Lowenstein had seen them; there was no option of getting back on the elevator.
“Chief,” Jason said.
“I’m glad you’re here. I was about to suggest to Inspector Wohl that we try to find you,” Lowenstein said, then changed his tone of voice from business to social: “Hello, Martha. It’s been a long time.”
“How are you, Chief Lowenstein?” Martha asked, giving him her hand.
“Reverend Coyle, may I introduce some other friends of Matt Payne’s? Detective and Mrs. Jason Washington.”
“That’s Sergeant Washington, Chief,” Wohl corrected him. “How are you, Martha?”
“Christ,” Lowenstein said. “That’s right, I forgot. Well, let me then be among the last to congratulate you, Jason.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” the Reverend H. Wadsworth Coyle said, enthusiastically pumping their hands in turn.
“Reverend Coyle,” Lowenstein said, “has been telling us that he was Matt’s spiritual adviser at Episcopal Academy—”
“Yes, indeed,” Coyle interrupted him. “And just as soon as I heard of this terrible, terrible accident, I—”
“—so perhaps you had better explain what that picture is you’re carrying,” Lowenstein concluded.
Wohl looked amused.
“Inspector Wohl has one very much like this, Reverend.” Martha Washington replied, “which Matt admires. He asked me to see if I could find him one as much like it as possible, and I have. I thought it might cheer him up.”
Wohl no longer looked amused, but Lowenstein did.
“Very nice,” the Reverend Coyle said, not very convincingly.
“They gave him something, for the pain, I suppose,” Wohl said. “He’s sleeping. We’re waiting for him to wake up. But I think you could stick your head in, maybe he’s just dozing.”
“Martha,” Lowenstein said, “your husband is not the silent gumshoe of legend. Why don’t you stick your head in? That way, if Matt’s asleep, he’ll stay that way.”
“Perhaps the both of us?” the Reverend Coyle said.
“Go on, Reverend,” Lowenstein said. There was something in his eyes that kept Jason from challenging the “suggestion” not to go in.
As Mrs. Washington, trailed by Reverend Coyle, disappeared into Matt’s room, Lowenstein took a paper from his pocket and handed it to Washington.
ISLAMIC LIBERATION ARMY
There Is No God But God,
And Allah Is His Name
PRESS RELEASE:
Allah has taken our Beloved Brother Abu Ben Mohammed into his arms in Heaven. Blessed be the Name of Allah!
But the cold-blooded murder of our Beloved Brother Abu Ben Mohammed by the infidel lackeys of the infidel sons of Zion, who call themselves police, shall not go unpunished!
Death to the murderers of our Brother!
Death to those who bear false witness against the Brothers of the Islamic Liberation Army in their Holy War against the infidel sons of Zion, who for too long have victimized the African Brothers (Islamic and other) and other minorities of Philadelphia.
Death to the Zionist oppressors of our people and the murderers who call themselves police!
Freedom Now!
Abdullah el Sikkim
Chief of Staff
Islamic Liberation Army
Washington read it, and then looked at Lowenstein.
“Sent by messenger to Mickey O’Hara at the Bulletin,” Lowenstein said. “And to the other papers, and the TV and radio stations.”
“The question, obviously, is, who sent this?” Washington said. “And the immediate next question is, is it for real, or are we dealing with kooks?”
“I think we have to work on the presumption that there’s something to it,” Wohl said.
“What’s something?”
“The first question that occurred to me was who did we miss, maybe how many, when we picked up those people this morning?” Wohl went on.
“There were eight people in the store; eight people Mr. Monahan identified from photographs; the eight people we had warrants for.”
“There was probably, almost certainly,” Lowenstein said, “a ninth man. Who drove the van.”
“Muhammed el Sikkim is a guy named Randolph George Dawes,” Washington said. “Little guy.” He held up his hand at shoulder level. “Who is this Abdullah el Sikkim? His brother?”
“Dawes has two brothers,” Lowenstein said. “One of them is nine years old. The other one’s in Lewisburg.”
“He could be the one guy we missed, the one driving the van,” Wohl said. “Or he could be any one of any number of people we don’t know about.”
“Well, whoever he is, he’s guilty of plagiarism,” Washington said. “A lot of this,” he dropped his eyes to the sheet of paper and read, “‘infidel sons of Zion, who for too long have victimized the African Brothers (Islamic and other) and other minorities of Philadelphia,’ and some more of it too, I think, is right out of the first press release.”
“He also used the phrase ‘death to’ more than once,” Lowenstein said.
“He says ‘murderers,’ not ‘murderer,’” Wohl injected. “Does that mean he doesn’t know Matt shot Dawes?”
“It was all over the papers, and TV too,” Washington said. “I can’t see how he can’t know. Are we taking this as a bona fide threat to Matt?”
“It seems to me the first thing we have to do is find this Abdullah el Sikkim,” Lowenstein said. “Did you get anything out of the ones we arrested about more people being involved?”
“I’m letting them stew until after supper,” Washington replied. “I’m going to start running them through lineups at half past six.”
“Why haven’t you done that already?” Lowenstein demanded.
“Because I think I will get more out of them after they have been locked up, all alone, all day,” Washington explained. “The adrenaline will have worn off. They may even be a little worried about their futures by half past six. That’s the way I called it, but I could go down there right now, Chief, if you or Inspector Wohl think I should.”
“You’re a sergeant now, Jason, a supervisor, but since you don’t have anybody but Tony Harris to supervise, I guess it’s your job.” Wohl said. “I won’t tell you how to do it.”
Washington met his eyes.
“Are you going to tell Matt about this?” he asked.
“The question we wanted to ask you,” Wohl said, “for quotation, I think I should tell you, at a five o’clock meeting with the commissioner, was, do we take this thing seriously? Are they really going to try to kill Matt, and/or the witnesses, which right now is Monahan, period?”
“So you asked us if we thought it should be taken seriously,” Lowenstein said. “Why the hell are we letting these scumbags get to us, the three of us, this way?”
“And the next question was going to be,” Wohl went on, “did Monahan go ahead and make a positive ID of these people after the threat was made? Obviously, since you’re not going to run the lineup until half past six, that can’t be answered.”
“The reason the three of us are upset by this,” Washington said thoughtfully, “is that as much as we don’t want to believe it, as incredible as this whole Islamic Liberation Army thing sounds, we have a gut feeling that these people are perfectly serious. They are just crazy enough, or dumb enough, to try to kill Matt and Monahan.”
Lowenstein took a fresh cigar, as thick as his thumb and six inches long, from his pocket. He bit off the end, and then took a long time lighting it properly.
“Harry will be back in a minute,” he said finally. “I sent him to have a talk with Hospital Security. He’s a retired Internal Affairs sergeant. I want whatever he can give us to keep this under control.”
Detective Harry McElroy was Chief Inspector Lowenstein’s driver.
“I want to get plainclothes people to guard Matt,” Wohl said. “A lot of uniforms are going to signal these idiots—and the public—that we’re taking them serio
usly.”
“You mean you don’t want us to look scared,” Lowenstein said. “OK. Good point. But protecting Monahan is something else. You did intend, Peter, to put Highway on him and his wife twenty-four hours a day?”
“Special Operations will continue to provide two police officers to guard Mr. Monahan and his wife around the clock,” Wohl said, and then when he saw the look on Lowenstein’s face went on: “To take the ACT people off that job—they are police officers, Chief—as a result of this ‘press release’ would both signal the Liberation Army that we’re afraid of them, and send the message to the ACT cops that I don’t have any faith in them.”
“I hope your touching faith is justified, Peter,” Lowenstein said. “If they get to Monahan, either kill him, or scare him so that he won’t testify, this whole thing goes down the tube, the scumbags go free, and the whole police department, not just you, will have egg all over its face.”
“I intend to protect Mr. Monahan,” Wohl said, a little sharply. “I’m even thinking about shotguns.”
“You have enough ex-Stakeout people who are shotgun qualified?” Lowenstein asked.
Unlike most major city police departments, which routinely equip police officers with shotguns, Philadelphia does not. Only the specially armed Stakeout unit is issued shotguns.
“I’ve got people finding out,” Wohl said.
“I’ll call the range at the Police Academy, Peter,” Lowenstein said. “Have ten of your people there in an hour. The Range Training Officers will be set up to train and certify them in no more than two hours.”
“Thank you,” Wohl said, simply.
“I hope Harry gets something from hospital security,” Washington said. “How long is Matt going to be in here, anyway?”
“Not long,” Wohl said. “They’ll probably let him go tomorrow.”
“That soon?” Washington asked, surprised.
“The new theory is that the more he moves around, the quicker he’ll heal,” Lowenstein said.
The door to Matt’s room opened.
“Matt’s awake,” Martha Washington announced.
“Jason,” Lowenstein said quickly, softly, “when somebody asks, as somebody surely will, how you’re coming with the ones we have locked up, could I say that I don’t know, the last I heard you were off to see Arthur X?”
“You’re reading my mind again, Chief,” Washington said.
“And there’s one more thing you could do that would help, Jason,” Wohl said.
“What’s that?”
“Find Tony Harris and sober him up. I’d like him in on this.”
Washington’s face registered momentary surprise, then he met Wohl’s eyes.
“I’ve found him. I’m working on sobering him up.”
“Are you going to come in here or not?” Martha asked.
The three men filed into Matt’s room. He was sitting up in bed.
“I’ll be running along now,” the Reverend Coyle said. “The hospital doesn’t like to have a patient have too many visitors at once.”
“Thank you for coming to see me,” Matt said politely.
“Don’t be silly,” the Reverend Coyle said. “You feel free to call me, Matt, whenever you want to talk this over.”
“I will, thank you very much,” Matt said.
Jason Washington caught Martha’s eye and made a barely perceptible gesture.
“I’ll be outside,” she said.
Matt looked from one to the other.
Lowenstein finally broke the silence.
“How much dope are you on?”
“One tiny little pill of Demerol whenever they feel I should have one.”
“Could you do without it?”
“Why?”
“Your judgment is impaired when you’re on Demerol.”
“Am I going to need my judgment in here?”
Lowenstein handed him the press release.
Matt read it, and looked at Lowenstein.
“Jesus, are they serious?” he asked.
Lowenstein shrugged.
“I think we should err on the side of caution,” Wohl said. “In this case meaning having a pistol in your bedside table might be a good idea.”
Matt felt a cramp in his stomach.
Jesus, is that fear?
“The sergeant from the Mobile Crime Lab took my pistol,” Matt said, desperately hoping his voice did not betray him, that he sounded like a matter-of-fact cop explaining something.
Simultaneously, Chief Inspector Lowenstein and Staff Inspector Wohl reached into the pockets of their topcoats and came out with identical Smith & Wesson Chief’s Special snub-nosed .38 Special caliber revolvers.
Matt took the one Wohl had extended to him, butt first. He laid it on the sheet and covered it with his hand.
“One should be enough, don’t you think?” he said. “You just happened to have spares with you, right?”
He’s frightened, Wohl thought. He’s cracking wise, but he’s frightened. Then he grew angry. Those dirty sonsofbitches!
“Harry McElroy is arranging with hospital security to make sure nobody even knows where you are in here, much less gets close to you,” Lowenstein said. “I think that threat is pure bullshit. But better safe than sorry.”
“Yes, of course,” Matt said.
“Just make sure no one knows you have a weapon,” Wohl said. “The hospital would throw a fit.”
“You’ll be out of here tomorrow, or the day after,” Washington said. “Even if this is not fantasy on the part of these people, they won’t look for you in Wallingford. You are going to Wallingford, right?”
“I was, but not now,” Matt said. “Christ, I don’t want my family to hear about this!”
“It’ll be in the papers,” Wohl said. “They’ll hear about it.”
“I’ll go to my apartment,” Matt said, “not Wallingford.”
“You in the phone book?” Lowenstein asked.
“No, sir.”
“What I think this is intended to do, Payne,” Lowenstein went on, “is frighten Mr. Monahan. I think they’re trying to get him to think that if they can threaten a cop—You take my meaning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can’t believe they’d come after you. If they were serious about revenge, they wouldn’t have given a warning.”
“Yes, sir.”
On the other hand, Matt thought, if they did kill me, that would really send Mr. Monahan a message.
The pain in his stomach had gone as quickly as it had come.
Jesus, that Demerol must be working. I’m not even afraid anymore. This is more like watching a cops-and-robbers show on TV. You know it’s not real.
And then he had a sudden, very clear image of the orange muzzle blasts in the alley, and heard again the crack of Abu Ben Mohammed’s pistol, and felt again getting slammed in the calf and forehead, and the fear, and the cramp in his stomach, came back.
“I’ll have a talk with your father, Matt,” Wohl said. “And put this in perspective. If you’d like me to.”
“Please,” Matt said.
“I’m sure McElroy has arranged with the switchboard to put through only calls from your family and friends,” Lowenstein said. “But some calls may get through—”
“Calls from whom?” Matt interrupted.
“I was thinking of the press, those bastards are not above saying they’re somebody’s brother, but now that I think of it, these people may try to call you too.”
“In either case, hang up,” Wohl said. “No matter what you would say, it would be the wrong thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And above all,” Wohl said, “as the hangman said as he led the condemned man up the scaffold steps, try not to worry about this.”
“Oh, God!” Washington groaned, and then they all laughed.
A little too heartily, Matt thought. That wasn’t that funny.
SIXTEEN
The Honorable Jerry Carlucci, mayor of the City of Philadelphia,
sat in the commissioner’s chair at the head of the commissioner’s conference table in the commissioner’s conference room on the third floor of the Roundhouse rolling one of Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein’s big black cigars in his fingers. His Honor was visibly not in a good mood.
One indication of this was the manner in which he had come by the cigar.
“Matt, I don’t suppose you have a spare cigar you could let me have, do you?” the mayor had politely asked.
Lowenstein knew from long experience that when The Dago was carefully watching his manners, it was a sure sign that he was no more than a millimeter or two away from throwing a fit.
“Thank you very much, Matt,” the mayor said very politely.
Police Commissioner Taddeus Czernich, a large, florid-faced man sitting to the mayor’s immediate left, next to Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin, produced a gas-flame cigarette lighter, turned it on, and offered it to the mayor.
“No, thank you, Commissioner,” the mayor said, very politely, “I’m sure Matt will offer me a match.”
He turned to Lowenstein, sitting beside Peter Wohl on the other side of the table. Lowenstein handed him a large kitchen match and the mayor then took a good thirty seconds to get the cigar going. Finally, exhaling cigar smoke as he approvingly examined the coal on the cigar, he said, very politely, “Well, since we are all here, do you think we should get going? Why don’t you just rough me in on this, Commissioner, and then I can ask specific questions of the others, if there’s something I don’t quite understand.”
“Yes, sir,” Commissioner Czernich said. “Should I start, sir, with the Goldblatt robbery and murder?”
“No, start with what happened at five o’clock this morning. I know what happened at Goldblatt’s.”
“Chief Lowenstein asked the assistance of Inspector Wohl, that is, Special Operations, in arresting eight men identified by a witness as the doers of the Goldblatt job. They obtained warrants through the district attorney. The idea was to make the arrests simultaneously, and at a time when there would be the least risk to the public and the officers involved, that is at five o’clock in the morning.”
The Witness Page 27