A big man was standing outside in a topcoat, hat in hand. Randolph stood in the door, waiting.
The man silently held out a badge, and Randolph moved aside, gesturing him in.
"I didn't look at your badge close enough," Randolph said as he closed the door behind his visitor. "Who are you?"
"Narcotics squad," the man said briefly. "I was on the raid last night."
"Oh? The one Bill Howard was talking about in his newscast?"
"Yes. That one. I don't figure there's any connection, and my boss just laughed when I suggested there was a connection."
"Connection?"
"You see, I took a break from questioning those boys we pulled in. Trying to get a lead to the higher-ups. They were doped to the ears, and sometimes you can get info from them right quick. I took a break for a cup of coffee across the street, and there was a TV in the place, and I watched your Bill Howard.
"I left just when your witches came on, shouting that thing about make it clean NOW. I went right back and started in on the questioning again, but the guy they brought in for me to question next was—not dopey. He was ... well, there's a difference between boys with the monkey on their back, and when there's no monkey. There was no monkey, but the kid began giving me everything he knew would take us to the higher-ups. It was being taped, of course, and I asked him when he'd had his last shot. Not twenty minutes before the raid, he said, calm as you please.
"I had the guys brought back that I'd talked to before and they were—different. Only way I can describe it is, no monkey. The monkey had been there before. I don't know. They each gave us all they had in leads—they'd been stubborn before, but they sang like canaries.