I hadn’t been back at my desk long when my lieutenant stopped by, on his way out.

“Detective Pribek,” he said. “How are you.”

William Prewitt, in his mid-fifties, had a way of asking questions that often didn’t sound like questions.

“Good, thanks,” I said. “And you?”

“Fine,” he said briskly. “I might have something for you to run down. A small thing.”

“Sure,” I said. “What is it?”

“We’ve been hearing some rumors, just a few whispers, about someone practicing medicine without a license,” he told me.

“Sounds like a job for the State Board of Medicine to me,” I said.

“This isn’t a simple licensure issue, like a doctor forgetting to send in the renewal paperwork,” Prewitt corrected me. “We’re not at all sure this guy is really a doctor. He’s probably just passing himself off as one. He’s also possibly operating out of a public housing building somewhere.”

“That’s daring,” I said. “Has this guy botched anything and dumped someone on the ER doorstep?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” Prewitt said. “But we really don’t know very much. It’s just a subtle, persistent rumor. There may be nothing to it.”

There were two ways that statement could be interpreted. It could mean, This case is probably a dead end, so I’m kicking it down to my youngest and least-experienced investigator, the one who’s already under a cloud around the department. Or he could be saying, This is a tricky case with few leads, one that needs to be handled carefully. Show me your stuff, Pribek.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“Just ask around, check out the story with your informants,” Prewitt told me.

“Sure,” I said. “I can do that.”

He left with a little tilt of his chin that said, Carry on.