He’s such an obnoxious little twit, I couldn’t understand how Freeman could tolerate him, but he did. “I was just getting around to that. I want you to do an analysis of all the blue-and-whites in the department. I want to know their locations, their usual drivers, who else may have checked them in and out. I want you to look for any discrepancies in mileage. If one has consistently more than one of the others, I want to know about it.”
Lehman nodded. “I can do that. It’ll take a while and some work, but it can be done. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Freeman said. “There is. You know that PC down in the gang unit?”
Kyle nodded again. “What about it?”
“I want you to take charge of it. Personally. Physically remove it if necessary. Say it crashed or something. Do it now before anyone else has a chance to touch it. My understanding is that as long as no one has written over a deleted file, it may be possible to retrieve the information. Is that right?”
“Pretty much. It’ll be hell on wheels finding it is all,” Lehman returned. “It’ll take time, lots of it. Why? What are we looking for? And why can’t we get the information from one of the back-up floppies?”
“The night of the murders, someone got into Ben Weston’s directory. Whoever it was went through all his files. My guess is that the critical one, the one no one wanted us to see, is missing.”
“The floppy’s gone too?”
For the first time in the entire meeting, Kyle Lehman was on his toes, both interested and irate. “You’re saying that somebody broke into one of my secured computers? I’ll break the SOB’s neck. How’d he get the password? How’d he get verified?”
Freeman smiled. “I thought you’d be interested in knowing about this. We are too. How long will it take?”
Lehman looked at his watch. “I don’t know, but I’ll get started right away. Which one do you want done first, the car analysis or the missing files?”
“The files.”
“Good. I would have done that first anyway.”
Without waiting for Freeman to call a halt, Kyle Lehman careened out of the room. The senseless slaughter of five people didn’t bother him one bit, and the fact that Seattle PD was infected with crooked cops had made no visible effect either, but the idea that someone had broken into his precious computer system lit a fire under Kyle Lehman’s scrawny butt.
Freeman turned to Captain Powell. “Larry, I want you to run interference for Beaumont and Danielson, and I want you to help me sort the misinformation we’ll be feeding to the task force. Detective Danielson, you’re to check with Kramer, visit the Crime Lab, the M.E.”s office, and anywhere you can think of. Your assignment is to gather up any new information that may have come in during the course of the day. I want the information regathered by you rather than taking whatever Kramer has at face value. What’s going into the Weston Family Task Force may very well have been tainted somewhere along the way. See what I mean?“
Sue nodded, and Freeman turned to me. “As for you, now that you’ve delivered Detective Lindstrom, I need you to do something else. You’re the one who hangs around the Doghouse Restaurant so much of the time, aren’t you?”
My reputation for having that particular home away from home has long been cause for departmental teasing. The Doghouse is a downtown Seattle twenty-four-hour hangout with a reputation for deep-fried everything and a flock of old-fashioned waitresses who would most likely deck anyone who had balls enough to try calling one of them a waitperson.
In the middle of the night the Doghouse attracts late-night carousers of all varieties, as well as a fair selection of the city’s good guys and bad guys who tend to congregate there. Inside those four walls, everybody knows who’s who, and, believe me, they all mind their manners. The Doghouse is neutral territory, and the rules are simple. Inside, good guys don’t bother bad guys and vice versa, and nobody but nobody hassles the waitresses.
“What about it?”
“Don’t they have a funny little back room down there? A relatively private room?”
“Yes. The back room, where ham radio operators meet occasionally and every once in a while a group of cartoonists.”
“Good. I want you to set up the summit meeting there for Chief Rankin and the official emissaries from each of the gangs. I want to know what those creeps have to say, and I want to know tonight.”
“Tonight? How the hell…”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to manage it. As soon as you get it set up, let the chief here know what time. He’ll be up in his office, waiting for your call.”
Captain Freeman peered around the room. “Everybody have a handle on their task assignments?”
“I’ve got a question,” Chief Rankin put in. “I’ve got police departments from all over the state calling to say they’re sending official representatives to the funeral on Saturday. What do I do about them?”
“Nothing. Let them come,” Freeman replied.
“What if Weston was one of the bad apples-”
“Then we find it out after the funeral and not before,” Freeman interrupted. “Because if Ben Weston gets anything other than a hero’s burial, we’ve blown our own cover. Any other questions?”
There were none. With general nods of agreement, people took the hint. Rankin and Powell left together, followed by Sue and myself. Before I made it through the doorway, though, Freeman called me back.
“You were raised in Ballard, weren’t you, Detective Beaumont?”
“Yes.”
“Not too many Jewish people in Ballard, would you say?”
“Hardly any.”
Tony Freeman got up and came around his desk. He stopped only a step or two away from me. “How much do you know about Jews?” he asked.
“Not much. I’ve met a few over the years, but…”
“Detective Beaumont, the Jewish religion passes from mother to child. I may not look Jewish to you, but I am because my mother is. Do you have any idea what the word ”schmuck‘ means?“
“No-good jerk, I guess. Why?” I couldn’t figure out what he was driving at.
“Not in Yiddish,” Captain Freeman said without a trace of a smile. “In Yiddish it means something else entirely, ”penis’ to be exact. My mother is a gentle woman, Detective Beaumont. I only remember her hitting me once, and that was when, as a smart-mouthed twelve-year-old, I used the word “schmuck‘ at the dinner table. I would appreciate it if you didn’t use that word in my presence. I find it offensive. Thanks.”
With that, he ushered me out the door and closed it behind me. Sue Danielson was waiting for me by the elevator. I was blushing beet red and hoping she wouldn’t notice.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I could be wrong,” I said, “but I think I’ve just had my ass chewed.”
CHAPTER 17
When I got back down to the fifth floor, I picked up my phone and heard the stuttering dial tone that meant I had voice-mail messages. Two of the three calls were from Ralph Ames. As he was my houseguest, it seemed to me I owed him some kind of explanation, at least enough to let him know that duty called and that work had overtaken my responsibilities as host. I figured he was a big boy, fully capable of rustling up some suitable evening’s pastime including some suitable evening’s companionship as well. As far as I could tell, he was doing fine on the companionship score without any help from me.
I dialed home, wondering if the phone would work this time or not. Ralph answered after the second ring.
“Don’t wait up for me,” I told him. “Things are heating up around here. It looks like it’s going to be another long one again tonight.”
“Too bad. Curtis Bell is here right now. We finally managed to touch bases late this afternoon. I told him to come on over, that you’d be home eventually. He was hoping to see you. In the meantime he’s been giving me
