"I find it impossible to believe that nobody in this goddamn precinct has ever heard of Gonzo!" Byrnes shouted. "I find it impossible to believe that with a squad of sixteen detectives, I can't locate a two-bit pusher when I want him! I'm sorry, Steve, but I find that pretty damn impossible to believe."
"Well…"
"Have you checked the other precincts? A man doesn't simply materialize out of thin air. That doesn't happen, Steve. If he's a pusher, he may have a record."
"He may be a new pusher."
"Then he may have a J.D. card."
"No, I've checked that Pete, maybe the Gonzo is a nickname. Maybe…"
"What the hell do we have aliases files for?" Byrnes shouted.
"Pete, be reasonable. He may not be an old-timer. He may be one of these young punks who's just cut himself into the business. So he has no record and he…"
"A young punk suddenly becomes a pusher, and you're telling me he has no J.D. record?"
"Pete, he doesn't necessarily have to be listed as a juvenile delinquent. It's just possible, you know, that he's never been in trouble. There are hundreds of kids in the streets who don't have cards on…"
"What are you telling me?" Byrnes said. "Are you telling me you can't find a snot-nosed punk for me, is that what? This Gonzo took over Hernandez' trade, and that's a possible motive for murder, don't you think?"
"Well, if it were a big enough trade, yes. But, Pete…"
"Have you got a better motive, Steve?"
"No, not yet."
"Ah, Jesus, Pete, you're talking to me as if…"
"I'm still running this squad, Carella," Byrnes said angrily.
"All right, look. Look, I met a kid yesterday who was ready to make a buy from Gonzo. I know what the kid looks like, and I'll try to scout him up today, okay? But first let me see what Danny Gimp has."
"You think this kid knows Gonzo?"
"He said he didn't yesterday, and he panicked when a patrolman showed. But maybe he's made contact since, and maybe he can lead me to Gonzo. I'll look around. Danny should be calling back in a half hour or so."
"All right," Byrnes said.
"I don't know why you're getting so hot about this case," Carella ventured. "We're getting hardly any pressure at…"
"I get hot about
He sat at his desk and stared through the corner window of the room, looking out over the park. He was very weary and very sad, and he hated himself for snapping at his men, and he hated himself for concealing important evidence, evidence that might possibly help a good cop like Carella. But again he asked himself the question, and again the question had the same hollow ring to it:
Would Carella understand? Or would Carella, being a good cop and a smart cop, beat those fingerprints to death, track them down, get to work in earnest and come up with a murderer named Larry Byrnes?
And, faced with the answer, a new despondency claimed him. He knew what he was afraid of. He had met a new Larry Byrnes in the past few days. The new person masquerading as his son was not a very nice person. He did not know that person at all.
That person could have done murder.
The phone on his desk rang. He listened to it ring for several moments, and then he swung his swivel chair around and picked up the receiver.
"87th Squad," he said. "Lieutenant Byrnes here."
"Lieutenant, this is Cassidy at the desk."
"What is it, Mike?"
"I've got a call for you."
"Who is it?"
"Well, that's just it. The guy won't say."
Byrnes felt a sudden sharp pain at the base of his spine. The pain spread, suffused slowly, became a warm dissipating glow. "He… he wants to talk to me?" Byrnes asked.
"Yes, sir," Cassidy said.
"All right, put him on."
Byrnes waited. His hands were sweating. The receiver was slippery in his right hand, and he wiped the palm of his left hand on his trouser leg.
"Hello?" the voice said. It was the same voice as before. Byrnes recognized it instantly.
"This is Lieutenant Byrnes," he said.
"Ah, good afternoon, Lieutenant," the voice said. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," Byrnes said. "Who is this?"
"Well now, that's not exactly a very bright question, is it, Lieutenant?"
"What do you want?"
"Ah, are we alone on this wire, Lieutenant? I'd hate to think that any of your colleagues were about to hear the personal things we'll discuss."
"No one listens in on my calls," Byrnes assured him.
"You're quite certain of that, are you, Lieutenant?"
"Don't take me for a fool," Byrnes snapped. "Say what you've got to say."
"Have you had a chance to chat with your son, Lieutenant?"
"Yes," Byrnes said. He shifted the phone to his left hand, wiped his right hand, and then switched again.
"And has he confirmed the accusations I made the last time I spoke to you?"
"He's a drug addict," Byrnes said. "That's true…"
