The Glitter Dome by Joseph Wambaugh

Babs. Al Mackey had been through it twice and said the second time was no easier. Al said they were statistics in a divorce-plagued profession in a divorce-plagued city in a divorce-plagued country .
    Perhaps if Paula hadn’t called the night before. It had exhausted him physically as well as spiritually. He was in no condition to accommodate the meeting with Danny Meadows .
    Perhaps if the radio call hadn’t been broadcast at that precise moment. Two minutes later they’d have been back at the station. The crime wasn’t even in his area. It would have been given to other detectives. Martin Welborn distinctly remembered what he had said when Al asked if he wanted to roll on the call since they were so close. He’d said, “I’m tired, Al. Do what you like.” The words were etched like a steel engraving. He remembered precisely. What if he hadn’t said the last part? Al Mackey would have shrugged and driven to the station, and Danny Meadows would never have become that unrelenting little specter rising to torment Martin Welborn in the night .
    Captain Woofer and Al Mackey were staring at him. Al Mackey looked alarmed.
    â€œI asked if you were feeling okay, Welborn,” Captain Woofer said. “You’re sweating, and you’re trembling like a goat shitting soup cans. Do you have the flu?”
    â€œHe might be getting the flu,” Al Mackey said quickly. “I was saying this morning on the way to work that Marty looks like he’s getting the flu. Why don’t you take a walk, Marty? Get some air. If you’re not feeling well, you better go off sick.”
    Martin Welborn stared at them for a moment and then focused on Al Mackey’s gaunt face.
    â€œI said take a walk and get some air, Marty,” Al Mackey repeated.
    Martin Welborn nodded, got up, and walked out of the captain’s office. He looked around blankly for a moment, then left the squadroom.
    â€œYour partner’s a little shaky,” Captain Woofer said, relighting the briar for the third time.
    â€œThe flu, I think,” Al Mackey said. “Also he’s gone through a marital separation.”
    â€œHaven’t we all?” Captain Woofer shrugged. “If I had a buck for every divorced cop, I could’ve retired ten years ago instead of ruining my health going for thirty.”
    â€œMaybe Marty’s been working too hard. Maybe …”
    â€œHe should take a vacation.” Captain Woofer nodded. “ After you two clear the Nigel St. Claire homicide.”
    â€œMaybe he should take the vacation now , Cap.”
    â€œAfter. He’s got troubles, you’ve got troubles, I’ve got troubles. It’s a troubled world.” The captain suddenly didn’t look so old. He smiled as he got the pipe cooking.
    And Al Mackey decided that Whipdick Woofer had the crafty reptile eyes of a real ball whacker. The detective sighed and said, “You’re the boss … Boss.”
    Martin Welborn returned to his chair at the table belonging to the homicide teams. He looked composed as he read last night’s reports, oblivious to the scowling faces of Schultz and Simon.
    Al Mackey approached the homicide table with outstretched conciliatory hands. Al Mackey was big on body language.
    â€œListen, we didn’t ask for this,” he said, knowing what was on the minds of the huge detectives who were stuffing their notes and follow-up reports into the case envelope bearing the name of Nigel St. Claire.
    â€œSure,” said Schultz. “We’re just the junior varsity is all we are. Well, good luck.”
    â€œHere it is, Mackey, all of it,” said Simon. “The follow-ups are up-to-date: Suspect unknown, investigation continued, arrest is imminent. That’s all we got. Good luck to the first team and fuck you very much.”
    â€œWe didn’t ask for this,” Al Mackey said, with lots of squirming and shrugging. “You think we