a host of lesser lights. Arranged in what appeared to be a perfect rectangle, the tight grouping was impressive, even though I knew the photos had been snapped at expensive fund-raisers attended (and occasionally sponsored) by his wife’s law firm.
‘Where do you want to go, Bill?’ I finally asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re a captain, now, and there’s no more civil service exams for you. If you’re gonna move up, you’re gonna have to do it by appointment. So my question is real simple. How big are your dreams? How high do you hope to rise? Inspector? Deputy Chief? Chief? How about Chief of Detectives? You stay another ten, fifteen years, it’s not impossible.’
‘Funny thing,’ Sarney replied after a moment, ‘but I somehow don’t feel the slightest need to discuss the issue with Detective Harry Corbin.’
I nodded to myself, then turned and took a step in Sarney’s direction. We were now standing a couple of yards apart. ‘You remember those tips Adele and I received?’ I asked. ‘There were five of them in all.’
‘Yeah, what about ’em?’
‘Well, did you ever wonder who sent them?’
‘My guess was Linus Potter, trying to control the investigation.’
‘Potter sent the first two, but not the rest.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Let’s just say the fact was revealed to me when I mentioned receiving Russo’s photo via email during my confrontation with Potter in Sparkle’s. As it turns out, Linus Potter equates operating a computer with chemical castration. He wouldn’t know an email attachment from a carrier pigeon.’
Though I’d promised Adele, going in, that I wouldn’t lose my temper, some part of me hadn’t been listening. ‘You were really good, Bill. The way your face got all red and you pounded the desk when I walked into the precinct with Ellen Lodge. And that bit about how you rescued me, a nothing detective riding out the tail end of a nothing career? I tell ya, I didn’t have a clue.’
I recalled Potter’s story about David Lodge’s confrontation with Justin Whitlock, how Lodge had intimidated Whitlock with a display of temper. Bill Sarney, I already knew, was of a different breed. ‘I should’ve figured it out right away, of course. That first pair of tips — the one that had us looking for DuWayne Spott and the one that told us where to find him — they helped the bad guys. But the other three? They helped the good guys, Bill, meaning me and Adele. Now why would Linus Potter, or any of his buddies, want to aid the investigation? That was the logical question, but I was too busy, too focused on Russo and Szarek and Greenpoint Carton, to ask it.’
Sarney walked over to the pool table. He lifted one of the cues, hefted it for a minute, then put it back on the table.
‘You made a lot of mistakes,’ I told his back. ‘First, whoever sent the last three tips must have known about the first two. That narrowed the field to Bill Sarney or some higher-up who was following the investigation. Second, one of those tips advised me to stay out of Greenpoint; that Adele and I were wasting our time. Great advice, as it turned out, but it just raised more questions. Like, who knew we were working Greenpoint in the first place? And how did they know? That’s when I ran down Justin Whitlock in his Sheepshead Bay co-op; that’s when he told me he’d been visited by a ranking officer, a detective-lieutenant named William Sarney, on the day after I confronted him at Greenpoint Carton.’
Sarney finally put a little distance between us by walking over to the wet bar. ‘You’re pretty sharp, Harry, when it comes to judging other people, but the truth is that I didn’t put a gun to your head. You made your own choices.’
‘What about Russo’s service photo? The one that turned up while I was still sitting on the fence.’
Sarney shook his head. ‘Gimme a fuckin’ break. You’re a knight in shining armor, and you always have been. That’s why I wanted to promote you and get you transferred to Homicide. The best detectives always take it personally; they’re always out to right wrongs. Funny how Bentibi knows this and you don’t.’
I watched him rinse his glass carefully, then dry it with a white bar towel. The towel was immaculate. It looked as if it had been ironed.
‘Ask yourself,’ he continued, setting the glass on the counter, ‘why you went for the detectives in the first place. Ask yourself why, when it became obvious that you weren’t going to be promoted by the bosses, you didn’t do what I did.’
‘Which is what?’
‘Which is pass the sergeant’s exam, the lieutenant’s exam, the captain’s exam. Which is move up through the civil service, instead of waiting around for some arrogant jerk in Borough Command to decide you’re worth promoting.’
I thought about it for a moment, then admitted, ‘I was afraid, if I passed the sergeant’s exam, I’d be transferred out of the Detective Bureau.’
‘My point exactly.’ Sarney turned to face me. As on the night I’d waltzed Ellen Lodge into the house, his act was very convincing. He tucked his chin down into his adam’s apple, presenting me with a furrowed expanse of forehead, then stared up at me through his eyebrows. If he’d only remembered to blink, he would’ve been perfect. ‘You’re in love with that gold shield,’ he continued, ‘you and every other detective. But that’s never been a crime. In fact, I’ll even admit that seeking justice is an admirable way to pass a career.’
‘But it’s not Bill Sarney’s way?’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘True enough, but I did learn something from you, Bill. Tell me, what do you think would happen if I took what I have to Inspector Clark at Borough Command?’
‘Look, Harry, I didn’t arrange for David Lodge to get killed in the One-Sixteen, any more than I arranged for you and Bentibi to catch the case. It’s just something that happened, one of those random shit-storms life throws at you from time to time.’ Sarney turned to face me before delivering the punch line. ‘If you remember, right from the beginning, I advised you to cover your ass.’
‘That doesn’t answer the question. What would happen if I took what I have to Inspector Clark?’
Though Sarney looked as if he was ready to explode, he got the words out. ‘Nothing. Nothing would happen.’
I nodded. ‘See, that wasn’t so hard. Now tell me why nothing would happen.’
Sarney stared at me, his dark eyes disbelieving. Here he was, a Captain, being pushed around by a nothing detective he’d consigned to the rubbish heap. I might have reminded him that life, as he’d been kind enough to explain, was full of nasty surprises, but I held my tongue.
‘I wasn’t alone,’ he finally admitted. ‘There were others who wanted Potter and his crew taken down.’
Cops on the job call NYPD headquarters, at 1 Police Plaza, the Puzzle Palace. Within its walls, or so the common mythology goes, the levels of intrigue rival those of a Byzantine court. Exactly who is doing what, and to whose benefit, and for what reason, is never entirely certain. I looked over at the collected photos on the wall, Commissioner Ray Kelly with his crooked nose, his square jaw, his jagged line of a mouth. Standing next to him, Sarney was grinning like a kid left alone in a candy store.
‘We followed them for years,’ Sarney continued, ‘right through the killing of Clarence Spott, and the arrest of
