I shrugged. "Not if it makes you happy. I don't know the man we're drinking to."
"You never met the son of a bitch?"
"No."
"I did. Greasy little cocksucker." He took another sip of his drink, then shook his head with annoyance and put his glass on the table. "Aw, fuck this, Matt. How long we known each other?"
"It's been a few years, Eddie."
"I guess it has. What the fuck are you doing with a shithead like Broadfield, will you tell me that? What the fuck are you doing playing games with him?"
"He hired me."
"To do what?"
"Find evidence that will clear him."
"Find a way for him to beat a murder charge, that's what he wants you to do. Do you know what a son of a bitch he is? Do you have any fucking idea?"
"I have a pretty good idea."
"He's gonna try to give the entire department the shaft, that's all he's trying to do. He's gonna help that shitkicker of a rug peddler expose corruption in high places. Christ, I hate that candy-ass son of a bitch. He was as corrupt a cop as you'd ever want to see. I mean he went out hunting for it, Matt. Not just taking everything they handed him. He hunted it. He would go out and detect like crazy, looking for crap games and smack dealers and everything else. But not to arrest them. Only if they weren't holding money, then they might make the trip to the station house. But he was in business for himself. His badge was a license to steal."
"I know all that."
"You know all that and yet you're working for him."
"What if he didn't kill the girl, Eddie?"
"She was stone dead in his apartment."
"And you think he's stupid enough to kill her and leave her there?"
"Oh, shit." He puffed on his cigar and the end glowed red. "He got out of there and dumped the murder weapons. Whatever he hit her with and whatever he stabbed her with. Say he went down to the river and dumped them. Then he stopped somewhere to have a couple of beers because he's a cocky son of a bitch and he's a little bit crazy. Then he came back for the body. He was going to dump her someplace but by then we got men on the scene and they're laying for him."
"So he walked right into their arms."
"So?"
I shook my head. "It doesn't make sense. He may be a little crazy but he's certainly not stupid and you're arguing that he acted like an idiot. How did your boys know to go to that apartment in the first place? The papers said you got a telephone tip. Is that right?"
"It's right."
"Anonymous?"
"Yeah. So?"
"That's very handy. Who would know to tip you? Did she scream? Anybody else hear her? Where did the tip come from?"
"What's the difference? Maybe somebody looked in a window. Whoever called said there was a woman murdered in such-and-such an apartment, and a couple of the boys went there and found a woman with a bump on her head and a knife wound in her back and she was dead. Who cares how the tipster knew she was there?"
"It might make a difference. If he put her there, for instance."
"Aw, come on, Matt."
"You don't have any hard evidence. None. It's all circumstantial."
"It's enough to nail the lid on. We got motive, we got opportunity, we got the woman dead in his goddam apartment, for Christ's sake. What more do you want? He had every reason to kill her. She was nailing his balls to the wall, and of course he wanted her dead." He swallowed some more of his drink. He said, "You know, you used to be a hell of a good cop. Maybe the booze is getting to you these days. Maybe it's more than you can handle."
"Could be."
"Oh, hell." He sighed heavily. "You can take his money, Matt. A guy has to make a living. I know how it is. Just don't get in the way, huh? Take his money and string him for all he's worth. The hell, he's been on the other end of it often enough. Let him get played for a sucker for a change."
"I don't think he killed her."
"Shit." He took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at it, then clamped his teeth around it and puffed on it. Then, his tone softer, he said, "You know, Matt, the department's pretty clean these days. Cleaner than it's been in years. Almost all of the old-style pads have been eliminated. There's still some people taking big money, no question about it, but the old system with money delivered by a bagman and distributed through an entire precinct, you don't see that anymore."
"Even uptown?"
"Well, one of the uptown precincts is probably still a little dirty. It's hard to keep it clean up there. You know how it goes. Aside from that, though, the department stacks up pretty good."
"So?"
"So we're policing ourselves pretty nicely, and this son of a bitch makes us look like shit all over again, and a lot of good men are going to be up against the wall just because one son of a bitch wants to be an angel and another son of a bitch of a rug peddler wants to be governor."
"That's why you hate Broadfield but- "
"You're fucking right I hate him."
"- but why do you want to see him in jail?" I leaned forward. "He's finished already, Eddie. He's washed up. I talked to one of Prejanian's staff members. They have no use for him. He could get off the hook tomorrow and Prejanian wouldn't dare pick him up. Whoever framed him already did enough of a job on him from your point of view. What's wrong with my going after the killer?"
"We already got the killer. He's in a cell in the Tombs."
"Let's just suppose you're wrong, Eddie. Then what?"
He stared hard at me. "All right," he said. "Let's suppose I'm wrong. Let's suppose your boy is clean and pure as the snow. Let's say he never did a bad thing in his life. Let's say somebody else killed What's-her-name."
"Portia Carr."
"Right. And somebody deliberately framed Broadfield and set him up for a fall."
"So?"
"And you go after the guy and you get him."
"So?"
"And he's a cop, because who else would have such a good goddam reason to send Broadfield up?"
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. That's gonna look terrific, isn't it?" He had his chin jutting at me, and the tendons in his throat were taut. His eyes were furious. "I don't say that's what happened," he said. "Because for my money Broadfield's as guilty as Judas, but if he's not, then somebody did a job on him, and who could it be but a couple of cops who want to give that son of a bitch what he deserves? And that would look beautiful, wouldn't it? A cop kills a girl and pins it on another cop to head off an investigation into police corruption. That would look just beautiful."
I thought about it. "And if that's what happened, you'd rather see Broadfield go to jail for something he didn't do than for it to come out in the open. Is that what you're saying?"
"Shit."
"Is that what you're saying, Eddie?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake. I'd rather see him dead, Matt. Even if I had to blow his fucking head off all by myself."
"MATT? You okay?"
I looked up at Trina. Her apron was off and she had her coat over her arm. "You leaving?"
"I just finished my shift. You've been putting away a lot of bourbon. I just wondered if you were all right."
I nodded.
"Who was that man you were talking with?"
"An old friend. He's a cop, a lieutenant working out of the Sixth Precinct. That's down in the Village." I picked up my glass but put it down again without drinking from it. "He was about the best friend I had on the force. Not buddy-buddy, but we got along pretty well. Of course, you drift apart over the years."
"What did he want?"
"He just wanted to talk."
"You seemed upset after he left."
I looked up at her. I said, "The thing is, murder is different. Taking a human life, that's something completely different. Nobody should be allowed to get away with that. Nobody should ever be allowed to get away with that."
"I don't follow you."
"He didn't do it, damn it. He didn't, he's innocent, and nobody cares. Eddie Koehler doesn't care. I know Eddie Koehler. He's a good cop."
"Matt- "
"But he doesn't care. He wants me to coast and not even make an effort because he wants that poor bastard to go to jail for a murder he didn't commit. And he wants the one who really did it to get away with it."
"I don't think I understand what you're saying, Matt. Look, don't finish that drink, huh? You don't really need it, do you?"
Everything seemed very clear to me. I couldn't fathom why Trina seemed to be having difficulty following me. I was enunciating clearly enough, and my thoughts, at least to me, flowed with crystalline clarity.
"Crystalline clarity," I said.
"What?"
"I know what he wants. Nobody else can figure it, but it's obvious. You know what he wants, Diana?"
"I'm Trina, Matt. Honey, don't you know who I am?"
"Of course I do. Slip of the tongue. Don't you know what he wants, baby? He wants the glory."
"Who does, Matt? The man you were talking to?"
"Eddie?" I laughed at the notion. "Eddie Koehler doesn't give a damn about glory. I'm talking about Jerry. Good old Jerry."
"Uh-huh." She uncurled my fingers from around my glass and lifted the glass free. "I'll be right back," she said. "I won't be a minute, Matt." And then she went away, and shortly after that she was back again. I may have gone on talking to her while she was away from the table. I'm not too certain one way or the other.
"Let's go home, Matt. I'll walk you home, all right? Or would you like to stay at my place tonight?"
I shook my head. "Can't do that."
"Of course you can."
"No. Have to see Doug Fuhrmann. Very important to see old Doug, baby."
"Did you find him in the book?"
"That's it. The book. He can put us all in a book, baby. That's where he comes in."
"I don't understand."
I frowned, irritated. I was making perfect sense and couldn't understand why my meaning was evidently eluding her. She was a bright girl, Trina was. She ought to be able to understand.
"The check," I said.
"You already settled your check, Matt. And you tipped me, you gave me too much. Come on, please, stand up, that's an angel. Oh, baby, the world did a job on you, didn't it? It's okay. All the times you helped me get it together, I can do it for you once in a while, can't I?"
"The check, Trina."
"You paid the check, I just told you, and- "
"Fuhrmann's check." It was easier to talk clearly now, easier to think more clearly, standing on my feet. "He cashed a check here earlier tonight. That's what you said."
"So?"
"Check would be in the register, wouldn't it?"
"Sure. So what? Look, Matt, let's get out in the fresh air and you'll feel a lot better."
I held up a hand. "I'm all right," I insisted. "Fuhrmann's check's in the register. Ask Don if you can have a look at it." She still didn't follow me. "His address," I explained. "Most people have their address printed on their checks. I should have thought of it before. Go see, will you? Please?"