“I didn’t think you would be. You think this is going to work?”
“I think we have established in his mind that (a) you don’t like him; (b) that shooting a policeman is not socially acceptable conduct; and (c) that he can’t beat this unless the nice black man comes up with some solution. The test of these assumptions will come when I go back in.”
“You want me to go back in there and accidentally bump him around a little?”
“I think that would be counterproductive. As frightening as you are, Arthur, I think his imagination should be allowed to run free.”
“Your call. Changing the subject: There’s a story going around that your pal Payne climbed out on a thirteenth-floor ledge of the Bellvue-Stratford to fix a wire?”
“All too true, I’m afraid. I have remonstrated with him.”
“What’s with him, Jason?”
“He’s young. Aside from that, he’s a damned good cop.”
“I meant, if he’s got all the dough everybody thinks he has, why is he a cop?”
“He has all the dough everybody thinks he has,” Washington said. “Did you ever think, Arthur, that some people are, so to speak, born to be policemen?”
“You, for example?”
“It’s possible. You and me. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“Shit, neither can I. What would I do? Sell used cars?”
Some of it is the challenge, I think. That explains people like you and me. And probably Payne. But what about people like Officer Bailey? I talked to him before I came here. The reason Leslie is in there is because Bailey, after years on the job, still takes personal pride and satisfaction in protecting people from critters like Leslie. He knows he can’t personally clean up the Thirty-ninth District, but ‘You don’t burn your garbage on my beat.’”
Arthur grunted.
“How long are you going to let the critter’s imagination run free?”
“I think fifteen minutes should suffice,” Washington said. He looked at his watch. “Another five and a half minutes, to be specific.”
“That big guy cuffed me again,” Leslie said in some indignation, raising his shackled wrist to demonstrate.
Washington made no move to unlock the handcuff.
“I just came in to tell you I have to leave. I have to go to see Mr. Callis. The decision is yours, Mr. Leslie, and now is when you’re going to have to make it.”
“What decision?”
“Whether you wish to insist on your innocence, or-”
“Or what?”
“Be cooperative.”
“Like what?”
“How serious is your narcotics addiction, Mr. Leslie?”
“I ain’t no addict, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“I can’t possibly help you, Mr. Leslie, if you don’t tell me the truth. Your records show that you have undergone a drug-rehabilitation program. Why lie about it?”
“I got it under control.”
“Then you were not under the influence of narcotics when you burglarized Officer Kellog’s home? Your defense counsel might be able to introduce that at your trial. ‘Diminished capacity’ is the term used.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that if you weren’t aware of what you were doing, because of ‘diminished capacity’ because you were on drugs, you really didn’t know what you were doing, and should be judged accordingly.”
“Which means what?”
“Let me explain this to you as best I can. If you are not cooperative, they’re going to take you to court and ask for the death penalty. In my judgment, they have enough circumstantial evidence to get a conviction.”
“And if I’m cooperative, what?”
“You probably would not get the death penalty. It’s possible that the District Attorney would be agreeable to having evidence of your drug addiction given to the court, and that the court would take it into consideration when considering your sentence.”
“Shit.”
“I’m not a lawyer, Mr. Leslie. You should discuss this with a lawyer.”
“When do I get a lawyer?”
“When Homicide arrests you for murder, and your Miranda rights come into play. That’s going to happen. What you have to decide, before you are arrested for murder, is whether you want to cooperate or not.”
“I could plead, what did you say, ‘diminished capacity’?”
“What I said was that you can either tell the truth, and make it easier on yourself and Homicide, or lie, and make it harder on yourself and Homicide.”
“You’re not going to be around for this?”
“No. But I’ve talked to Lieutenant Natali, and explained to him the situation here, and I think the two of you would be able to work something out that would be in everybody’s best interests.”
“Jesus, I don’t know,” Leslie said.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll ask Lieutenant Natali to come here and talk to you.”
“Jesus, I wish you could stick around.”
“I could come to talk some more, later, if you’d like.”
“Yeah.”
Washington put out his hand. Leslie’s right arm was handcuffed to the chair, so he had to shake Washington’s hand with his left hand.
“Good luck, Mr. Leslie,” Washington said.
“Jesus Christ, I don’t know what to do.”
“Talk it over with Lieutenant Natali,” Washington said. He walked to the door and pulled it open, then closed it.
“Just between us, Mr. Leslie, to satisfy my curiosity. Why did you think you had to shoot Officer Kellog?”
“Well, shit,” Leslie said. “I had to. He seen my face. He was a cop. I knew he’d find me sooner or later.”
“Yes,” Washington said. “Of course, I understand.”
“I’m going to hold you to what you said about coming to talk to me,” Leslie said.
“I will,” Washington said. “I said I would, and I will.”
He left the interview room.
Lieutenant Natali and Detective D’Amata came out of the adjacent room. They had been watching through a one-way mirror.
Natali quoted, “I had to. He seen my face. He was a cop.”
“Christ!” D’Amata said in mingled disgust and horror.
“What’s really sad,” Washington said, “is that he doesn’t acknowledge, or even understand, the enormity of what he’s done. The only thing he thinks he did wrong is to get caught doing it.”
“You don’t want to stick around, Jason?” D’Amata said. “I’ll probably need your help.”
Washington looked at Lieutenant Natali.
“Does Joe know who Mrs. Kellog believed was responsible for her husband’s death?”
“You mean Narcotics Five Squad?” D’Amata asked.
“I thought he should know,” Natali said. “I told him to keep it under his hat.”
“That’s what I was doing, Joe, when they sent me here. But to coin a phrase, ‘Duty calls.’ Or how about, ‘It’s a dirty job but somebody has to do it’? Do I have to tell you I’d much rather stay here?”
Both Natali and D’Amata shook their heads. Natali touched Washington’s arm, and then Washington walked out of Homicide.
The Honorable Thomas J. “Tony” Callis, the District Attorney of the County of Philadelphia, had decided he would personally deal with the case of Messrs. Francis Foley and Gerald North Atchison rather than entrust it to one of the Assistant District Attorneys subordinate to him.
