'Somebody shot him behind the left ear outside the Taft field house,' Quirk said, 'and then shot him in the back of the head after he'd fallen and was lying face down. Big caliber gun, maybe .45 they tell me.'
'And we know you know more than you're telling,' Arlett said in a rush. I could see Belson smile slightly.
Quirk ignored Arlett. 'And then,' he said, 'somebody apparently made a run at Woodcock, and your goomba, Hawk, ah, interceded.'
'Shooter dead?' I said.
'Two of them,' LeMaster said. 'No I.D. on them. Delaney got prints and they're going to run it down for us at Ten-Ten.'
'State Police Headquarters,' Arlett said. Belson's grin got a little wider.
'Gave us a statement,' Delaney said, 'and released Woodcock and the broad . . .'
'Chantel,' I said.
'Yeah, Woodcock's broad.'
I said, 'She has a name. It's Chantel.'
'Sure,' Delaney said. 'They support Hawk's statement that he acted in their defense.'
'So what do you know about all of this?' Arlett said.
'Nothing,' I said.
'Lieutenant, arrest him,' Arlett said, 'read him his rights and book him.'
'Suspicion of murder?' Quirk said.
'Material witness, obstructing justice, anything you want. I want him in a cell thinking about this. Maybe his memory will improve.'
'Didn't Robert Stack say that, in 'The Untouchables'?' I said.
'You're not as funny as you think you are,' Arlett said.
'Yeah, sure he did,' I said. 'He said it to Bruce Gordon, who was playing Frank Nitti, 'maybe your memory will improve,' he said. And. . .'
'Shut up,' Arlett said.
'I bet you watched that all the time,' I said. 'I know it was Ness who said, 'we'll ask the questions.' '
'Spenser,' Quirk said, 'give it a rest.'
'Farantino's got a bad caseload problem in Middlesex,' Belson said, around his cigar. 'Sends out the best he's got available.'
Arlett turned toward Belson. 'Sergeant, just what the hell is that supposed to mean?' Belson's thin face with its permanent five o'clock shadow was sincere as he looked at Arlett.
'Trying to be supportive,' he said. Quirk stood up.
'You gentlemen wait here,' he said. 'Frank, Spenser, come with me.'
He went around his desk and out the door of his office without waiting to see if we'd come. We came. He went along through the squad room and out and down a corridor and in through a door marked OCU. It was another squad room, a little smaller than Homicide. We walked through toward a door that read SGT. MYLES HICKMAN, COMMANDER, and opened the door.
'Myles is on vacation,' Quirk said.
He sat behind the desk and I sat in front and Belson closed the pebbly glass door and leaned on the wall beside it.
'Okay,' Quirk said. 'Arlett's an asshole, you know it, Frank knows it, I know it. He's new in the criminal division, he's insecure and he should be. So he tries to be tough and he don't know how. But the questions he's asking aren't questions that shouldn't be answered. And if he pushes me I'll have to arrest you for him. They'll hold you in Walford.'
'For how long,' I said.
'Until Haller gets there. If we bust you, I'll have Frank call him.'
I got up and stood looking out at the nearly empty squad room. At the far end was a darkhaired cop with a thick mustache. His baseball jacket was hung on the back of his chair. He was wearing his gun in a shoulder holster and a set of handcuffs dangled as well from the strap under his arm. He had his feet up on the desk. He was wearing New Balance running shoes and jeans. He hunched his right shoulder up to hold the phone against his ear while he fumbled for something in the desk drawer.
'I should have had Davis covered too,' I said.
The cop on the phone found a pad of yellow paper in the drawer and began to write on it with a ballpoint pen.
'And I simply didn't think of it,' I said. I turned and looked at Quirk and Belson. 'I didn't think of it.'
'Too late now,' Belson said. I nodded.
'I know who had him killed, and I know who sponsored the run at Dwayne, and I know why, but I can't prove it.'
'Give it to us,' Quirk said. 'Maybe we can prove it.'
