“The Forensics Lab thinks maybe they can salvage something,” Weisbach said.
“What we would like from you, to preserve the evidence in both cases,” Wohl said, “is permission to have Forensics work on them. Photographing each step of the process as they’re worked on.”
“Destroyed is what you mean,” Callis said. “If I was going to be in court with the Leslie case, I’d want to show the jury the tapes as they were in the fire, the actual tapes, not what’s left after Forensics takes them apart.”
Wohl didn’t reply, and Callis let his imagination run:
“A good defense attorney could generate a lot of fog with somebody having fooled around with those tapes,” he said, and shifted into a credible mimicry of Bernadette Callahan, Attorney-at-Law, formerly Sister John Anthony:
“‘What were you looking for on these tapes? Oh, you don’t know? Or you won’t tell me? But you can tell me, under oath, can’t you, that you found absolutely nothing on these mysterious tapes that you examined with such care that connected Mr. Leslie in any way with what you’re accusing him of.’
“And then,” Callis went on, “in final arguments, she could make the jury so damned curious about these damned tapes that they would forget everything else they heard.”
“They gave him the Nun to defend him?” Weisbach asked, smiling.
“She probably volunteered,” Callis replied. “She has great compassion for people who kill other people.”
“Tony,” Wohl said. “I need those tapes.”
That’s the first time he called me by my first name. Interesting.
“I know that…”
“If I have to, I’ll get a court order,” Wohl said.
I’ll be damned. He means that. Who the hell does he think he is, threatening the District Attorney with a court order?
The answer to that is that he knows who he is. He’s wrapped in the authority of the Honorable Jerry Carlucci.
“Come on, Peter, we’re friends, we’re just talking. All I’m asking you to do is make sure the chain of evidence remains intact.”
“Detective Payne,” Wohl said. “You are ordered to take the tapes from the case of Officer Kellog from the Evidence Room to the Forensics Laboratory for examination. You will not let the tapes out of your sight. You will see that each step of the examination process is photographed. You will then return the tapes to the Evidence Room. You will then personally deliver to Mr. Callis (a) the photographs you will have taken and (b) the results, no matter what they are, of the forensics examination.”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said.
Wohl looked at Callis.
“OK?”
“Fine.”
“Thank you, Tony.”
“Anytime, Peter. You know that.”
TWENTY-THREE
The Forensics Laboratory of the Philadelphia Police Department is in the basement of the Roundhouse. It is crowded with a large array of equipment-some high-tech, and some locally manufactured-with which highly skilled technicians, some sworn police officers, some civilian employees, ply their very specialized profession.
When Detective Wally Milham walked in at half past eight, he found Detective Matt Payne, who had been in the room in compliance with his orders not to leave the cassette tapes out of his sight, for nine hours, sprawled on a table placed against the wall. He had made sort of a backrest from several very large plastic bags holding blood-soaked sheets, pillows, and blankets. It was evidence, one of the uniform technicians had told Matt, from a job where a wife had expressed her umbrage at finding her husband in her bed with the lady next door by striking both multiple times with their son’s Boy Scout ax.
Amazingly, the technician had reported, neither had been killed.
Matt was pleased to see Milham. He was bored out of his mind. The forensic process had at first been fascinating. One of the technicians, using a Dremel motor tool, had, with all the finesse of a surgeon, carefully sawed through the heat-distorted tape cassettes so that the tape inside could be removed.
The technician, Danny Meadows, was nearly as large as Tiny Lewis, and Matt had been genuinely awed by the delicacy he demonstrated.
And, according to his orders, Matt had ensured that photographs were taken of every cassette being opened, and then of the individual parts the technician managed to separate.
He had been fascinated too, at first, as Danny Meadows attempted to wind the removed tape onto reels taken from dissected new Radio Shack tape cassettes.
And his interest had been maintained at a high level when some of the removed tapes would not unwind, because the heat had melted the tape itself, or the rubber wheels of the cassette had melted and dripped onto the tape, and Danny again displayed his incredible delicacy trying to separate it.
But watching that, too, had grown a little dull after a while, and for the past two hours, as Meadows sat silently bent over a tape-splicing machine, gluing together the “good” sections of tape he had been able to salvage from sections of tape damaged beyond any hope of repair, he had been ready to climb the walls.
He had, at seven-thirty, announced that he was hungry, in the private hope that Danny would look at his watch, decide it was time to go home. A corporal working elsewhere in the laboratory, aware of Matt’s orders not to let the tapes out of his sight, had obligingly gone out and returned with two fried-egg sandwiches and a soggy paper cup of lukewarm coffee.
At eight-fifteen, Matt had inquired, in idle conversation, if Danny was perhaps romantically attached. On being informed that he had three months before been married, Matt suggested, out of the goodness of his heart, that perhaps Danny might wish to go home to his bride.
“No problem,” Danny had replied. “We can use the overtime money. You have any idea what furniture costs these days?”
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Wally said.
“I’ve been right here, in case my expert advice might be required,” Matt said.
The technician, without taking his eyes from the tape-splicing machine, chuckled.
“I thought you’d like to have these,” Wally said, and handed Matt Xeroxes of 75-49s, “as a souvenir of your time in Homicide.”
Jesus, that’s right, isn’t it? My detail to Homicide is over. I am back to doing something useful, like not letting cassette tapes out of my sight. And rolling around in the mud catching dirty cops.
I’m going to miss Homicide, and it’s going to be a long time before I can even think of getting assigned there. Unless, of course, Our Beloved Mayor and Chief Lowenstein get into another lovers’ quarrel.
“Thank you,” Matt said after scanning the reports. “What I’ll do with these is have them framed and hang them on my bathroom wall, so that when I take a leak, I can remember when they let me play with the big boys.”
Milham laughed.
“Come on, Matt, if you hadn’t taken one more look at Atchison, we wouldn’t have the guns. That’ll be remembered, down the line, when they’re looking for people in Homicide. I enjoyed working with you.”
“Thank you,” Matt said. “Me, too.”
“And this,” Milham said, handing Matt what in a moment he recognized as the spare set of keys to his apartment. “I really owe you-both of us do-for that.”
“Hell, Wally, keep it as long as you need it.”
“Well, that’s it. We’re not going to need it. I just left Helene there. She’s packing. We had dinner tonight, and she asked me, ‘What happens now?’ and I said, ‘I think we should get married,’ and she said, ‘Oh, Wally, what would people think?’ and I said, ‘Who cares?’ The logic of my argument overwhelmed her.”
“Well, good for you. Do I get an invitation?”
“Well, you’re welcome, of course, but what we’re going to do is drive to Elkton, Maryland, tonight. You can get married there right away. And then come back in the morning, a done deed.”
“Jesus. I have to sit on these goddamned tapes!”
“I know. I figured that after we�
�re back a couple of days, we’ll have a little party. A small party, only those people who didn’t think I might have done Kellog. Anyway, you’re invited to that, of course.”
“I accept,” Matt said, and then changed the subject. “Is she going to help with this?” He waved his hand at the technician working on the tapes.
“I don’t know. Maybe, after a while, after we’re married, she’ll change her mind, but right now she won’t talk about the Narcotics Five Squad. I’ll work on her, but, Jesus, she’s scared-that telephone call really got to her-and she’s got a hard head.”
“Well, maybe we’ll get something out of the tapes, but I doubt it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because we’re-Danny is-putting so much effort into it. The Matt Payne Theory of Investigation holds that the more effort put into something, the less you get from it. The really good stuff falls into your lap.”
Danny and Wally both laughed.
And then Danny surprised him.
“You’re right, Payne. To hell with it. I’ve had enough. My eyes are watering, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. Let’s hang it up and start again in the morning.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard in eight hours.”
By the time Matt got to his apartment-checking the tapes back into the Evidence Room took even longer than checking them out had-Wally Milham and Helene Kellog were gone.
Helene left a thank-you note on the refrigerator door, and when he opened it, he saw that they had stacked it with two six-packs of Ortleib’s, eggs, Taylor ham, and English muffins, which he thought was a really nice gesture.
He was sipping on a beer and frying a slice of the Taylor ham when the telephone rang.
Wohl, he thought, or Weisbach. They called the Forensics Lab to see how things were going, heard I was gone, and are now calling here.
“Hello.”
“Matt? Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you,” Mrs. Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt IV began.
At the top of a long list of people I would rather not talk to right now is Dear Old Daffy.
“The orgy lasted a little longer than I thought it would. I just got home.”
“Have you been drinking?” It was more an accusation than a question.
“No.”
“You’re difficult when you’ve been drinking, and I want you to be nice,” Daffy said.
“Why does you wanting me to be nice worry me?”
“I’m worried about you. Chad and I are worried about you.”
“I’m all right, Daffy. Really.”
“Chad and I are worried about you being all alone in that terrible little apartment of yours.”
“That’s very kind of you, Daphne, but there’s nothing to worry about.”
“You have to get out, Matt. What’s done is done.”
“I understand.”
“Chad says that you’ll think we’re matchmaking or something like that.”
“What’s on your convoluted mind, Daffy?” Matt asked not at all pleasantly.
Her reply came all in a rush:
“The thing is, Matt, Amanda is coming to town tomorrow on business. Now, I realize you don’t really get along with her, and I have never understood why-she’s really a very nice girl-but we’ll have to take her to dinner, or have her here for dinner, or whatever, of course, and I thought that it would be nice if you came too. That’s all that’s on my mind. It would be good for you, and playing Cupid is the last thing on my mind.”
“Oh, Daffy,” Matt said, “I don’t think-”
“Please, Matt. Do it for me. Penny would want you to.”
“Well, if you put it that way.”
“Wonderful! I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you when and where.”
The phone went dead.
She hung up before I could change my mind.
Grinning from ear to ear, Matt returned to the kitchen. The Taylor ham was burned black, and the kitchen was full of smoke, but it didn’t seem to matter.
He burned his hand transferring the smoking pan to the sink, but that didn’t seem to matter either.
He was annoyed when the telephone went off again.
That has to be Wohl, Weisbach, or Washington about to ruin my good feeling.
“Hello.”
“You don’t sound like you’re in a very good mood, but at least I know where you are,” Amanda said.
“God is in His heaven and all is right with the world. I’m a little surprised He chose Daffy as His messenger, but who am I to question the Almighty?”
She giggled.
“She said she was going to call,” Amanda said.
“When am I going to see you?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not you have guests in your apartment.”
“No guests. Tomorrow night? How are you going to get away from Daffy?”
“So far as tomorrow night is concerned, I’ll think of something. Are you tied up tonight?”
“Where are you?”
“Thirtieth Street Station. I decided to take a chance and come down tonight.”
“Jesus!”
“Are you tied up tonight?”
“No, but if you’re into that sort of thing, I’m willing to try anything once.”
“Matt!”
“You bring the rope; I already have handcuffs.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
“OK,” she said, and the phone went dead.
He walked quickly into the bedroom.
The bed had been changed, and was neatly turned down.
He went into the living room, put the answering machine on On, shut off the telephone bell, and then went quickly down the stairs.
A conference was held vis-a-vis the investigation of allegations of corruption within the Narcotics Unit after the tapes taken from the pile of burned garbage had been analyzed at some length.
Present were Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein, Inspector Peter Wohl, Staff Inspector Mike Weisbach, and the Honorable Jerry Carlucci. The conference was held in the living room of Chief Inspector Augustus Wohl (Retired).
It was the consensus that while nothing incriminating had been found on the tapes, it was suspicious
(a) that Officer Kellog had carefully recorded his telephone conversations with other officers of Five Squad;
(b) that the conversations had used sort of a code to describe both past activity and planned activity.
It was also agreed, based on Inspector Wohl’s assessment of the reaction of Mrs. Kellog at the time, and on a conversation Staff Inspector Weisbach had had with Detective Milham concerning his wife, that
(a) there had indeed been a life-threatening telephone call to the former Mrs. Kellog shortly after her husband’s murder;
(b) that it was reasonable to presume that this call had come from someone on the Narcotics Squad.
Staff Inspector Weisbach also reported that, somewhat reluctantly, Captain David Pekach had come to him with conjecture concerning how members of the Narcotics Five Squad could illegally profit from the performance, or non-performance, of their official duties.
It was Captain Pekach’s opinion that-and official statistics regarding arrests in the area supported this position; the number of “good” arrests resulting in court convictions was extraordinary-the Narcotics Five Squad was not taking payments from drug dealers or others to ignore their criminal activities.
That left one possibility. That, if there was dishonest activity going on, it took place during raids and arrests. Inspector Weisbach felt that the number of times raids and arrests were conducted without support from other police units, the districts, Highway Patrol, and ACT teams was unusual.
With no one present during a raid or arrest but fellow members of the Narcotics Five Squad, Captain Pekach said, it was possible that the Narcotics Five Squad was illegally diverti
ng, to their own use, part of the cash and other valuables which would be subject to seizure before it was entered on a property receipt.
“Shit,” the Mayor of Philadelphia said, confident that he was among friends and that his vulgarity would not become public, and also because he had really stopped being, for the moment, Mayor and was in his cop role. “That’s enough to go on. I want those dirty bastards. The only thing worse than a drug dealer is a dirty cop letting the bastards get away with it. Get them, Peter. Lowenstein will give you whatever help you need.”
“Yes, sir,” Inspector Wohl said.
The Bennington Wumnae News
Philadelphia Regional Chapter
BY PATIENCE DAWES MILLER ’70
All of her many friends were saddened to learn of the death of Penelope Alice Detweiler ’71, who passed at her home after a short illness May 21.
Penny is survived by her parents, Mr. and Mrs. H. Richard Detweiler (Grace Wilson Thorney ’47) of Chestnut Hill, and her fiance, Matthew Mark Payne.
Funeral services were held at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Philadelphia, with interment following in the Detweiler tomb in the Merion Cemetery.
But there was good news, too, from Philadelphia. Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt IV (Daphne Elizabeth Browne ’71) are the proud parents of a beautiful baby girl. The child, their first, was christened Penelope Alice at St. Mark’s with Amanda Chase Spencer (’71) and Matthew Mark Payne as godparents.
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