"Дон Пендлтон. The Violent Streets ("Палач" #41) " - читать интересную книгу автора

Fawcett shrugged. "This guy, La Mancha, seems to think so, and he sure
called it right on the second carload of meat. Frankly, I don't know what
the hell to think."
"He's chasing the wind," Smalley said confidently. "What tie-in could
there be, Jack?"
The lieutenant shook his head, obviously confused.
"I don't know, unless... There has to be an angle, Chief. The feds
wouldn't touch a sex crime case unless they thought they were onto something
bigger."
"Bigger, Jack? What could they have?"
There was another long pause as the detective mulled that one over.
"If somebody's running his mouth overtime..." he began.
Roger Smalley leaned forward, elbows on knees, jabbing his cigar toward
Fawcett's face.
"Nobody knows, dammit," he said. "Nobody who's going to spill his guts,
anyway. Everyone has too much to lose at this point."
"I suppose you're right, but..."
Fawcett left the statement unfinished. He plainly was unconvinced.
"Go on," Smalley prodded.
"Well, Traynor suspects something," Fawcett said. "I know it."
The commissioner smiled patiently. "She's out of it, Jack. How many
times must I tell you? Forget her."
"She could still hurt us," Fawcett countered.
"Relax, Lieutenant," Smalley said, making it sound like an order.
"You're borrowing trouble. Leave the lady to me."
"What about the fed, this La Mancha character?"
Smalley shrugged.
"I'll ask around. In the meantime, play it cool and let me know if he
contacts you again."
Fawcett nodded. "Sure, Chief. Okay."
"Is that other matter under control now?" Smalley asked.
"Huh? Oh, that. Yeah, I think so."
"You think so, Jack?"
Fawcett stiffened, hastening to make amends.
"Well, uh, I mean, the girl is still being stubborn, but the freeze is
on. Anyway, what does she know?"
Smalley shrugged.
"She's a witness, right? She could get lucky."
Fawcett shook his head in a firm negative.
"No chance. I've had the identikit sketches recalled, and her verbal
description could fit a couple thousand punks here in St. Paul alone."
"I hope you're right, Lieutenant."
The ice was back in Smalley's voice, unmistakable.
"I hold up my end," Fawcett countered. "You know that."
Smalley looked hard at him for a long moment, then visibly relaxed.
"Okay, I'll leave you to it. I have several calls to make."
"Are you going to bring the Man in on it?" Fawcett asked.
Smalley offered a thin smile to his subordinate.
"Why not? It's his mess, after all. If somebody has to sweat, who
better?"