The Witness

by W. E. B Griffin

  “And the operation presumably had your blessing, Commissioner?”

  “I didn’t know about it until it was over, Mr. Mayor.”

  “You and Lowenstein had a falling out?” Carlucci demanded, looking from one to the other. “You’re not talking to each other? What?”

  “It was a routine arrest, arrests, Jerry,” Lowenstein said. “There was no reason to bring the commissioner in on it.”

  “Just for the record, Matt, correct me if I’m wrong, this is the first time we’ve arrested the Islamic Liberation Army, right? Or any other kind of army, right? So how is that routine?”

  “Just because eight schwartzers call themselves an army doesn’t make them an army,” Lowenstein said. “So far as I’m concerned, these guys are thieves and murderers, period.”

  “Yeah, well, tell that to the newspapers,” Carlucci said. “The newspapers think they’re an army.”

  “Then the newspapers are wrong,” Lowenstein said.

  “And it never entered your mind, Peter,” Carlucci asked, turning to Wohl, “to run this past the commissioner and get his approval?”

  “Mr. Mayor, I thought of it like Chief Lowenstein did. It was a routine arrest.”

  “If it was a routine arrest—don’t hand me any of your bullshit, Peter, I was commanding Highway when you were in high school—Homicide detectives backed up by district cops would have picked these people up, one at a time. Did you see what the Daily News said?”

  “No, sir.”

  The mayor jammed his cigar in his mouth, opened his briefcase, took out a sheet of Xerox paper, and read, “They said, ‘A small army of heavily armed police had their first battle with the Islamic Liberation Army early this morning. When it was over, Abu Ben Mohammed was fatally wounded and Police Officer Matthew M. Payne, who two months ago shot to death the Northwest Philadelphia serial rapist, was in Frankford Hospital suffering from multiple gunshot wounds. The police took seven members of the ILA prisoner.’”

  He looked at Wohl.

  “I didn’t see that,” Wohl said.

  “Maybe you should start reading the newspapers, Peter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Just don’t give me any more bullshit about a routine arrest. If this thing had been handled like a routine arrest none of this would have happened.”

  “You’re right,” Lowenstein said angrily. “Absolutely right. If I had tried to pick up these scumbags one at a time, using district cops, we’d have three, four, a half dozen cops in Frankford Hospital, or maybe the morgue. And probably that many civilians.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. We took a goddamn arsenal full of guns away from these people. The only reason they didn’t get to use them was because we hit them all at once. If we had taken them one at a time, by the time we got to the second or third one, they would either have been long gone, in Kansas City or someplace, if we were lucky. Or, if we were unlucky, they would have done what this scumbag Stevens did, come out shooting.”

  There were very few people in the Police Department, for that matter in city government, who would have dared to tell the mayor in scornful sarcasm that he was right, absolutely right, and then explain in detail to him why he was wrong. Matt Lowenstein was one of them. But there was doubt in the minds of everyone else in the conference room that he was going to get away with it this time.

  He and the mayor glared at each other for a full fifteen seconds.

  “Is that his name? Stevens? The dead one?” the mayor finally asked, almost conversationally.

  “Charles David Stevens,” Lowenstein furnished.

  The mayor turned his attention to Staff Inspector Wohl again: “Presumably you were aware of this ‘arsenal of weapons’? That being the case, how come you didn’t use Highway?”

  “I didn’t want the Ledger complaining about excessive force by ‘Carlucci’s Jackbooted Gestapo,’” Wohl replied evenly. “Highway was alerted, in case they would be needed, and there were also stakeout units available. Neither was needed, which was fine with me; I didn’t want an early morning gun battle.”

  Carlucci thought that over for a long moment before replying: “I’m not sure I would have taken that kind of a chance, Peter.”

  “We also have to submit quarterly reports to the Justice Department on how we’re spending the ACT Grant funds. I thought that reporting that ACT-funded cops had assisted Homicide in the arrest of eight individuals charged with murder and armed robbery would look good.”

  “I still think I would have used Highway,” the mayor said. “You did have a gun battle.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to figure that out yet,” Wohl said. “I don’t think Stevens spotted the Homicide detective. Possibilities are that he got up to take a leak, and looked out his window, just as the units were moving into place.”

  “You said possibilities.”

  “Or somebody saw all the activity at the school playground, or as they were moving from the playground, and called Stevens.”

  “Somebody who?”

  “Maybe the same somebody who issued the second press release.”

  “So you don’t have all of them?”

  “No. What Jason Washington is doing, right now, is trying to find out how many there are. He hopes Arthur X will tell him.”

  “What does Intelligence have to say about these people? Or Organized Crime?” Carlucci asked.

  “Intelligence has nothing on the Islamic Liberation Army, period,” Lowenstein answered. “And until they pulled this job, none of these people did anything that would make them of interest to Organized Crime. They had their names, or some of them, but with no ties to anyone serious. They’re—or they were—small-time thieves.”

  “Czernich,” the mayor said, “maybe you’d better have a talk with Intelligence. I find it hard to believe that one day last week, out of the clear blue sky, these bastards said, ‘Okay, we’re now the Islamic Liberation Army.’ Intelligence should have something on them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Commissioner Czernich said.

  “But you are,” the mayor said, looking at Lowenstein, “taking this second so-called press release seriously?”

  “I don’t think we should ignore it,” Lowenstein replied.

  “The newspapers aren’t going to ignore it, you can bet your ass on that,” Carlucci said.

  “There’s almost certainly at least one more of them,” Wohl said. “Somebody was driving the van. Washington maybe can get a lead on him after he runs the seven of them through lineups.”

  “He hasn’t done that yet?” Carlucci asked incredulously.

  “He wanted them to have all day to consider their predicament. He’ll start the lineups at half past six.”

  “There was an implied threat against Matt Payne in that second press release,” Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin said. It was the first time he had spoken. “How are you going to handle that?”

  “Not specifically,” the mayor said. “What it said was—” he went into his briefcase again for another photocopy and then read, “‘Death to the murderers of our Brother.’ Murderers, plural, not Payne by name.”

  “Maybe that was before he knew Matt shot him,” Coughlin said.

  “Denny, I know how you feel about that boy—” Carlucci said gently.

  “Chief, he’s a cop,” Wohl interrupted, “and I don’t want to give these people the satisfaction of thinking that they have scared us to the point where we are protecting a cop—”

  “He’s in a goddamn hospital bed!” Coughlin flared. “I don’t give a good goddamn what these scumbags think.”

  “We had a talk with hospital security,” Lowenstein said. “We changed his room. They’re screening his phone calls. And Peter loaned him a gun.”

  “—And,” Wohl went on, “and, purely as a routine administrative matter, while he is recovering, I’m going to ask Captain Pekach of Highway to rearrange the duty schedules of Officers McFadden and Martinez so that they can spend some time, off duty, in civilian c
lothes, with Matt.”

  Coughlin looked at him, with gratitude in his eyes.

  “And I wouldn’t be surprised if other friends of his looked in on him from time to time,” Wohl said.

  “You, for example?” Carlucci asked, chuckling, “and maybe Denny?”

  “Yes, sir. And maybe Sergeant Washington.”

  “Satisfied, Denny?” the mayor asked.

  “I never thought I’d see the day in Philadelphia, Jerry,” Coughlin said, “when scumbags would not only threaten a cop’s life, but send out a press release announcing it.”

  “I think the press release is bullshit,” Lowenstein said. “I think it’s intended to scare Monahan.”

  “He the witness? Will it?” Carlucci asked.

  “He’s the only one with any balls,” Lowenstein said. “And no. I don’t think he’ll scare.”

  “But we can forget the others, right? So we’d better hope this one doesn’t scare. Or get himself killed.”

  “I haven’t given up on the other witnesses,” Lowenstein said. “Washington hasn’t talked to them yet. I mean really talked to them.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Carlucci said.

  “It seems to me,” Commissioner Czernich said, “that our first priority is the protection of Mr. Monahan.”

  The mayor looked at him and shook his head.

  “You figured that out all by yourself, did you?” he asked.

  Then he closed his briefcase and stood up.

  There is a price, Wohl thought, for being appointed police commissioner.

  Commissioner Czernich waited until the mayor had left the conference room. Then, his face still showing signs of the flush that had come to it when Carlucci had humiliated him, he pointed at Lowenstein and Wohl.

  “That’s the last time either one of you will pull something like that harebrained scheme you pulled this morning without coming to me and getting my permission. The last time. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Wohl said.

  “Whatever you say, Commissioner,” Lowenstein said.

  “And I want Highway in on the protection of Mr. Monahan, Wohl. We can’t take any chances with him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Commissioner Czernich looked sternly at each man, and then marched out of his conference room.

  “Remember that, Peter,” Coughlin said. “No more harebrained schemes are to be pulled without the commissioner’s permission.”

  “Jesus,” Wohl said, and then laughed, “I thought that’s what he said.”

  “Well, it made him happy,” Lowenstein said. “It gave him a chance to give an order all by himself.”

  “Two orders,” Coughlin replied. “You heard what he told Peter. He wants Highway in on protecting Monahan.”

  “That’s the exception proving the rule. That makes sense.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Wohl said.

  “Now you’re not making sense,” Lowenstein said.

  “The first priority, agreeing with the commissioner, is to protect the Monahans. The second priority is to make the Monahans feel protected. I decided the best way I could do that, during the day, when Mr. Monahan’s at work, is with two plainclothes officers in an unmarked car. A blue-and-white sitting in front of Goldblatt’s all day would give people the impression we’re afraid of the ILA—” He interrupted himself. “That’s dangerous. Did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard,” Lowenstein said.

  “I called these scumbags the ILA. I don’t want to get in the habit of doing that.”

  “No, we don’t,” Coughlin agreed.

  “There is another car, a blue-and-white, with uniformed officers, at his house,” Wohl went on. “There will be one there, twenty-four hours a day, from now on. That will reassure Mrs. Monahan, and if an associate of these felons should happen to ride by the Monahan house, they will see the blue-and-white.”

  “Okay,” Lowenstein said. “I see your reasoning. So what are you going to do?”

  “Obey the order he gave me,” Wohl said. “Have a Highway car meet Washington and the unmarked car at Goldblatt’s and go with them when they bring Mr. Monahan here to the Roundhouse. Unless I heard the commissioner incorrectly, he only said he wanted ‘Highway in on protecting Mr. Monahan.’”

  “You’re devious, Peter. Maybe you will get to be commissioner one day.”

  “I’m doing the job the best way I can see to do it,” Wohl said.

  “I think you’re doing it right,” Coughlin said.

  “We won that encounter in there, Peter,” Lowenstein said. “I think Czernich expected both of us to be drawn and quartered. I think Czernich is disappointed. So watch out for him.”

  “Yeah,” Wohl said.

  “I’d appreciate being kept up-to-date on what’s happening,” Coughlin said.

  “I’ll have Washington call you after the line-up. Lineups.”

  “Lineups. Lineups, for Christ’s sake,” Lowenstein said, chuckling. He touched Wohl’s arm, nodded at Coughlin, and walked out of the room.

  “I appreciate your concern for Matt, Peter,” Coughlin said.

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Well, I do,” Coughlin said, and then he left.

  Wohl started to follow him, but as he passed through the commissioner’s office, the commissioner’s secretary asked him how Matt was doing, and he stopped to give her a report.

  In the elevator on the way to the lobby, he remembered that he had promised Matt to have a word with his father. He stopped at the counter, asked for a phone book, and called Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo & Lester.

  Brewster C. Payne gave him the impression he had expected him to call. He asked where Wohl was, and then suggested they have a drink in the Union League Club.

  “Thank you, I can use one,” Peter said.

  “I think we can both use several,” Payne said. “I’ll see you there in a few minutes.”

  Wohl started to push the telephone back to the corporal on duty, and then changed his mind and dialed Dave Pekach’s number and explained why a Highway car was going to have to be at Goldblatt’s.

  Lari Matsi came into Matt Payne’s, carrying a small tray with a tiny paper cup on it.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “I’m watching The Dating Game on the boob tube. That tell you anything?”

  “Maybe you have more culture than I’ve been giving you credit for,” she said. “Anyway, take this and in five minutes you won’t care what’s on TV.”

  “I don’t need that, thank you.”

  “It’s not a suggestion. It’s on orders.”

  “I still don’t want it,” he said.

  She was standing by the side of the bed. She looked down at it, and grew serious.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to have that in here.”

  He followed her eyes, and saw that she was looking at the revolver Wohl had given him, its butt peeking out from a fold in the thin cotton blanket.

  He took the revolver and put it inside the box of Kleenex on the bedside table.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “No. Not okay. You want to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “Like what? I’m a cop. Cops have guns.”

  “They moved you in here, and your name is not Matthews, which is the name on the door.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe that I’m really a rock-and-roll star trying to avoid my fans?”

  “Do they really think somebody’s going to try to—do something to you?”

  “No. But better safe than sorry.”

  “I suppose this is supposed to be exciting,” she said. “But what I really feel is that I don’t like it at all.”

  “I’m sorry you saw the gun,” he said. “Can we drop it there?”

  “You don’t want the Demerol because it will make you drowsy, right?”

  He met her eyes, but didn’t reply.

  “This was going to be your last one, anyway,” Lari said. “I could
get you some aspirin, if you want.”

  “Please.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “No.”

  “If anybody asks, you took it, okay?” she asked. “It would be easier that way.”

  She went to the bathroom, and in a moment, with a mighty roar, the toilet flushed.

  “Thank you,” he said when she came out.

  “I’ll get the aspirin,” she said, and went out.

  She came back in a minute with a small tin of Bayer aspirin.

  “These are mine,” she said. “You didn’t get them from me. Okay?”

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s a security guard at the nurse’s station, I guess you know. He’s giving everybody who gets off the elevator the once-over.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “In the morning, they’re going to send you a physical therapist, to show you how to use crutches,” she said. “When she tells you the more you use your leg, the more quickly it will feel better, trust her.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll see you around, maybe, sometime.”

  “Not in the morning?”

  “No. I won’t be coming back here. I’m only filling in.”

  “I’d really like to see you around, no maybe, sometime. Could I call you?”

  “There’s a rule against that.”

  “You don’t know what I have in mind, so how can there be a rule against that?”

  “I mean, giving your phone number to a patient.”

  “I’m not just any old patient. I’m Margaret’s Prince Charming’s buddy. And, anyway, don’t you ever do something you’re not supposed to?”

  “Not very often,” she said, “and something tells me this is one of the times I should follow the rules.”

  She walked out of the room.

  Matt watched the door close slowly after her.

  “Damn!” he said aloud.

  The door swung open again.

  “My father is the only Henry Matsi in the phone book,” Lari announced, “but I should tell you I’m hardly ever home.”

  Then she was gone again.

  “Henry Matsi, Henry Matsi, Henry Matsi, Henry Matsi,” Matt said aloud, to engrave it in his memory.

  A minute or so later the door opened again, but it was not Lari. A chubby, determinedly cheerful woman bearing a tray announced, “Here’s our supper.”