Final Justice boh-8

by W. E. B Griffin

  The way things really are in the police department are that there are two open unsolved recent cases of brutal murder, and one can only guess how many “old” unsolved murders on the books.

  One of the new open cases is that of a young woman who very probably was raped and murdered in her apartment while police officers chatted with her neighbors.

  The second is that of a single mother of three who was murdered in a fast-food restaurant during a robbery. When the police finally responded to that call for help, the murderers killed the responding officer.

  At last report the Philadelphia police department doesn’t have a clue as to the identity of the murderers.

  Perhaps they would if Sergeant Payne were spending his time doing what the taxpayers hired him to do, investigate homicides, rather than spending it showing a movie star how things really are.

  And it’s not only Sergeant Payne. Earlier yesterday, Payne was seen taking into Colt’s hotel an attractive young woman later identified as Detective Olivia Lassiter. Presumably, she was showing Colt how things really are in the Philadelphia police department.

  And it’s not only the junior officers. At midnight, Inspector Peter Wohl, Commanding Officer of the Special Operations Division, who is supposed to be heading up the Mayor’s Task Force to solve the murders at the fast-food restaurant, and Homicide Lieutenant Jason Washington were seen showing how things really are in the Philadelphia police department by feeding Stan Colt beer and cheese steak sandwiches at D’Allesandro’s.

  But maybe that’s the way things really are in the police department.

  And maybe it’s time for a change in the police department, starting at the top with the commissioner, who permits this sort of thing to happen.

  Or maybe in City Hall itself. After all, one of the primary responsibilities of Mayor Alvin W. Martin is the supervision of the police department.

  And ten seconds after that, the radio went off.

  "C-2, go,” Halloran said to his microphone.

  "C-2, meet the commissioner at the Roundhouse.”

  “Radio, we are en route. Estimate ten minutes.”

  “I guess somebody else has been reading the morning’s papers,” Deputy Commissioner Coughlin said.

  SIXTEEN

  The editorial in the Philadelphia Ledger was brought to Mayor Alvin W. Martin’s attention by Mr. Philip Donaldson, who decided the editorial was worth finally playing one of his aces in the hole, this one the mayor’s unlisted and carefully guarded home telephone number.

  After this call, Phil was sure, the number would go unanswered until another unlisted number could be obtained and the original one taken out of service.

  “Yeah?” the mayor said, somewhat less than charmingly, into his kitchen telephone.

  “Am I mistaken, or did the Honorable Alvin W. Martin, our mayor, answer his phone himself?”

  The voice was familiar, but the mayor could not quite place it.

  “This is Alvin Martin,” he said, now far more pleasantly, “who not only answers his own phone, but whom you caught in the midst of making his own breakfast.”

  “The little woman didn’t make it for you, Mr. Mayor?”

  “No, she didn’t. Who is this?”

  “Phil Donaldson, Mr. Mayor, of Phil’s Philly. And you’re on the air!”

  How the hell did you get this number?

  Just in time, the mayor stopped himself from asking that thought aloud. Instead, mustering what charm he could under the circumstances, he said,

  “Well, good morning, Phil.”

  “And good morning to you, Mr. Mayor.”

  “What can I do for you, Phil, so early in the morning?”

  “Just a question or two, Mr. Mayor, and then you can go back to making your own breakfast. Do you always make your own breakfast?”

  What business is that of yours?

  “Is that one of your two questions?”

  “Maybe it will be three questions. But what about breakfast? ”

  “I try, like every other husband, I suppose, to pitch in whenever my wife is tied up.”

  “Tied up?”

  You flip sonofabitch!

  “A figure of speech, Phil.”

  “Of course.”

  “The questions, Phil?”

  If I ever find out who gave this bastard my number…

  “Have you seen this morning’s Ledger, Mr. Mayor?”

  “I was just about to.”

  “After you finished your breakfast, you mean?”

  “I thought I’d have a glance at it while I was eating my breakfast.”

  “That’s probably a good idea, Mr. Mayor. The Ledger has some pretty startling, even unkind, things to say in an editorial about the police department generally, and you specifically.”

  Oh, shit!

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, they do, I’m sorry to tell you. And I-and all the good folks out there listening in Phil’s Philly-would like to get your reaction to them.”

  What the hell’s in this goddamn editorial?

  “An editorial, you say, Phil?”

  “That’s right, Mr. Mayor. They just about called for you to resign, after you fire Police Commissioner Mariani.”

  Goddamn it! What the hell is the Ledger onto now?

  "Did they say why, Phil? Or are they just still sore that I won the election?”

  “No, it’s a little more serious than that, I’m afraid, Mr. Mayor. Now, I don’t want to put you on a spot, Mr. Mayor…”

  The hell you don’t! That’s your stock-in-trade, you slimeball!

  “… and if you haven’t read the Ledger… So you read the Bulletin first, did you?”

  You prick!

  “Actually, Phil, I read both every day before I go to Center City, in no particular order, but I just haven’t had a chance to look at either so far today.”

  “Well, what I’d like to do, Mr. Mayor, if you’re willing…”

  “Anything within reason, Phil.”

  “How about I call you at the office at eleven?” Mr. Donaldson asked, reasonably. “By then you’ll have had plenty of time to read the editorial…”

  This is the last fucking time you’re ever going to get me on the phone. How stupid do you think I am?

  “I may not be in the office at eleven, Phil.”

  “Well, then, where will you be at eleven? Someplace without a telephone? I thought they were all over these days, like inside plumbing.”

  “I really don’t know right now, Phil, where I’ll be at eleven. You have to understand…”

  “You wouldn’t be trying to give me-and all the good folks out there listening in Phil’s Philly-the runaround, would you, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Now, Phil, why would you say something like that?”

  “Because that’s what it sounds like, Mr. Mayor.”

  You sonofabitch, you got me!

  “You call my office at eleven, Phil, and I’ll be happy to take your call.”

  “Cross your heart and hope to die?”

  “I give you my word, Phil.”

  “I asked you to cross your heart and hope to die,” Phil said, paused, and added, “Just a little joke. I’ll take you at your word, Mr. Mayor, of course. And we’ll look forward to talking to you at eleven.”

  “I look forward to it myself, Phil. It’s always a pleasure.”

  “Have a nice breakfast, Mr. Mayor,” Mr. Donaldson said.

  He broke the connection and leaned into his microphone.

  “Well, you heard it folks, the mayor gave his word that he’d take my call-which means he’ll take our call-at eleven. That should be an interesting conversation. Make sure you tell all your friends to be tuned in. And now a word from the friendly folks at Dick Golden Ford on the Baltimore Pike. Be right back afterward.”

  He turned off his microphone.

  “Gotcha, you bastard!” he said.

  Lieutenant Jason Washington was in the lieutenant’s office in Homicide when Matt and Olivia walked in
. Matt was surprised; it was quarter to eight, and Washington usually showed up at ten or later.

  As Matt walked toward the lieutenant’s office, Washington looked up, saw them, and motioned for them to come in.

  “Good morning, Detective Lassiter,” he said.

  “Good morning, sir,” Olivia said.

  “Is there some reason you chose to answer neither your radio nor your cellular, Matthew? Or you, Detective, your cellular?” Washington asked.

  “I turned the radio off when I was ferrying Colt around,” Matt said, “or he would have wanted to respond to anything that came over it. And obviously, I didn’t turn it back on this morning.” He took his cellular from his pocket. “And the battery is dead in this.”

  “And you, Detective?”

  Olivia had her cellular in her hand.

  “I guess I didn’t turn it on this morning, sir,” she said.

  “Need I say that I would be both disappointed and more than a little annoyed if this ever-the operative word is ‘ever’-happened again?”

  “No, sir,” they said, almost in unison.

  “Then the incident is closed,” Washington said.

  “Have you seen the Bulletin this morning, Lieutenant?” Matt asked.

  “With your image adorning page one? Indeed, I have. And so, I daresay, has most of the population of Philadelphia.”

  “I wasn’t talking about my picture,” Matt said. “I meant this.”

  He laid Section Three of the Bulletin, “Living Today,” open to page four, on the desk.

  “Then you stand out like a cork bobbing in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, for everyone else in Philadelphia is talking of nothing else… What am I being shown?”

  “Look at the guy on the ground in the picture,” Matt said.

  Washington looked.

  “You can doubtless imagine the odds against that fellow being our critter,” he said after a moment. “But if you wish to turn over the stone under the stone, why don’t you give them a call?”

  “I already have.”

  Washington looked at him with interest.

  “They wouldn’t tell me whether or not this guy had a knife,” Matt said. “Or whether he was just peeping in windows or trying to break in, or whether the window belonged to a young woman…”

  “And you have concluded, obviously, that this proves he did indeed have a knife, with which he was trying to break into the apartment of a young woman?”

  “I think the possibility exists,” Matt said, a little lamely.

  One of the telephones on the desk rang, and Washington had it to his ear before it could ring again.

  “Homicide, Lieutenant Washington,” he said.

  And a moment later,

  “Yes, sir.”

  And a moment later,

  “Yes, sir. They are both here with me.”

  And a final moment later,

  “Yes, sir. We’re on our way.”

  He put the handset in its cradle.

  “Detective Lassiter, it is said that God takes care of fools and drunks. While you are certainly not a drunk, Sergeant Payne qualifies on both counts, and you have apparently been taken under his protective mantle.”

  “Sir?” Olivia asked.

  “The reason I attempted-and failed, and we now know why, don’t we? — to communicate with the both of you this morning was to relay the order of Deputy Commissioner Coughlin to get you both in here immediately, and keep you here until I had additional instructions from him.”

  “I don’t understand,” Matt said. “Is he pissed about the picture? Olivia had nothing to do with that.”

  Washington ignored the reply.

  “Those were the additional instructions promised. We are to report to Commissioner Mariani forthwith.”

  He stood up and gestured for them to precede him out of the office.

  “You’re not going to tell me what’s going on?” Matt asked.

  “Obviously, you haven’t had time to read the editorial page of the Ledger, have you?”

  “No. What’s on the editorial page?”

  “Among many other things, your photograph.”

  Commissioner Mariani was sitting behind his desk. Deputy Commissioner Coughlin and Inspector Wohl were sitting side by side on a couch, and Captain Quaire was sitting on a straight-backed wooden chair just inside the door.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Washington said.

  Matt and Olivia said nothing.

  “I presume everyone has seen the Ledger?” Commissioner Mariani asked.

  “No, sir,” Matt and Olivia said, in duet.

  Mariani gestured impatiently to Captain Quaire to hand the newspaper to them.

  Matt took it, and Olivia stepped close to him and read it over his shoulder.

  “My God!” Olivia said.

  “I’m sure you will understand why I have to ask this question, Detective,” Mariani said. “Did anything improper, or anything that could be construed as improper-say, by Philadelphia Phil-happen while you were in Mr. Colt’s hotel room?”

  “No, sir,” Olivia replied, visibly shocked by the question.

  “Were you ever alone with Mr. Colt at any time, for even a brief period?”

  “No, sir. Matt… Sergeant Payne… was there all the time, and so was Detective… What’s his name, Matt?”

  “Detective Hay-zus Martinez,” Matt furnished.

  “I’m not surprised, but I had to ask,” Mariani said. “And what you did was only-acting on orders from Captain Quaire- explain to Mr. Colt your involvement in the Williamson murder? ”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And there was absolutely nothing social about your visit to Mr. Colt?”

  “He bought us dinner, sir.”

  Mariani thought that over. It was obvious he hadn’t liked to hear that.

  “Philadelphia Phil somehow got the mayor’s unlisted home number,” Coughlin said. “He called him, and asked him to respond to the Ledger editorial. The mayor said he hadn’t read it. Philadelphia Phil will call him at his office at eleven. The mayor’s going to have to take that call. All of Philadelphia Phil’s early-morning listeners heard him promise to take it.”

  “And so far, according to Lieutenant Pearson of Northwest Detectives, Mr. Philadelphia Phil-” Mariani began.

  “The bastard’s name is Donaldson,” Coughlin furnished. “Phil Donaldson.”

  “Mr. Donaldson has called twice there asking to speak to Detective Lassiter,” Mariani went on, “and twice to Homicide, according to Captain Quaire, where he asked to speak to either her or Payne.”

  Mariani let that sink in for a moment, then went on:

  “Mr. Donaldson, as we all know, is a skilled interviewer. Moreover, it has been suggested to me that he is more than a little annoyed with Lassiter, for her having gotten Mrs. Williamson to say she understood why the uniforms couldn’t take the Williamson girl’s door, after he had painted the uniforms as… We all know what he said.”

  “Commissioner, may I go off at a tangent?” Washington asked.

  Mariani glared at him but nodded.

  “Make it quick, Jason.”

  “Just before we were all summoned here, sir, I was about to order Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter to immediately proceed to Daphne, Mississippi, to run down a lead in the Williamson case.”

  “Sir, that’s Daphne, Alabama,” Matt said.

  “ ‘Daphne, Alabama’?” Mariani parroted, incredulously.

  “Yes, sir. I believe it’s on the Gulf of Mexico,” Washington said.

  “Tell me about the lead, Jason,” Coughlin said.

  “Why don’t you explain to the Commissioner what you think you may have, Sergeant Payne?” Washington said.

  “Yes, sir. Sir, last night the Daphne police-actually it was a civilian from one of those community watch things- apprehended a man in what looked like the act of prying open the window of a young woman’s apartment.”

  “So what?” Quaire snorted. “You’re not sugges
ting it’s the Williamson doer?”

  “Let the sergeant continue, please, Captain,” Peter Wohl said, softly. He added, wonderingly, “Daphne, Alabama? That’s a long way from here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Matt said. “When I heard about this-”

  “How did you hear about this?” Mariani asked.

  “It was in the newspaper, sir. The Bulletin.”

  “Go on, Sergeant,” Wohl said.

  “I called down there, sir, and from what I learned, there is enough of a similarity of modus operandi to merit further investigation.”

  “Over the years, I have come to appreciate Lieutenant Washington’s belief that the stone under the stone sometimes has to be turned over,” Wohl said. “Even if that stone is as far away as… Where is this place?”

  “Daphne, Alabama, sir,” Matt said.

  “As far away as Daphne, Alabama, and that turning the stone over might take three, four days, perhaps even longer.”

  “I think that Lieutenant Washington was right in deciding to send Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter all the way down to Daphne, Alabama, for four or five days to run this lead down, wouldn’t you agree, Captain Quaire?” Deputy Commissioner Coughlin said.

  “Yes, sir, I certainly would,” Captain Quaire, having just realized the all-around wisdom of getting Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter out of town for four or five days, quickly agreed.

  “And under the circumstances,” Wohl went on, “that sending them immediately, without waiting for the ordinary administrative procedures to take place, would be justified. Would you agree, Commissioner?”

  Mariani thought that over for two seconds.

  “Yes, I would agree, Inspector,” he said.

  “Have you got any cash, Matt?” Wohl asked.

  “Some, and I’ve got credit cards,” Matt said.

  “Is there any compelling reason, Detective Lassiter, why you can’t leave, right now, to pursue this investigation wherever it takes you?”

  “I’d have to pack,” Olivia said, practically.

  “There might not be time for that,” Wohl said. “Perhaps you could pick up whatever you need when you get there?”