“You’d be surprised,” Malone says. “That is, if you worked the streets.”
He regrets the dig instantly but Buliosi lets it go. “Was Torres depressed?”
“I guess so, huh.”
“I mean,” Buliosi says, starting to get irritated, “did he show signs of depression?”
“I’m not a shrink,” Malone answers, “but as far as I observed, Torres was his usual prick self.”
“You didn’t get along?”
“We got along fine,” Malone says. “One prick to another.”
You gonna get in on this, Henderson? Malone wonders, looking at him. I need to remind you you got skin in this game? Henderson gets the message. “My understanding is that Torres had a reputation as a hard-ass up here. Is that accurate, Malone?”
“If you don’t have a rep as a hard-ass ‘up here,’” Malone says, “you’re not going to last long ‘up here.’”
“Is it accurate to say,” Henderson asks, “that detectives were selected for the Task Force somewhat based on that quality?”
“I’d say that’s accurate, yes.”
“That’s the problem with the Task Force,” Buliosi says. “It’s almost designed for trouble.”
“Was that a question, sir?”
“I’ll tell you what the questions are, Sergeant,” Buliosi says.
You think so, Malone thinks, but right now we’re talking about what I want to talk about, aren’t we?
Buliosi asks, “Do you know if Torres was doing anything that might have caused him concern for his job or his future?”
“That’s more your business, isn’t it?”
“We’re asking you.”
“Like I said,” Malone says, “I don’t know what Torres was doing or what he wasn’t doing.”
“You haven’t heard rumors,” Buliosi asks, “around the house?”
“No.”
“Was he taking money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ripping drug dealers?”
“I don’t know.”
Buliosi asks, “Are you?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“I think I’d know,” Malone says, meeting his stare.
“You’re aware,” Buliosi says, “of the consequences of lying to IAB in the course of an investigation.”
Malone says, “That would involve intradepartmental discipline, potential dismissal from the job as well as possible criminal charges for obstructing justice.”
“That’s right,” Buliosi says. “Sadly, Torres is dead. You don’t have to protect him.”
Malone feels his temper coming up out of his gut. Like he wants to smash this motherfucker’s face in for him, shut his smarmy fucking mouth. “Are you sad about it, Lieutenant? Because I don’t read that on your face.”
“As you said, you’re not a shrink.”
“Yeah, but reading assholes’ faces is kind of my job.”
Henderson jumps in. “That’s enough, Malone. I know you’re hurting about the loss of a brother officer, but—”
“The next time I see an IAB guy eat his gun will be the first time,” Malone says. “You don’t do that, lawyers don’t, wiseguys don’t. You know who does? Cops. Only cops. Real cops, that is.”
Henderson says, “I think that will be all for now, Sergeant. Why don’t you take a little personal time, get yourself together.”
“We reserve the right to reinterview,” Buliosi says.
Malone gets up. “Let me tell you both something. I don’t know why Torres did what he did. I didn’t even like the guy. But he was a cop. The Job takes a toll. Sometimes it’s sudden, a skel tosses a lucky shot at you and that’s it. Other times it’s slow, builds so slow you don’t even notice it, but then one day you wake up and you can’t take it anymore. Torres didn’t kill himself—one way or the other, the Job killed him.”
“Do you need to see a departmental shrink?” Buliosi asks. “I can arrange an appointment for you.”
“No,” Malone says. “What I need is to go back to work.”
He meets Henderson in Riverside Park by the softball fields.
“Thanks for all your help in the room,” Malone says.
“You didn’t help with your attitude,” Henderson says. “Now Buliosi has a hard-on for you.”
“Like IAB didn’t before,” Malone says. “You guys have wood for every real cop.”
“Gee, thanks, Denny.”
Malone looks across the river at Jersey. Only good thing about living there, he thinks, is you have a view of New York. “Did you guys have Torres up?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“To quote the immortal Denny Malone,” Henderson says, “‘I think I would have known.’ It wasn’t us. Maybe it was the feds. Southern District has it out for the commissioner.”
Jesus, Malone thinks. Fucking radar. “Well, IAB’s on it now. How much is it going to cost?”
“It’s headline news, Denny,” Henderson says. “The News, the Post, even the Times. On top of this fucking Bennett thing—”
“All the more reason for shutting it down,” Malone says. “You really think the commissioner wants you digging up skeletons in Torres’s closet? Scandals don’t last, but the boys at One P do. And they have long memories. They’ll wait for this to die down and then they’ll fuck you. You’ll retire the same rank you are now, if you even make it that far.”
“You’re right.”
“I already know that,” Malone says. “What I want to know is how much?”
“I’ll have to take it to Buliosi.”
“Then why are you still standing here?” Malone asks.
“Jesus, Malone, if I swing and miss, I go to jail.”
“Where do you think you’ll go if Gallina flips?” Malone asks. “Larry, I’m telling you—we go, you go with us.”
He walks away and leaves Henderson standing there looking at New Jersey.
“Oh, this is beautiful,” Paz says. “Are you seriously telling us that IAB is on the pad? You were tossing bones to the watchdogs?”
“Not all of them,” Malone says.
“What do they do for you?” O’Dell asks.
“Tip us off,” Malone says. Then he adds, “You wanted cops.”
“A thing of beauty,” Paz says. “On a certain sick level, it’s almost admirable—he’s going to rat out the Rat Squad.”
“How high up in IAB does it go?” Weintraub asks.
“I pay a lieutenant,” Malone says. “What he does with the money after that, I have no idea.”
“You can get this on camera?” Weintraub asks. “An IAB lieutenant taking a bribe.”
“What did I just say?”
They all look at Paz.
She nods.
“No,” Malone says. “I want to hear you say it, boss lady. ‘Sergeant Malone, go after Internal Affairs.’”
“You have my authorization.”
Good, Malone thinks.
Turn the rats against each other, let them chew each other’s rat faces off.
Weintraub asks him, “Do you think your guy can move Buliosi?”
“He’s not my guy.”
“Sure he is,” Weintraub says. “You own him.”
“I don’t know.”
“We need to shut down IAB,” Paz says. “A premature disclosure would threaten our investigation.”
“You mean steal your thunder,” Malone says.
“I mean,” Paz says, “that if IAB is dirty, it will suppress the evidence and seal its leaks. We’ll be left with just Henderson.”
Right, Malone thinks. What they’re really afraid of is the commissioner will beat the mayor to the punch, announce the corruption, own it, and come out a hero.
“This fucking Torres,” Paz says. “Who knew he was such a pussy?”