No matter how sharply he dressed this oddness in his physique would always betray him.

"Something wrong?" he asked when he came around to me.

"Uh, no. I was ... Jack McEvoy."

I put down the laptop and held out my hand but Washington didn't take it.

"Let's go into the room, Jack."

"Sure." He had traded the snub of my stare for one of his own. it was okay. I walked behind him over to the door of the room where the man and woman were eating their lunch.

He glanced back once, looking down at the satchel I carried.

"Whaddaya got in there?"

"Computer. A couple things to show you if you're interested."

He opened the door and the man and woman looked up.

"Sorry, folks, picnic's over," Washington said.

"Can you give us ten, Legs?" the man asked before getting up.

"Can't do it. Got a customer here."

They rewrapped what was left of their sandwiches and left the room without a further word. The man gave me a stare that I interpreted to be annoyance. I didn't care.

Washington signaled me in and I put my computer case down on the table next to a folded cardboard sign with the no smoking symbol on it. We sat down on opposite sides of the table. The room smelled like stale smoke and Italian salad dressing.

"Now, what can I do for you?" Washington asked.

I gathered my thoughts and tried to appear calm. I was never comfortable dealing with cops, even though their world fascinated me. I always felt that they might suspect something about me. Something bad. Some telling flaw in me.

"I'm not sure where to begin. I'm from Denver. I just got in this morning. I'm a reporter."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. You're a reporter? What kind of reporter?"

I could see a slight pulse of anger beneath the dark skin of his upper left jaw. I was prepared for this.

"Newspaper reporter. I work for the Rocky Mountain News. Just hear me out and then if you want to throw me out, that's fine. But I don't think you will."

"Look, man, I've heard about every pitch in the world from guys like you. I don't have the time. I don't"

"What if John Brooks was murdered?"

I watched his face for any sign that he might already believe this. There was nothing. He gave nothing away.

"Your partner," I said. "I think he might have been murdered."

Washington shook his head.

"Now, I've heard everything. By who? Who killed him?"

"By the same person who killed my brother." I stalled a moment and looked at him until I had his full attention. "He was a homicide cop. He worked in Denver. He was killed about a month ago. They thought at first it was a suicide, too. I started looking into it and I ended up here. I'm a reporter but this isn't really about that. It's about my brother.