“Holding up. Frightened. Ambivalent. After what she walked in on Thursday morning, she was ready to drop the case.”
“The D.A. won’t let that happen.”
Monty shrugged. “He can pressure whoever he wants, but without the right person digging in the right places, he’ll come up empty.”
Unwrapping his sandwich, Charlie shook his head in disbelief. “And you, of course, are that right person.” A humorless laugh. “Your arrogance is staggering. Somehow, the NYPD survived before you joined and they seem to be surviving just fine since you left.”
“This has nothing to do with my leaving the force. Frankly, they’re better off without me. I suck at following the rules, and red tape and paperwork were beginning to make my blood pressure go up. This has to do with my familiarity with the case, my gut feeling that we’re on the verge of solving it, and the fact that I’m not going away until that happens—rules or no rules.” Monty took a bite of his sandwich and a healthy tablespoon of soup. “Damn if Rhoda’s matzo-ball soup isn’t the best there is. You’re lucky she likes me. You and I each got a
large container instead of a small.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for that. It’s freezing outside. Chicken soup is just what I need.” Charlie ate some of the soup, then leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. “I agree with you about Morgan being at risk. These threats are too aggressive. And they’re coming too close together. Someone’s scared.”
“The question is, who?”
One of Charlie’s brows rose. “I guess it’s show-and-tell time.”
Monty put down his lunch. “What have you got for me?”
“The CI you were asking about—you were right that he and Jack went back a long time.” Charlie opened the file, flipped through some photocopied pages. “I’ve got a log and some written reports I dug out of Jack’s old files, spanning at least a decade. The entries all have the same CI number on it.”
“The one I gave you—the one belonging to the inside witness who testified at Angelo’s trial.”
“Right.”
“Is there any personal data on this guy?”
“Nope. Only summaries of his meetings with Jack. These documents will give you the dates and times you asked for, plus details of each encounter. But all biographical info, photos, registration form, anything with the CI’s name on it, are in his restricted master file.”
“Did you go to the control officer who has it, try to persuade him to share?”
Charlie’s jaw tightened. “There’s just so far I’ll go for you, Montgomery. I’ve already gone out on a major limb. But what you’re suggesting smacks of blackmail and borders on career suicide. Now, do you want the copies of the reports I made for you, or not?”
“Damn straight I want them.”
“Good.” Charlie opened his manila folder and passed a chunk of pages across the desk. “Don’t read them here. Just stick them in Lenny’s take-out bag and take them with you when you leave. I don’t want anyone spotting you walking out of my office with pages that have our letterhead on them.”
“Got it.” Monty took the documents. He couldn’t wait to pore over them. In the meantime, he couldn’t help but notice that they were just a percentage of what Denton had in that folder. Clearly, the rest weren’t for sharing.
That had to be remedied.
“Who’s the CI you have in mind?” Charlie demanded.
“Let me read through this stuff first,” Monty replied. “If it matches up with the background check of the guy I suspect, you’ll hear from me.”
“That sounds like a stall tactic.”
“It’s not. I’ll call you by the end of the business day. You have my word.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“Do that. If this is who I think it is, the lead is all yours. Run with it. Earn yourself a commendation and a fat promotion.”
With a grimace, Charlie resumed eating his soup. “I’m not holding my breath on either of those. Solving this case will serve justice. That doesn’t mean it’ll serve everybody else.”
Monty shrugged, munching on his sandwich. “Toes get stepped on. People get over it.”
“Maybe in your world. Not mine. The D.A.’s office is a political one, in case you haven’t noticed.”