because, hey, after all, he’s one of the good guys, right?’
‘Sometimes,’ Doyle says, ‘it’s not what you do, it’s the way that you do it. There are ways and means, Paulson.’
‘Really? I know it hurts, but think back over those talks we had a year ago. Look at them really closely, replay the words in your mind, and then tell me I was any more brutal than you’ve been with perps in the interrogation room.’
‘Difference is, I’m not a skell. I’m a cop. I’m NYPD. And so are you.’
‘And so was a child rapist. All the more reason to have people like me on the job, wouldn’t you say? People who aren’t afraid to squeeze balls just because they belong to another cop. Like I said, I don’t do this to make me Mr Popular. I do it because it’s necessary.’
Doyle drains his cup. ‘Okay, Paulson.’
‘Okay what?’
‘Just. . okay.’
Paulson stares into Doyle’s eyes. It takes a while, but finally he gives one more of his nods. What do you know, Doyle thinks; he finds me as acceptable as his donut.
Paulson says, ‘Your turn.’
‘My turn for what?’
‘To tell
‘I been telling you all along: to ask you some questions.’
‘Must be pretty big questions, you agreeing to meet me here, listen to me preaching like this.’
‘Actually, yes. Finding the guy who’s whacking everyone around me, that’s a pretty big issue.’
‘You’re not even on the case, Doyle. What sort of questions come up when you’re watching adult cable and drinking the contents of your mini-bar?’
‘I got a lot of time to think, and I got more at stake than most.’
Paulson taps his fingernail against the handle of his cup for a few seconds.
‘I think we’re done here.’
‘What?’
‘I said we’re done. Don’t forget to pay before you leave. You’re the host, remember.’
‘What are you talking about? We’re not done. Not until you start answering-’
Paulson brings his fist down again, but with a lot more restraint this time.
‘Damn it, Doyle. I was straight with you, now you start being straight with me. Otherwise this ends now. I called your hotel after you phoned me. They said you checked out in the early hours of the morning. I made them give me the home phone number of the night clerk, and guess what? She said that not long before you checked out, you arrived at the hotel looking hurt and with blood on you. Then tonight you limp in here looking like you’ve been hit by a truck. So cut the crap, Doyle. You’re investigating, aren’t you? You’re working the case.’
Doyle hesitates, but he knows he can’t quit now. ‘Yeah, I’m working the case. I’m about the only fucking one, far as I can tell. And it wasn’t a truck, it was a Lexus.’
Paulson smiles slightly. ‘Pardon me for denigrating the offending vehicle. You mind telling me how you came to be knocked down by a Lexus?’
‘It didn’t hit me; I hit it. Don’t ask — it’s complicated.’
‘You up to something you shouldn’t have been?’
Doyle thinks about his meeting with Bartok, his handing over of confidential intelligence. He looks into Paulson’s eyes and somehow knows that he will detect a lie.
‘Probably.’
Paulson stares back, and for once Doyle sees something there that is more cop than cop hunter.
‘Ask me,’ says Paulson.
Doyle gathers himself. ‘The other day, outside the boxing gym, you said the reason you turned up was because you already had a vested interest in the precinct. I think those were your exact words.’
‘Vested interest. Yeah, that sounds like something I might say. That your question?’
‘An interest in the precinct. Not in me. In the precinct. When you said you thought there was nothing to find on me, I thought you were just yanking my chain, but you were serious, weren’t you? I also thought that Schneider called you in because of me, but he didn’t, did he? You were already looking at the Eighth Precinct for other reasons.’
Paulson raises his thick eyebrows. ‘Maybe.’
‘Come on, Paulson. Are you gonna talk to me, or what?’
‘You know better than that. You know I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.’
Doyle pushes himself back in his seat. ‘What the fuck? This is you being straight with me? I’m wasting my fucking time here.’
He starts to slide out of the booth.
‘’Course,’ Paulson says, ‘what I would do is deny anything I know to be totally inaccurate.’
Doyle halts, sits down again. So that’s how he wants to play it. Cloak-and-dagger stuff. Plausible deniability. The old Deep Throat routine.
‘All right,’ Doyle says. ‘So you’re looking at a cop. There’s a dirty cop in the Eighth.’
Paulson shrugs. ‘You wanna pay the bill now? I’m dying for a smoke.’
No denial. So it’s true.
Doyle digs out his wallet, finds some bills to throw on the table.
‘And I’m not in your sights this time?’
‘Not this time. Not unless you wanna confess something.’
‘So who? Who’s the cop?’
‘Come on, Doyle.’
‘Someone on patrol? Anti-Crime? The detective squad?’
‘I dunno.’ He sees the look on Doyle’s face. ‘Seriously. I don’t know. And I couldn’t tell you even if I did. Come on, let’s get out of here. You want that donut?’
Shit, thinks Doyle. It’s something, but he could do with more. A lot more.
They stand and head out of the coffee shop. Outside, the cold air hits Doyle hard, and he rubs his hands together. His mind is racing ahead.
‘You get what you wanted?’ Paulson asks, starting on Doyle’s donut.
‘Some of it.’
‘Maybe you haven’t asked all the right questions.’
Doyle looks at Paulson. There’s a twinkle in the man’s dark eyes. A hint of something hidden there that he is daring Doyle to pursue.
‘They’re all the questions I got.’
‘Maybe next time,’ Paulson says. He puts out his hand.
Doyle stares at the hand and wonders whether he has forgiven the man for what he did to him.
‘Maybe next time,’ he says.
He turns, starts to walk back to his car.
When he hears his name being thrown after him, it’s not just a casual call.
It’s a yell.
A scream, in fact.
When Doyle whirls, he sees Paulson running straight at him, his arms coming up, the donut dropping from his hand, his teeth bared as though he’s about to bite Doyle’s face off.
TWENTY-SEVEN
It happens too fast for Doyle to reach for his gun. Too unexpected for him even to step out of the way. As Paulson slams into him at gut level, bringing him up and off the sidewalk like he’s stopping a winning touchdown,
