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“—went to Mr. Williams’s blue Oldsmobile, went into the trunk, and took from it a beach bag. At that time the narcotics officers, who were watching the entire transaction, arrested you, and Mr. Williams, and the others.”

Baby Brownlee shrugged.

“What Mr. Ketcham has said, in a sworn statement, is that at that point—immediately after your arrest—a narcotics officer came to his room, and in

exchange for the twenty thousand dollars, did not arrest him.”

Baby Brownlee’s eyes showed interest in that.

“If what you say happened, how come he would have told you? How did you even know that he was there, if the cops let him buy his way out?”

“Mr. Ketcham is in some other difficulty with the law—the nature of that being none of your business—and this is his way of trying to strike a deal with us.”

“What kind a deal?”

“That brings us back to what I said a moment ago,” Washington said. “Specifically, that if there is anything lower than a drug dealer, it is a police officer involved in drug trafficking.”

“So you want the dirty cop?”

Washington nodded.

“Corrupt police officer. Officers, plural. That, unfortunately, may work to your advantage.”

“Keep talking.”

“It’s a question of priority. It has been decided that our priority is to see that corrupt police officers are removed from the Philadelphia Police Department and brought to trial. To that end, the district attorney has informed Mr. Ketcham that, in exchange for his cooperation—in other words, giving us a sworn statement and later testifying in court against the corrupt police officers in question—the charges against him, conspiring to traffic in controlled substances, will be dropped.”

“And that’s the deal you’re offering me?”

Washington did not reply.

“If you have Ketcham, why do you need me?” Brownlee thought aloud.

“Because we wish to make sure the corrupt police officers are convicted,” Washington said.

“And maybe you’re a little afraid that a jury would believe the cops instead of this guy they ripped off?”

“You are very perceptive.”

“He’s a fucking drug dealer, right, and maybe out to get the cops? That’s what the jury would think, right?”

“We have to consider that possibility.”

“And so two witnesses would be better than one, right?”

“As three witnesses would be better than two.”

“And I get to walk. That’s the deal?”

“That would depend on what you have to tell me.”

“No fucking problem, brother. You tell me what to say, and I’ll say it.”

“I am not your brother, Mr. Brownlee. Nor am I your friend. I am a police officer, an honest police officer, investigating allegations of corruption. What I want from you is the truth. Nothing but the truth.”

“I think I better talk to a lawyer,” Brownlee said. “Let him make the deal.”

“Mr. Brownlee, I’m going to say this just once, so pay attention. There is no question in my mind that you went to the Howard Johnson motel last Thursday with the criminal intent of trafficking in cocaine. The idea of seeing you escape prosecution deeply offends me.”