Slice

BUCKHEAD

“A. C. Wiegrath, please,” the voice tells the woman over the telephone.

“May I tell him who's calling, please?"

“SAC Krug at the Bureau."

“Oh—yes, sir—just a moment, please.” The line goes click and there is a momentary pause and he hears the familiar voice answer.

“'Morning, Howard."

“Arthur."

“You get a chance to go to school on my memo?"

“Yeah, I did. I pretty much think we need to push on with this. I see what you're saying but we're getting boxed in with the investigation if we don't move."

“Well"—the man's raised eyebrows and shrug could be heard over the telephone in his tone and the sigh—"you know the sit-chee-ashun as well as I do. You're on eggshells. Something like this. I think you have to do what you think best. Buck stops with you."

“Yeah. Well, we got only three possibilities. First Mr. Fields hisself, which doesn't make much sense—guy can buy anything he wants now—Christ, djew look at his financial statement?"

“No, I didn't. He's got a few?"

“Yeah, you could say that.” They chuckled. “For a rainy day. You can say the boy Monroe put it in a cigar box and buried it. I guess we can't dismiss it."

“What'd the poly do?"

“Shit,” he said contemptuously.

“I figured."

“We took about forty man-hours combined with that damn videotape. He looks awful good for it. He's in there in a shot one minute, he's outta the shot the next minute."

“Christ almighty, I think...” He trailed off.

“Arthur, if there was ANYbody else looked ripe for it I wouldn't press it. I mean the girl. Shit there's no way. Just no opportunity. The video narrows it down by eliminating everybody else including the two uniform guys. I think we're lookin’ at Fields, John Monroe, and the investigating officer in charge. That's it."

“Detective Sergeant James Lee out of Buckhead Station."

“Yeah.” Long pause.

“I think we got to get a court order and the whole shootin’ match."

“Lee's telephone. Fields’ telephone. What else?"

“All the usual. For now. Then we'll just wait and see what drops out of the trees, I guess."

“Jesus. You know, for a measly damn twelve, insured at that, you know what I'd like to do with this one."

“Hey, really. Amen to that. It just don't work that way."

“I know, I know. Okay. I'll put it in the works."

“Thanks, Arthur."

“No problem. Get back to you after a while."

“Right,” Special Agent-in-Charge Krug said, hanging up the phone.

The man sitting on the other side of the desk from him anticipated what Krug was about to say and said, “I can appreciate how he feels. We don't like it much either."

“Right."

“But we both know we got a dirty cop here."

“Looks that way, I'll admit."

“Yep."