“I hate talking to those people,” Dino said.
“That’s why you’re not the chief of detectives,” Stone replied.
“I wouldn’t have the job. I’d never see my wife and kid.”
“You never see them now,” Stone pointed out.
“What do you mean? I’m home for dinner almost every night.”
“You’re in here almost every night,” Stone said.
“Hey, fellas,” Holly interjected, “can we have a drink in peace?”
“Don’t worry,” Lance said. “You’ll bag Trini. He’s running out of places to hide, and his picture is all over TV.”
“Can you help?” Holly asked.
“I’ve got a few ears to the ground.”
They ordered drinks, and they had hardly arrived when Herbie Fisher appeared at their table, like an imp from a magic lantern.
“Hey, everybody,” Herbie said brightly. “Hey, Stone, Holly, Lance, Dino.”
“It’s Lieutenant Bacchetti to you,” Dino said.
“Can I have a drink?”
“No,” Stone said. “Go away.”
“But I’ve got some information for you,” Herbie said, sounding hurt.
“Shoot him, Dino,” Stone said.
“I want the reward,” Herbie protested.
“Then go see the FBI,” Dino said. “It’s their reward.”
“But don’t you want Trini Rodriguez?”
“Herbie,” Dino said, “if you don’t get out of here, I’m going to call a patrol car and have you arrested.”
“For what?”
“For annoying the police.”
“Then maybe you better take a look at this,” Herbie said. He tossed a five-by-seven photograph on the table.
Lance picked it up. “Where did you get this?”
“I processed it.”
Holly looked at the photograph. “It’s Trini.”
“Where did this come from?” Stone asked, looking at the picture.
“A guy brought two rolls of film into the store this afternoon. This negative was on one of them.”
“Who was the guy?”