Murder Inside the Beltway Read Online Free PDF

of anything else that might help us. By the way, where did you and the missus have dinner last night?”
    “Charlie Palmer’s.”
    “Expense account, huh?” Hatcher said.
    “It is expensive,” Archer agreed.
    “Have a good day, Mr. Archer,” Jackson said as they left the room.
    “What’a you think?” Hatcher asked as they climbed into their car.
    “I don’t think he killed her,” Hall offered.
    “Based on what?” Hatcher asked as he pulled away.
    “Gut feeling.”
    “A woman’s instinct?” Hatcher said. “Not worth a damn.”
    “If she feels that way,” Jackson said, “I think she’s entitled to it.”
    “Right, and present that to a jury.” He added dramatically: “ ‘My instincts tell me, Your Honor, that the accused did it.’ Beautiful.”
    The two younger detectives fell silent. Hall smiled. Jackson clenched his fists and looked out the window.
    Jackson and Hall checked out an unmarked car at headquarters and headed for the Maurice T. Turner, Jr., Metropolitan Police Academy in Southwest.
    “You okay?” Hall asked from the driver’s seat.
    “Yeah, I’m okay.”
    “He really gets to you, doesn’t he?”
    “Hatch? I try not to let him.”
    She laughed. “You should try a little harder, Matt.”
    “He’s a racist.”
    “That’s pretty harsh. He’s just old-school.”
    “What’s that mean, lynching’s okay?”
    “You know I don’t mean that.”
    “Williams and Shrank are considering filing a bias complaint against him.”
    “I didn’t know that.”
    “He evidently got into it with them the other day, called them stupid, said there’s proof that blacks’ IQs are lower than whites’, the usual garbage from him.”
    “Do you think they’ll follow through?”
    “All I know is that I can’t wait to get transferred to another unit.”
    “You won’t miss me?”
    “Why? You planning on staying with him?”
    “Hey, Matt, I’m no fan of Hatch either, but the job’s the thing. He’s a good cop.”
    “A good old-school cop, as you say. That’s a whitewash, Mary.”
    She fell silent. They’d had few conversations about their racial difference since becoming intimately involved. She knew and respected his sensitivity about the subject and avoided that topic.
    He shifted gears. “How do we approach Manfredi?” he asked.
    “I think Hatch is right. I’ll mention that I was one of his students, sort of like we’re just stopping in to say hello. I’ll keep it light and then you bring up the homicide.”
    “Good cop, bad cop,” he muttered.
    “If you have a better suggestion I’ll—”
    “No, no, that’s the way to go. Sure, you set him up and I’ll hit him with the real reason we’re there.”
     
•  •  •
     
    After splitting off from Hall and Jackson, Hatcher drove to Adams Morgan and parked in front of Joe’s Bar and Grille. Its owner, Joe Yankavich, was behind the bar when Hatcher entered. He had the place to himself. The detective grabbed a stool at the far end of the bar. “Hello, Joe,” he said.
    “Hello, Hatcher. You on duty? What, a Diet Coke or a Shirley Temple?”
    “A Bloody Mary, Joe, and a burger. You got any chopped meat that hasn’t been in the freezer for a month?”
    The burly owner ignored the comment and shouted through an opening to the kitchen.
    “With fried onions,” Hatcher said.
    “Fried onions on that burger,” Yankavich instructed.
    Hatcher watched as Yankavich mixed his Bloody Mary and wondered what it would be liked to tangle with the bar owner. He was a bear of a man, with a barrel chest, shaved head, and massive arms that strained against the sleeves of the red shirt he wore. A bush of chest hair protruded through the open upper buttons. He plopped Hatcher’s drink down in front of him.
    “Hey, Joe…” Hatcher said.
    Yankavich turned and glared. “You here to break my chops today, Hatcher?”
    Hatcher grinned. “Why would you say that, Joe? I never break chops.”
    “And Congress isn’t on the take,”