There was a table in there and I could see a man and a woman in the room eating sandwiches off deli paper unwrapped and used as place mats. Besides those two there were three others at desks in the room and a secretary sat behind a desk near the door.
“You want to see Larry?” she said to me.
I nodded and she pointed to the man sitting at a desk on the far side of the room. He was alone in the pod. I headed over. He didn’t look up from his paperwork, even when I got to him.
“It snowing out there yet?” he asked.
“Not yet. But it’s going to.”
“It always does. I’m Washington, whaddaya need?”
I looked at the two detectives in the other pods. Nobody even glanced at me.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you alone, if I could. It’s about the Smathers kid. I have some information on it.”
I could tell without looking at them that this made the others look over at me. Washington, too, finally put down his pen and looked up at me. He looked like he was in his thirties but already there was a dusting of gray in his short-cropped hair. Still, he was in good shape. I could tell that before he even stood up. He also looked sharp. He wore a dark brown suit with a white shirt and striped tie. The suit jacket could barely contain his massive chest.
“You want to talk to me alone? Whaddaya got?”
“Well, that’s what I want to talk to you alone about.”
“You’re not one of these guys wants to confess, are you?”
I smiled.
“What if I was? Maybe I’d be the real thing.”
“That’d be the day. All right, let’s go in the room. But I hope you’re not going to waste my time—what’d you say your name was?”
“Jack McEvoy.”
“Okay, Jack, if I kick those people outta there and you waste my time, they and me aren’t going to be too happy about it.”
“I don’t think it will be a problem.”
He stood up now and I could see that he was shorter than I had thought. He had the lower half of another man’s body. Short, stubby legs beneath a wide and strong upper torso. Thus the name the desk cop had used, Larry Legs. No matter how sharply he dressed this oddness in his physique would always betray him.
“Something wrong?” he asked when he came around to me.
“Uh, no. I was . . . Jack McEvoy.”
I put down the laptop and held out my hand but Washington didn’t take it.
“Let’s go into the room, Jack.”
“Sure.”
He had traded the snub of my stare for one of his own. It was okay. I walked behind him over to the door of the room where the man and woman were eating their lunch. He glanced back once, looking down at the satchel I carried.
“Whaddaya got in there?”
“Computer. A couple things to show you if you’re interested.”
He opened the door and the man and woman looked up.
“Sorry, folks, picnic’s over,” Washington said.
“Can you give us ten, Legs?” the man asked before getting up.
“Can’t do it. Got a customer here.”
They rewrapped what was left of their sandwiches and left the room without a further word. The man gave me a stare that I interpreted to be annoyance. I didn’t care. Washington signaled me in and I put my computer case down on the table next to a folded cardboard sign with the no smoking symbol on it. We sat down on opposite sides of the table. The room smelled like stale smoke and Italian salad dressing.
“Now, what can I do for you?” Washington asked.
I gathered my thoughts and tried to appear calm. I was never comfortable dealing with cops, even though their world fascinated me. I always felt that they might suspect something about me. Something bad. Some telling flaw in me.
“I’m not sure where to begin. I’m from Denver. I just got in this morning. I’m a reporter and I came across—”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. You’re a reporter? What kind of reporter?”
I could see a slight pulse of anger beneath the dark skin of his upper left jaw. I was prepared for this.
“Newspaper reporter. I work for the Rocky Mountain News. Just hear me out and then if you want to throw me out, that’s fine. But I don’t think you will.”
“Look, man, I’ve heard about every pitch in the world from guys like you. I don’t have the time. I don’t—”
“What if John Brooks was murdered?”
I watched