The lieutenant met his eyes.
"You want to go, get out of here, now."
Matt had a quick mental image of Mrs. Glover, who looked to be on the edge of hysteria, getting carried down to the Homicide Bureau, in the Roundhouse, in a district wagon and then sitting around until one of the Homicide detectives had time to take her statement.
"I'm with somebody," Matt said. "A woman."
"Get out of here now, then," the lieutenant repeated. "Homicide, or the brass, will be coming in on this any minute."
"I owe you one," Matt said, and trotted back to where he had left Mrs. Glover lying on the floor.
She was still lying on the floor.
"It's all right," he said, and reached down and helped her to her feet. "Did you see anything? Anything at all?"
She shook her head, no.
"I told them you're with me," he said.
There was confusion in her eyes.
"We can go. Otherwise, you'll be taken to the Roundhouse and be there for hours."
"Are you a policeman or something?" she asked incredulously.
"I'm a detective," he said. "You all right? Can you walk?"
"I'm all right," she said. "What do we do about the groceries?"
"Leave them," he said, and took Mrs. Glover's arm and led her out the front of the store.
"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Glover said. "That's my car!"
And then she was clinging to him, whimpering. She had looked at the ground beside her car, where the second robber Stakeout had taken down was on his back in the middle of a spreading pool of blood. He had taken a load, Matt decided, maybe two loads, of double aught buckshot.
Well, that blows any chance we had to get away from here. Shit!
SIX
"My car's over there," Matt said, and started to lead Mrs. Glover toward it.
Mrs. Glover seemed to want the reassurance of his arm around her, and stayed close to him. He was very much aware of her body against his.
He put her in the car.
"Listen," he said. "We can't leave now. Let me go talk to the lieutenant, and I'll come back."
The lieutenant told him there was nothing he could do now but wait for Homicide and the brass to show up.
That means instead of Mother's western omelet, I will have to find sustenance in a cup of coffee in a paper cup, and if I'm lucky, a stale doughnut.
The first Homicide detective to arrive at the crime scene was Detective Joe D'Amata. Matt knew him. He waited until D'Amata had taken a quick look around inside, and then gone to the body in the parking lot, and then walked up to him.
"Hey, Joe."
"Matthew, my boy," D'Amata said, smiling. "Don't tell me you did this."
"I came in to get a dozen eggs."
"You see what happened?"
"No. But I know who owns this car, the one he ran into."
"Oh?"
"She's a librarian at U of P. Nice lady. She saw the body and she' s nearly hysterical."
"I would be too," D'Amata said. "Do you think she saw anything?"
"She saw what I saw, zilch. We were in the back of the store."
"We'll need your statements," D'Amata said. "But I don't see why you couldn't take her to the Roundhouse before the mob gets there. I' ll let them know you're coming."
"I owe you one, Joe."
"Yeah. Don't forget."
****
Matt went back to his Bug and got behind the wheel and turned to Mrs. Glover.
"What happens now?" she asked.
"I know one of the Homicide detectives. He's fixed it so that we can go to the Roundhouse now, before the crowd gets there, and make our statements."
"But I didn't see anything."
"That's your statement. And they'll want to know about your car."
"What am I going to do about my car?"
"They'll want to take pictures of it. Maybe, if we're lucky, we can get them to turn it loose when they're finished. We can ask."
"What would have happened if you weren't here?"
"They'd have taken you, when they got around to it, to the Roundhouse in a car."
"What's this 'Roundhouse' you keep talking about?"
"The Police Administration Building. At 8^th and Race. That's where Homicide is." He paused. "You all right, Mrs. Glover?"
"I'll be all right," she said.
He started the Bug and drove downtown to the Roundhouse.
****
It was quarter to twelve when they left. Captain Quaire, the commanding officer of Homicide, had come in, and he authorized the release of Mrs. Glover's car to her when the Mobile Crime Lab was through with it.
When they got back to the Acme parking lot, they were told that it would be at least an hour before the car could be released.
"I'm sorry," Matt told Mrs. Glover. "But that's the way it is. I' ll take you home and then bring you back in an hour."
"You're sweet, Matt. I appreciate all this," Mrs. Glover said, and touched his arm.
He started the car and asked her where she lived. She gave him an address in Upper Darby Township.
"It's not far," Mrs. Glover said. "But I appreciate the offer to take me back there."
"I'll take your husband back," Matt said. "What you should do is make yourself a stiff drink, and then go to bed, and forget this whole thing."
He saw they had crossed into Upper Darby Township. "You're going to have to start giving me directions."
****
It was a fairly nice ranch house in a subdivision, the sort of house he would have expected people like the Glovers to have. He remembered hearing that Mr. Glover, probablyDoctor Glover, was some sort of professor. There was a light on in the carport, and there were lights in the living room, behind the curtain that covered the picture window.
"I don't see a car," Matt said. "It looks like Dr. Glover's not home."
"Not here, he's not," Mrs. Glover said, more than a little bitterly.
Oh!
"Could you use one of those stiff drinks you recommended for me?" Mrs. Glover asked. "Or are you on duty?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, you're going to have to watch while I have one, I'm afraid. I'm shaking like a leaf."
"I meant that 'no drinking on duty' business is only in the movies, or on TV cop shows. And anyway I'm not. On duty, I mean."
She got out of the car and went to the door that opened off the carport into the kitchen. He followed her inside. She snapped on fluorescent lights and pulled open a cabinet over the sink.
"I'm not much of a drinker," she said, taking out four bottles. " But this is an occasion, isn't it?" She turned to him. "What do you recommend?"
There was a bottle of gin, a bottle of blended whiskey, a bottle of Southern Comfort, and, surprisingly, an unopened bottle of Martel cognac.
"The cognac, if that would be all right," Matt said.
"I've even got the glasses for it," she said. "They're probably a little dusty."
She went farther into the house and returned with two snifters that were, in fact, dusty. She wiped them with a paper towel and set them on the kitchen counter.
"Do you need a corkscrew?"
"No, I don't think so," he said, and twisted the metal foil off the neck. The bottle was closed with a cork, but the kind that can be pulled loose.
He poured cognac in both glasses, and handed her one.
"You don't mix it with anything?"
"My father says it's a sin to do that," Matt said. "But my mother drinks hers with soda water."
"I've got ginger ale. Would that be all right?"
"That would be a sin," he said.
"I think I'll be a sinner," she said, and went into the refrigerator and took out a bottle of ginger ale, and poured some into her glass. Then she held the glass out to touch his.
"I'm glad you were there, Matt," she said. "This whole experience has been horrible. I would have hated to have had to go through it alone."
He smiled and took a sip from his gl
ass. She took a tentative sip of hers. She smiled. "That's not so bad."
He took another swallow and felt the warmth course through his body.
"Funny," Mrs. Glover said, "you don't look like a detective."
"Probably because I've only been a detective a couple of weeks."
"Or a policeman," she said. "I thought you were one of those who was going in the Marines?"
He was surprised that she had paid enough attention to him to have known that.
"I flunked the physical," he said.
"Oh," she said. "And do you like being a policeman?"
"Most of the time," he said. "Not tonight."
She hugged herself, which caused the material of her blouse to draw taut over her bosom.
"That warms you, doesn't it?" she said.
"Yes, it does."
"My husband's father gave him that when he was promoted."
"Oh."
"I was tempted to throw it out when he left, but I decided that would be a waste, that sooner or later, I'd need it. For an occasion. I didn't have something like this in mind."
"Well, it's over," Matt said. "Put it out of your mind."
"I'm not letting you get on with whatever you were about to do when this happened."
"Don't worry about it."
"Where do you live?"
"In Center City. I was driving past the Acme, saw the parking lot was pretty empty, and thought it would be a good time to get a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread."
"Me too," she said, and upended her brandy snifter and drained it. "I went there to get something for my supper. Have you eaten?"
He shook his head, no.
"The least I can do is feed you," she said. "There should be something in the freezer."
She found two Swanson Frozen Turkey Breast Dinners and put them in the oven.
"It'll take thirty-five minutes," she said. "Is that going to make you terribly late where you were going?"
"I just won't go," he said. "It wasn't important."
She made herself another cognac and ginger ale and extended the bottle to him.
"Well, we'll eat the leathery turkey, and then you can drive me back there."
"Fine."
"I'm now going to do something else I rarely do," Mrs. Glover said. "I'm going to smoke a cigarette."
"I'm sorry, I don't have any."
"I've got some somewhere," she said, and went farther into the house again. She immediately returned. "I'm sorry. Why are we in the kitchen? Come on in the living room."
****
An hour later, they drove back to the Acme Supermarket. Her car was gone, and so had just about everybody else. There was a uniformed cop by the shattered plate-glass window.
Matt showed him his badge.
"Where's the car, the victim's car the doer ran into?"
The uniformed cop shrugged. "I guess they took it to an impound area. Maybe at the district."
Matt returned to the Bug and told Mrs. Glover that the authority they had to reclaim her car was useless. It was somewhat in limbo, and there was nothing that could be done until the morning.
"What do I do now?" Mrs. Glover asked. "Can you take me home again?"
"Of course."
****
She wanted an explanation of where in "limbo" her car actually was, so it seemed perfectly natural that he follow her into the house again and have another cognac.
"I was thinking," Mrs. Glover said an hour later, dipping her index finger into her cognac snifter to stir the ginger ale into the cognac, "I mean it's just an idea. But if you stayed here, there's a guest room, you could drive me down to the Roundhouse in the morning."
She is not making a pass at me. She is at least thirty years old, maybe thirty-five, and…
"And the truth of the matter seems to be that we've both had more of this cognac than is good for us," she added.
"Well, if it wouldn't inconvenience you."
"Don't be silly," she said. "I'll just get sheets and make up the spare bed."
****
"I'm sorry I don't have any pajamas to offer you," Mrs. Glover said at the door to the spare bedroom.
"I don't wear them anyway. I'll be all right."
"If you need anything, just ask," she said, and gave him her hand. "And thank you for everything."
"I didn't do anything," he said.
She smiled at him and pulled the door closed.
He looked around the room, and then went and sat on the bed and took his clothing off. He rummaged in the bedside table and came up with a year-old copy ofScientific American. He propped the pillows up and flipped through it.
He could hear the sound of a shower running, and had an interesting mental image of Mrs. Glover at her ablutions.
"Shit," he said aloud, turned the light off, and rearranged the pillow.
He had a profound thought: No good deed goes unpunished.
The sound of the shower stopped after a couple of minutes. He had an interesting mental image of Mrs. Glover toweling her bosom.
A moment later he heard the bedroom door open.
"Matt, are you asleep?"
"No."
He sensed rather than heard her approach the bed. When she sat on it, he could smell soap and perfume.
Maybe perfumed soap?
She found his face with her hand.
"I've been separated from my husband for eleven months," Mrs. Glover said. "I haven't been near a man in all that time. Not until now."
He reached up and touched her hand. She caught his hand, locked fingers with him, and then moved his hand to the opening of her robe, directed it inside, and then let go.
His fingers found her breast and her nipple, which was erect. She put her hand to the back of his head and pulled his face to her breast.
When he tried to pull her down onto the bed, she resisted, then stood up.
"Not here," Mrs. Glover said throatily. "In my bed."
****
At quarter to seven the next morning, Detective Matt Payne drove into the garage beneath the Delaware Valley Cancer Society Building, and turned to look at Mrs. Glover, whose Christian name, he had learned two hours before, was Evelyn.
"What is this?" she asked.
"This is where I live. Where I have to change clothes."
"The signs says this is the Cancer Society."
"There's an attic apartment," he said.
"Oh."
"Come on up. It won't take me a minute."
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea."
"You mean, you don't want to see my etchings?"
"What happened last night was obviously insane. Maybe we better leave it at that."
"I like what happened last night."
"You should be running around with girls your own age, not having an affair with someone my age. And vice versa."
"I don't seem to have much in common with girls my own age," Matt said. "And I don't think that was the first time in the recorded history of mankind that…"
"A woman my age took a man your age into her bed?"
"Right."
"Go change your clothes, Matt. I'll wait here."
"You don't want to do that."
"Yes, I do."
"Whatever you say," Matt said, and got out of the Bug and went to the elevator.
****
When he reached the top step of the narrow stairway leading into his apartment, he saw the red light blinking on his telephone answering machine. He pulled his sweater over his head, tossed it onto the couch, went to the answering machine, and pushed the PLAY MESSAGES switch
"Matt, I know you're there, pick up the damned telephone."
That was Amelia Payne, M.D. He wondered what the hell she wanted, and then realized she probably wanted a report on Penny Detweiler's trip home.
Then Brewster Cortland Payne II's voice: "Matt, Amy insisted I try to get you to call her. She's positive you're there and just not picking up. She wants to talk to you about Penny. Will you call her, ple
ase? Whenever you get home?"
The next voice was Charley McFadden's: "Matt, Charley. Give me a call as soon as you can. I gotta talk to you about something. Oh. How was Las Vegas?"
Something's wrong. I wonder what? Well, it'll have to wait.
"Matt, this is Penny. I just wanted to say 'thank you' for coming out there to get me. I forgot to thank you at the airport. When you have a minute, call me, and I'll buy you an ice-cream cone or lunch or something. Ciao."
Oh, Christ, I don't want to get sucked into that!
"Matt, this is Joe D'Amata. They took your lady friend's car to the Plymouth place in Upper Darby. I called her house, and there was no answer. If we'd left it at the scene, there would be nothing left but the ignition switch."
Jesus, why didn't I think about just calling Joe from her house? Because you were thinking with your dick, again, Matthew!
"Payne, this is Al Sutton. If you were thinking of coming to work this morning, don't. They want you in Chief Lowenstein's office at half past one."
Now, what the hell is that about? Something to do with last night?
He pushed the REWIND button and went into his bedroom and laid out fresh clothes on his bed. He picked a light brown suit, since he was possibly going to see Chief Lowenstein and did not want to look like Joe College. Then he took his clothing off.
The doorbell rang.
He searched for and found his bathrobe and went to the intercom.
"Yeah?"
"You were right, I don't want to wait down there," Mrs. Glover said. "May I come up?"
He pushed the door release button and heard it open. She came up the stairs.
"That wasn't exactly true," she said. "Curiosity got the best of me."
"They took your car to the Plymouth place in Upper Darby," Matt said. "There was a message on the machine. Let me grab a shower, and I'll take you out there."
"They don't open until nine-thirty," she said.
"Well, we'll just have to wait."
He smiled uneasily at her, and then walked back in the apartment toward his bedroom.
"Matt…"
He turned.
The Assassin boh-5 Page 10