Free Depraved Indifference by Robert K. Tanenbaum Page B

attack.
    â€œWhat the fuck was that all about, Karp? Like I told Jerry, this is a federal case; I run it. What I don’t need is a bunch of local pols screwing around with it. We’ll coordinate like we always do. I got stuff in your yard, I’ll let you know. Am I clear?”
    Karp smiled. “Yup. It’s your show, Elmer, skyjacking, kidnapping, the works. Us political types are just interested in murder one, killing a cop in L.O.D. Any little crumbs off your table we’d be glad to get. And, of course, if any evidence from our extensive investigation of the homes and businesses of the suspects bears on your case, or on any little conspiracies they might have been planning, or any other little exploding surprises they might have planted, or any connections they have with other terrorist groups, why then, we’ll be sure to do the same. Sound good? Now, what’s the situation in Paris? How are we going to get these guys back here?”
    Pillman blew smoke and grinned nastily. “You’re a bullshitter, Karp, you know that? You can take your evidence and stick it up your ass. I’ll handle the situation in Paris, and if I think of any way you can help, I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, it’s been a pleasure, but now I got to make some calls, so—” He waved toward the door and reached for his phone.
    Karp stood up. “Good idea, Elmer,” he said, “and by the way, since this interagency cooperation is going so great, could I borrow a phone?”
    Pillman paused, then pointed to one of the doors leading out of the office. “My deputy’s out. You can use his.”
    Karp smiled his thanks and walked into a smaller but similarly furnished office next door. He sat down at the desk and dialed the district attorney’s private number.
    Sanford Bloom had recently adopted a tone of hurt avuncularity toward Karp, as if he were the bad boy of the office, bright but unreliable, who could not grasp that Bloom truly had his best interests at heart. Like everything else about the man, it was as phony as a lead slug.
    Karp wasted no time on pleasantries. “This is Karp. I’m down at the FBI. I’m dealing with Pillman on the hijack, and I think we’re getting shafted on this murder. I need an irate call to the assistant director and maybe poke somebody in Washington. The sooner the better.” Bloom had been United States Attorney for New York’s Southern District before becoming DA, and was well-known to have important Washington contacts. Indeed, he rarely stopped talking about them.
    After a pregnant silence Bloom replied, “Hold on a second, Butch. I can’t go making calls just like that. Can’t you work something out with this Pillman?”
    â€œYeah, sure, I could, but I haven’t got time. There’s no way I can be in on what’s going on in Paris without the FBI’s cooperation, and I’ve got to be in on it or somebody will make a deal with them that could queer our case on the Doyle killing. Look, I’ll hang around here while you make the calls. Tell whoever that a police officer has been killed, and the FBI is being uncooperative about bringing the killers to justice.”
    â€œButch, I can’t do that. It would set interagency cooperation back twenty years.”
    Karp said, “If you want my advice, the cooperation you got to worry about is with the New York PD. It gets out that you are not vigorous in the extreme in pursuit of a gang of cop killers …” Karp left the thought unfinished.
    â€œOK, Butch, you made your point,” Bloom said peevishly. “I’ll ring some people up right now.” Karp heard the phone slam down.
    During this conversation Karp had picked up the phone and sidled over to the door, which he had left open a crack. He had observed Pillman listening closely to his own phone. After Bloom hung up, Pillman did too, and Karp heard the click on the line. He