The Investigators (Badge of Honor 7)

“Yes, sir,” Danny the Judge admitted, sounding a little sheepish. “Inspector, I just talked to Chief Coughlin. He told me to put the arm out for you and Sergeant Washington, and to tell you to meet him here.”

“Okay. Where was Ketcham, Dan?”

“One of our detectives—Harry Cronin—found him in a deserted NIKE site. Wearing nothing but an overcoat.”

“Let me have that again?”

“Harry Cronin found him in one of the NIKE sites. His clothing was in one room, and he was locked up in another.”

“I’ll be damned,” Peter said. “You talk to Washington yet?”

“He’s next, sir.”

“Tell him I’ll be in my car in three minutes, and to give me a call if he wants me to pick him up; it’s on my way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wohl replaced the telephone in its cradle and sat up.

“Tell me why you’ll be damned, Peter,” Amy said.

“Go back to sleep, honey. I’ve got to go to South Detectives.”

“Who is Ronald . . . What was that? ‘Ketcham’?”

“Oh, Jesus, honey!”

“The way you said that, I really want to know.”

“The missing boyfriend,” Peter said.

“Cynthia Longwood’s boyfriend?”

Wohl nodded.

“He’s been arrested? What for?”

“Honey, it’s sort of complicated,” Peter said as he swung his feet out of bed and stood up.

“I want

to know, Peter. I have a right.”

“The minute there’s anything I can tell you, I will. I promise,” Wohl said as he took linen from a chest of drawers and ripped open the paper wrapped around a stack of laundered shirts.

“You’re going to see him?” Amy asked, and before he could reply, added: “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not,” Wohl said firmly. “Honey, as soon as I have anything for you, I’ll tell you.”

One corner of her mind was impressed with the rapidity with which he was changing from a naked man—a naked lover—into a fully dressed police officer.

Is that what married life would be like with him? The phone rings in the middle of the night, he throws on his clothes like a quick-change artist, and he goes out to return who the hell knows when?

“Peter, I want to go with you. You wouldn’t even know about him—how did you get his name, by the way?—if it wasn’t for me.”

“Amy, please don’t push me on this,” Peter said.

She didn’t reply. She pushed herself up so that her back rested on the headboard, folded her arms under her breasts, and watched as he tied his necktie without using a mirror.