Captain Abrams looked into the closet and back at Brent Taber. His lips were back a little off his teeth. With Abrams, this indicated anger.
"All right. What does Washington do about this one? Does Washington tell us to be good little boys and go hand out parking tickets?"
"It wasn't like that," Taber said.
"It doesn't much matter how it was. The thing is—how is it going to be now?"
"You got a murder, friend. Plain and simple. What do the New York police do when they get a murder?"
Abrams spoke bitterly. "Sometimes they let a panel truck drive in and haul the body away and that's that."
"Let's save the sarcasm until later. I called you in. It's your case. What do you want me to do?"
"Talk a little, maybe. The other one—now this one. The same killer?"
"I think so."
"What does he look like?"