I shrugged. "Not if it makes you happy. I don't know the man we're drinking to."
"You never met the son of a bitch?"
"No."
"I did. Greasy little cocksucker." He took another sip of his drink, then shook his head with annoyance and put his glass on the table. "Aw, fuck this, Matt. How long we known each other?"
"It's been a few years, Eddie."
"I guess it has. What the fuck are you doing with a shithead like Broadfield, will you tell me that? What the fuck are you doing playing games with him?"
"He hired me."
"To do what?"
"Find evidence that will clear him."
"Find a way for him to beat a murder charge, that's what he wants you to do. Do you know what a son of a bitch he is? Do you have any fucking idea?"
"I have a pretty good idea."
"He's gonna try to give the entire department the shaft, that's all he's trying to do. He's gonna help that shitkicker of a rug peddler expose corruption in high places. Christ, I hate that candy-ass son of a bitch. He was as corrupt a cop as you'd ever want to see. I mean he went out hunting for it, Matt. Not just taking everything they handed him. He hunted it. He would go out and detect like crazy, looking for crap games and smack dealers and everything else. But not to arrest them. Only if they weren't holding money, then they might make the trip to the station house. But he was in business for himself. His badge was a license to steal."
"I know all that."
"You know all that and yet you're working for him."
"What if he didn't kill the girl, Eddie?"
"She was stone dead in his apartment."
"And you think he's stupid enough to kill her and leave her there?"
"Oh, shit." He puffed on his cigar and the end glowed red. "He got out of there and dumped the murder weapons. Whatever he hit her with and whatever he stabbed her with. Say he went down to the river and dumped them. Then he stopped somewhere to have a couple of beers because he's a cocky son of a bitch and he's a little bit crazy. Then he came back for the body. He was going to dump her someplace but by then we got men on the scene and they're laying for him."
"So he walked right into their arms."
"So?"
I shook my head. "It doesn't make sense. He may be a little crazy but he's certainly not stupid and you're arguing that he acted like an idiot. How did your boys know to go to that apartment in the first place? The papers said you got a telephone tip. Is that right?"
"It's right."
"Anonymous?"
"Yeah. So?"
"That's very handy. Who would know to tip you? Did she scream? Anybody else hear her? Where did the tip come from?"
"What's the difference? Maybe somebody looked in a window. Whoever called said there was a woman murdered in such-and-such an apartment, and a couple of the boys went there and found a woman with a bump on her head and a knife wound in her back and she was dead. Who cares how the tipster knew she was there?"
"It might make a difference. If he put her there, for instance."
"Aw, come on, Matt."
"You don't have any hard evidence. None. It's all circumstantial."
"It's enough to nail the lid on. We got motive, we got opportunity, we got the woman dead in his goddam apartment, for Christ's sake. What more do you want? He had every reason to kill her. She was nailing his balls to the wall, and of course he wanted her dead." He swallowed some more of his drink. He said, "You know, you used to be a hell of a good cop. Maybe the booze is getting to you these days. Maybe it's more than you can handle."
"Could be."
"Oh, hell." He sighed heavily. "You can take his money, Matt. A guy has to make a living. I know how it is. Just don't get in the way, huh? Take his money and string him for all he's worth. The hell, he's been on the other end of it often enough. Let him get played for a sucker for a change."
"I don't think he killed her."
"Shit." He took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at it, then clamped his teeth around it and puffed on it. Then, his tone softer, he said, "You know, Matt, the department's pretty clean these days. Cleaner than it's been in years. Almost all of the old-style pads have been eliminated. There's still some people taking big money, no question about it, but the old system with money delivered by a bagman and distributed through an entire precinct, you don't see that anymore."
"Even uptown?"
"Well, one of the uptown precincts is probably still a little dirty. It's hard to keep it clean up there. You know how it goes. Aside from that, though, the department stacks up pretty good."
"So?"
"So we're policing ourselves pretty nicely, and this son of a bitch makes us look like shit all over again, and a lot of good men are going to be up against the wall just because one son of a bitch wants to be an angel and another son of a bitch of a rug peddler wants to be governor."
"That's why you hate Broadfield but- "
"You're fucking right I hate him."
"- but why do you want to see him in jail?" I leaned forward. "He's finished already, Eddie. He's washed up. I talked to one of Prejanian's staff members. They have no use for him. He could get off the hook tomorrow and Prejanian wouldn't dare pick him up. Whoever framed him already did enough of a job on him from your point of view. What's wrong with my going after the killer?"
"We already got the killer. He's in a cell in the Tombs."
"Let's just suppose you're wrong, Eddie. Then what?"
He stared hard at me. "All right," he said. "Let's suppose I'm wrong. Let's suppose your boy is clean and pure as the snow. Let's say he never did a bad thing in his life. Let's say somebody else killed What's-her-name."
"Portia Carr."
"Right. And somebody deliberately framed Broadfield and set him up for a fall."
"So?"