The old man was feeling better. He'd been in the bar two hours, and he'd had two pickled eggs, and the bartender didn't bother him. Beer was all right, but a man needed whiskey when he was sick. He'd have one, maybe two more, and then he'd eat some breakfast. He didn't know why, but he knew he mustn't get drunk.
At nine o'clock the needle on the dial climbed past seventy-five. Matesic asked for coverage. That meant that two patrolmen would be tied up, doing nothing but searching for an echo. And it might be a wild goose chase. He was explaining to the Captain, but the Captain wasn't listening. He was looking at the photographs in the deAngelis file.
"You don't like this?" the Captain asked.
Matesic said he didn't like it.
"And King said he didn't like it?"
"King thinks the same way I do, he's been on there too damn long and too damn consistent."
"Pick him up," the Captain turned and ordered the audio controller. "If we can't hold him, we can at least get a look at him."
"It's not too clear yet," said Matesic, "it'll take a spread."
"I know what it'll take," the Captain roared. "Don't tell me my job! Put every available man on this, I want that guy brought in."