“I stopped off earlier and gave her something to help her sleep,” Amy said.
“How terrible for her!”
Amy nodded.
A large arm gently draped itself around Amy’s shoulders. She looked up into the face of Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin.
“I checked with the Medical Examiner,” he said softly. “He released the body at noon. Kirk and Nice picked it up at half past twelve.”
“I know, Uncle Denny,” she said. “Thank you.”
She looked around for Matt. He was in the kitchen, leaning against the refrigerator, holding a can of beer. He didn’t seem drunk, which could or could not be a good thing. There was no sign that he was armed, but Amy knew better. Matt carried his. 38 snub-nose in an ankle holster.
“It was the right way to go, darlin’,” Coughlin said. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“I always trust you, Uncle Denny,” she said sincerely, and with a smile.
He squeezed her shoulder.
“Uncle Denny, I think it might be a good idea to get all these people out of here.”
“I was thinking the same thing, darlin’.”
“Getting him to take it might be a problem, but I’ll try to give him something to help him sleep.”
“I’ll see to it,” Coughlin said, and raised his voice. “David? See you a minute?”
Amy walked into the kitchen. Sitting at the small table, which was covered with whiskey bottles, empty cans, and the remnants of a take-out Chinese buffet were Inspector Peter Wohl, his father, Chief Inspector August Wohl (Retired), Captain Mike Sabara, Detective Charley McFadden, and her father.
“I agree with McFadden,” Amy heard Chief Wohl say. “If he’d been hit in the head with a two-by-four, or something, I’d say he walked in on a burglar, but two bullets in the back of the head? That makes it a hit.”
Detective McFadden beamed to have the Chief agree with him.
Amy walked up to her brother, and resisted the temptation to kiss him. He looked desolate.
“How’re you doing, Sherlock?”
He nodded and raised his beer can.
“OK. You want a beer?”
“Yes,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I think I would. Thank you.”
“The beer’s been gone for an hour,” Peter Wohl said. “We can call and get some. Or would you like something stronger?”
“Hello, Peter,” Amy said. “How are you?”
“Long time no see,” he said evenly.
“There’s scotch, bourbon, and gin, honey,” Brewster C. Payne said. “And Irish.”
“Yes, of course, Irish,” Amy said. “An Irish, please. A short one, over the rocks. And then I think we should call off the wake.”
Her father nodded and stood up to make the drink.
“Have you been out to Chestnut Hill?” he asked.
“Not since I saw you there. I gave Grace something to help her sleep, and I called a while ago and Violet said she’d gone to bed. I was tied up at the hospital.”
“I left when Dick went to sleep,” her father said.
In other words, passed out, Amy thought. He was three-quarters drunk when I left there.
“I’ll go out there first thing in the morning,” Amy said, and then turned to her brother. “I asked you how you’re doing?”
He shrugged.
“What a goddamned waste,” he said.
“I want a minute with you alone when everybody’s gone,” she said.
“None of your goddamned pills, Amy.”
“I’m trying to help,” she said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Your beer must be warm.”
“Is that a prescription? Booze in lieu of happy pills?”
“It might help you sleep.”
He met her eyes for a moment.
“Dad, could you make two of those, please?” he called.
Their father turned to look over his shoulder at her. She nodded, just perceptibly, and he reached for another glass.
“Charley,” Mary-Margaret McCarthy called, “we’re going.”
There was a tone of command in her voice. She was a nurse, an R.N. who had gone back to school to get a degree, and was, she had once confided in Amy, thinking about going for an M.D.
McFadden immediately stood up.
Matt needs somebody like that, Amy thought. A strong-willed young woman as smart as he is. He didn’t need Penny.
God, what a terrible thing to even think!
“We’re going too,” Martha Peebles announced. She already had her David-whom she usually called, to his intense embarrassment, “Precious”-in tow.
One by one, the men filed into the kitchen and shook Matt’s hand.
“Circumstances aside, it was good to see you, Amy,” Peter Wohl said, and offered her his hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
He was almost at the top of the stairs when she went quickly after him.
“Peter, wait a moment,” she called, and he stopped. “I’d like to talk to you,” Amy said.
“Sure. When? Will it wait until morning?”
“I won’t be with Matt more than a minute,” she said.
“OK,” he said with what she interpreted as reluctance, and then went down the stairs.
Her father touched her shoulder.
“You’re the doctor. Is there anything I should be doing for Matt?”
“Just what you are doing,” she said.
“Should I go out to Chestnut Hill in the morning, or is it better…”
“He’s your friend, Dad,” Amy said. “You’ll have to decide.”
“Yes, of course.”
Finally, after a final hug from Denny Coughlin, Amy was alone with Matt.
He met her eyes, waiting for whatever she had to say.
“This was not your fault, Matt. She had a chemical addiction-”
“She was a junkie.”
“-which she was unable to manage.”
“And I wasn’t a hell of a lot of help, was I?”
“What happened is not your fault, Matt.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“The best thing you can do-an emotional trauma like this is exhausting-is to get a good night’s sleep.”
“And things will seem better in the morning, right?”
“I’ve got something to give you…”
“No, thank you.”
“…a mild sedative.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not climbing the walls, or hysterical, or…”
“It’s inside, Matt, it’s a pain. It will have to come out. The better shape you’re in when it does, the better. That’s why you need to sleep.”
“You are your father’s daughter, aren’t you? You never know when to take no for an answer.”
“OK. But people, even tough guys like you, have been known to change their minds. I’ll leave the pills.”
“Take two and call me in the morning?” Matt asked, now smiling.
“If you take two, you won’t be able to use a telephone in the morning. One, Matt, with water, preferably not on an empty stomach.”
“My stomach is full of Chinese.”
“I’ll be at home until half past seven or so,” Amy said. “If you want to talk.”
“Amy, believe it or not, I’m touched by your concern,” Matt said. “But all I need is to finish this”-he held up his whiskey glass-“and get in bed.”
And then he surprised her by putting his arms around her.
“Who holds your hand when you need it, Doc?” he asked softly. “Don’t you ever get it up to here with other people’s problems?”
“Yeah,” she said, surprised at her emotional reaction. “Just between thee, me, and the lamp pole, I do. But not with your problems, Matt. You’re my little brother.”
“Chronologically speaking only, of course.”
She hugged him, and then broke away.
“Go to bed,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.
”
She went down the narrow flight of stairs and turned at the bottom and looked up.
“Try to stay on the black stuff between parked cars, Amy,” Matt called down to her with a wave.
“Wiseass,” she called back, and closed the door to the stairs. She had just enough time to be surprised to find the landing empty when she heard the whine of the elevator.
That has to be Peter, she thought. If he said he would wait for me, he will.
And then she just had time to recognize the depth of her original disappointment when the elevator door opened. It was not Peter, it was Jason Washington.
Where the hell is Peter? Did he decide, “Screw her, I’m going home”?
“Good evening, Doctor,” Washington said in his sonorous voice. “Or, more accurately, good morning.”
“Mr. Washington.”
“Do I correctly surmise from the look of disapproval on your face that now is not a good time to call on Matt?”
“No. As a matter of fact,” Amy said with a nervous laugh-Jason Washington was a formidable male-“I think you’d be good for him. He said he was going to bed, but I don’t believe him.”
“I couldn’t get here earlier,” he said. “Inspector Wohl-he’s with the security officer in the lobby-thought perhaps you…”
Peter did wait. Why are you so damned pleased?
“I think you’re very kind to come at this hour, and that Matt will be delighted to see you.”
“Thank you,” Washington said, and waved her onto the elevator.
Peter did not smile when he saw her.
“Thank you for waiting,” she said. “I really wanted to talk to you.”
“So you said.”
“Could we go somewhere for coffee? Or a drink?”
They locked eyes for a moment.
“Most of the places I’d take you to around here are closed.”
“Would you have time to stop by my apartment?”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s an invitation to breakfast.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” she snapped. “I want to talk about Matt. Nothing else.”
“We tried the other, right, and it didn’t work?”
“It didn’t seem to, did it?”
“I’ll meet you in your lobby,” Peter said. “I hate to follow people.”
“Thank you,” she said, and got back on the elevator. By the time she turned around, he was already out the door.
“How are you holding up, Matthew?” Jason Washington asked as he reached the top of the steep flight of stairs.
“Most often by leaning against the wall,” Matt replied.
“He said, masking his pain with humor. I am your friend, Matthew. Answer the question.”
“You know the old joke: ‘How is your wife?’ and the reply, ‘Compared to what?’ I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”
“Try a one-word reply.”
“Empty,” Matt said after a moment.
Washington grunted.
“I would suggest that is a normal reaction,” he said. “I would have been here earlier, Matthew, but I was about the King’s business, protecting our fair city from assorted mountebanks, scoundrels, and scalawags.”
Matt chuckled. “Thanks for coming.”
“I’m very sorry about Penny, Matt,” Washington said.
“Thank you.”
“It was originally my intention, and that of my fair lady, to come to add our voices to the chorus of those telling you that you are in no way responsible for what happened.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean that. I am not just saying it.”
“I know,” Matt said.
“My lesser half-who is a bitch on wheels when awakened from her slumber in the wee hours-is going to be mightily piqued when I finally show up at home and tell her I have been here alone.”
Matt chuckled.
“Considering that sacrifice I have made-you have seen the lady in a state of pique and should be sympathetic-do you think you could find it in your heart to offer me one of whatever it is you’re drinking?”
“Sorry,” Matt said. “This is Irish. Is that all right?”
“Gaelic chauvinist’s scotch will do nicely. Thank you,” Washington said.
“You’ve been on the job?” Matt asked as he walked toward the kitchen.
“Indeed.”
“I thought you’d be taking some time off, going to the Shore or something.”
“There have been several interesting developments,” Washington said. “What opinion did you form of Staff Inspector Weisbach?”
“I liked him. He’s smart as hell.”
“That’s good, because he’s our new boss.”
“Really?”
“Would you be interested in his opinion of you?”
“Yeah.”
“He said you need to be held on a tight leash.”
“Is that what he said?”
“That’s what he said.”
“You said ‘our new boss.’ Are we going to be involved in this Ethical Affairs business?”
“I think we are the Ethical Affairs Unit.”
“That sounds like Internal Affairs by another name.”
Matt walked back into his living room and handed Washington the drink.
“Not precisely. Wohl and Weisbach have elected to lend a broad interpretation to their mandate.”
“Wohl was here.”
“I saw him in the lobby.”
“He didn’t say anything to me about…anything.”
“Under the circumstances…”
“He did mention half a dozen times that what I have to do is put…what happened to Penny…behind me, and get on with my life.”
“And so you should. Anyway, Armando C. Giacomo had Wohl and Weisbach as his guests for lunch at the Rittenhouse Club.”
“He’s representing Cassandro?”
“Uh-huh. And Mr. Cassandro really does not wish to go to jail. Mr. Giacomo proposed a deal: Cassandro testifies against Cazerra, Meyer, and company, in exchange for immunity from prosecution.”
“They’re not going to deal, are they? They don’t need his testimony. We have the bastard cold.”
“What Peter and Weisbach find interesting is why the deal was proposed. Giacomo can, if he can’t get him off completely, delay his trial for forever and a day, and then keep him from actually going to jail, with one appeal or another, for another couple of years. So, what, in other words, is going on?”
“What is?”
“Weisbach and Wohl, taking a shot in the dark, told Giacomo that the only thing we’re interested in, vis-a-vis Cassandro, that might accrue to his advantage would be help with the murder of Officer Kellog and what happened at the Inferno Lounge. According to Weisbach, Giacomo acted as if something might be worked out.”
“The mob would give us one, or both, doers in exchange for Cassandro?”
Washington nodded. “Which, since that would constitute a gross violation of the Sicilian Code of Honor, again raises the question, Why is Cassandro not going to trial so important? And that is what Weisbach and I have been trying to find out.”
“And?”
“Nothing so far.”
“Anything turn up on the Inferno Lounge job?”
“No. But I suspect there may be a connection there. Rather obviously, it was a hit, not a robbery. If it was a contract hit, it was expensive. If they give us that doer, that means Cassandro not going to jail is really important, and we’re back to why.”
Matt grunted.
“Anyway, you’ll be close to that one. You’re still going to Homicide. Whenever you feel up to coming back on the job.”
“If I had my druthers, I’d come back tomorrow morning. I really dread tomorrow.”
“At something of a tangent,” Washington said, “I have something to say which may sound cruel. But I think I should say it. My first reaction when I heard what happened was relief.”
Matt didn’t reply at first.
“I’ve also felt that,” he said finally. “It makes me feel like a real sonofabitch.”
“I’ve seen a good many murders, Matt. And more than my fair share of narcotics addicts. I hold the private opinion that a pusher commits a far more heinous crime than-for example-whoever shot Officer Kellog. Or Mrs. Alicia Atchison and Mr. Anthony J. Marcuzzi at the Inferno. For them, it was over instantaneously. It was brutal, but not as brutal as taking the life of a young woman, in painful stages, over a long period of time.”
Matt did not reply.
“The point of this little philosophical observation, Matt, is that Penny was murdered the first time she put a needle in her arm. When you…became romantically involved…with one another, she was already dead. The man who killed her was the man who gave her her first hard drugs.”
“I loved her.”
“Yes, I know.”
“We had a fight the last time I saw her. About me being a cop.”
“If you had agreed to become the Nesfoods International Vice President in Charge of Keeping the Boss’s Daughter Happy as of tomorrow morning, Matt,” Washington said seriously, “she would have found some other excuse to seek narcotic euphoria. The addiction was out of her control. It had nothing to do with you. You’ve got to believe that, for the simple reason that it’s true.”
“I’ll never know now, will I?”
Washington met his eyes, then set his drink down.
“Let’s go bar-crawling.”
“What?” Matt asked, surprised at the suggestion.
“How long have you been up here in the garret?”
Matt thought about that before replying.
“I got here about one-thirty.”
“Twelve hours in a smoke-filled room. That’s enough. Get your coat.”
“Where are we going?”
“The Mall Tavern. At Tenth and Cherry. When I was an honest Homicide detective, I used to go there for a post-duty libation. Let’s go listen to the gossip. Maybe we’ll hear something interesting.”
FOURTEEN
He doesn’t look like a cop, Amy thought when she saw Peter talking to the night manager in the lobby of her apartment building. Mr. Ramerez has put the well-cut suit and the Jaguar together and decided Dr. Payne is carrying on with a lawyer or a stockbroker.
“Good evening, Doctor,” Peter said.
“Thank you for coming at this hour,” Amy replied. “Shall we go up?” She smiled at Mr. Ramerez. “Good evening, Mr. Ramerez.”
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