Page 36

This afternoon, however, all was sweetness and light. He had no sooner got to the railing barring access to the interior of the Homicide Bureau when he heard his name being called, and then saw Captain Quaire smiling and waving him inside.

Quaire offered his hand.

“How are you, Payne? Inspector Wohl called. We’ve been expecting you.”

“How are you, sir?”

“I had them pull the files,” Quaire said, tapping a stack of folders on his desk.

“I appreciate that,” Matt said.

“I would have them Xeroxed,” Captain Quaire said, “but I didn’t know what you already had.”

“I got a bunch,” Matt said, holding up the well-stuffed manila envelope.

Quaire picked up the folders on his desk and carried them to an unoccupied desk in the outer office and sat there as Matt went through the Homicide files on the Nelson murder.

There were only three things—none of which looked important—in the Homicide files that Matt hadn’t already found at Bustleton and Bowler, but it took half an hour to find them.

“I didn’t think there’d be much,” Captain Quaire said as Matt was making copies. “Anything else we can do for Special Operations?”

“I need to use the phone, sir,” Matt said. “I’m supposed to see if Mr. Harris has anything.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Harris,” Quaire said, dryly sarcastic. “Mr. Harris used to work here, you know.”

“He’s told me,” Matt said, smiling.

Quaire laughed.

“Help yourself,” Quaire said, pointing at a telephone.

Matt called Harris’s number at Special Operations. There was no answer. Then he called Police Radio and asked the operator if she could contact W-William Four and ask him to call Homicide.

A minute later she reported there was no response from W-William Four.

“Thank you,” Matt said, and hung up.

“For your general information, Officer Payne,” Captain Quaire said, “in my long experience with Mr. Harris, when he worked here, you understand, it is often difficult to establish contact with him at the cocktail hour.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll remember that.”

“Why don’t you try him at his apartment in an hour or so?”

“I will,” Matt said.

Two detectives walked into the room. One of them, a slightly built, natty, olive-skinned man, Matt recognized. He was a Homicide detective, Joe D’Amata. The other one, a large, heavy, round-faced man, he didn’t know.

“What have you got, Joe?” Captain Quaire said.

“High noon at the OK Corral, Captain,” D’Amata said. “Whaddaya say, Payne? How are you?”

“Hello, Joe.”

“He calls Tony Harris ‘Mr.’” Captain Quaire said. “That tell you anything?”

“Tony Harris is much older than I am,” D’Amata said, grinning. He turned to the other detective. “You know Payne, don’t you?”

The other detective shook his head no