Men In Blue boh-1

by W. E. B Griffin

  "Well," she said, looking into his eyes, "this has been a bitch of a day, Peter Wohl, hasn't it? For both of us."

  "I've had better," he said.

  "What happens now?" Louise asked.

  "There's a car waiting downstairs," Peter said. "It'll take you down to the Roundhouse, where you can make your statement, and then they'll type it up, and you can sign it, and then they'll bring you back here."

  She looked at him, on the verge, he decided, of saying something, but not speaking.

  "I'll go with you, if you'd like me to."

  "I told that faded matinee idol everything I know," she said.

  He chuckled, and she smiled back at him.

  "I did the 'Nine's News' at eleven," Louise said. "And then I went with the producer for a drink. Okay, drinks. Three or four. Then I came home. I went into the lobby to check the mailbox. Jerome's door was open. I went in. I… saw what was in the bedroom. So I called the cops. That's all I know, Peter. And I told him."

  "There's a procedure that has to be followed," Peter said. "The police department is a bureaucracy, Miss Dutton."

  "'Miss Dutton'? " she quoted mockingly. "A moment ago, I thought we were at least on a first-name basis."

  "Louise," Peter said, aware that his face was flushing.

  "I'll be damned," she said. "A blushing cop!"

  "Jesus Christ!" Peter said. "Do you always think out loud?"

  "No," she said. "For some mysterious reason, I seem to be a little upset right now. But thinking out loud, I don't seem to be the only one around here who's a little off balance. Do you always calm down hysterical witnesses that way, Inspector?"

  "Jesus H. Christ!" Wohl said, shaking his head.

  "Don't misunderstand me," she said. "That wasn't a complaint. I just wondered if it was standard bureaucratic procedure."

  "You know better than that," Peter said.

  "Get me out of here, Peter," Louise said, softly, entreatingly.

  "Where do you want to go?"

  "I'm not that far yet," she said. "All I know is that I don't want to run the gauntlet of my professional associates outside, and that I can't,won't, spend the night here. I'mafraid, Peter."

  "I told you, there's nothing to be afraid of," he said. "And I sent two officers downstairs to make sure you weren't hassled when you get in the car."

  "There's an Arch Street entrance to the garage," she said. "I don't think the press knows about it."

  "But you'd have to get past them to get to the garage," he said.

  "There a passage in the basement," she said. "A tunnel. And even if they were on Arch Street, I could get down on the seat, or on the floor in the back, and they wouldn't see me."

  "Take your car, you mean?" he asked.

  "Please, Peter," she said.

  Why not? She's calmed down. You can't blame her for wanting to avoid those press and TV bastards. I'll take her someplace and buy her a cup of coffee and then I'll go with her to the Roundhouse.

  "Okay," he said. "Get your jacket."

  "My jacket?" she asked, surprised, and then looked down at herself. " Oh, Christ!" She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked at him. "I wasn't expecting visitors."

  "I'll be damned," he said. "A blushing TV lady."

  "Fuck you, Peter," she flared.

  "Promises, promises," he heard himself blurt.

  "Youbastard! " she said, but she chuckled. She went farther into the apartment, and returned in a moment, shrugging into the jacket of her suit.

  He waited until she had buttoned it, and then opened the door to the foyer. There was no one there. He pushed the elevator button, and he heard the faint whine of the electric motor. She stood very close to him, and her shoulder touched his. He put his arm around her shoulders.

  "You're going to be all right, Louise," he said.

  There was a uniform cop sitting on a wooden folding chair outside the elevator door in the basement. He got up quickly when he saw Wohl and Louise.

  "I'm Inspector Wohl," Peter said. "I'm taking Miss Dutton out this way. Are you alone down here?"

  "No, sir, a couple of guys are in the garage."

  "Thank you," Peter said. He put his hand on Louise's arm and led her down the corridor. Halfway down the tunnel, she put a set of keys in his hand.

  Two uniform cops walked quickly across the underground garage when they saw them. The eyes of one of them widened-a cop Wohl recognized, a bright guy named Aquila-when he recognized them.

  "Hello, Inspector," Officer Aquila said.

  "I'm going to take Miss Dutton out this way," Wohl said. "The press is all over the street."

  "There's a couple of them outside, too," Aquila said. "But only a couple. You can probably get past them before they know what's happening. You want to use my car?"

  "We'll take Miss Dutton's car," Wohl said. "When we're gone, would you tell Lieutenant DelRaye we've gone, and that I'm taking Miss Dutton to the Roundhouse?"

  "Yes, sir," Office Aquila said. It was obvious that he approved of Wohl's tactics. He had certainly heard that DelRaye had sent for a wagon to haul a drunken and belligerent Louise Dutton off. This would be one more proof that Staff Inspector Peter Wohl knew how to turn an unpleasant situation into a manageable one.

  They got in Louise's Cadillac.

  "There's a thing in the floor that you run over, and the door opens," Louise said, and then, "What are you looking for?"

  "How do you get the parking brake off?"

  "It comes off automatically when you put it in gear," she said.

  "Oh," he said.

  As they approached the exit, she laid down on the seat with her head on his lap. The door opened as she said it would, and he drove through. A reporter and a couple of photographers moved toward the car, but without great interest. And then he was past them, heading up Arch Street.

  "We're safe," Wohl said. "You can sit up."

  She pushed herself erect.

  "I am not going to the 'Roundhouse'!" Louise said. "Not tonight."

  She had not moved away from him. When she spoke, he could feel and smell her warm breath.

  "We can go somewhere and get a cup of coffee," Wohl said.

  "Hey, Knight in Shining Armor, when I say something, I can't be talked out of it," Louise said.

  "Where would you like to go, then?" Peter asked.

  There was a perceptible pause before she replied.

  "I don't want to go to a hotel," she said. "They smirk, when you check in without luggage. What would your mother say if you brought me home with you, Peter?"

  "I don't live with my mother," he said, quickly.

  "Oh, you don't? Then I guess you have an apartment?"

  "I'm not so sure that would be a good idea," he said.

  "I don't have designs on your body, if that's what you're thinking. I'm wide open to other suggestions."

  "I'll make you some coffee," Peter said.

  "I don't want coffee," she said.

  "Okay, no coffee," Peter said.

  Ten minutes later, as they drove up Lancaster Avenue, she said, " Where the hell do you live, in Pittsburgh?"

  "It's not far."

  "All of my life, my daddy told me, 'If you're ever in trouble, you call me, day or night,' so tonight, for the first time, after the matinee idol told me he was sending for a battering ram, I called him. And his wife told me he's in London."

  "Your stepmother?"

  "No, his wife," Louise Dutton said, as if annoyed at his denseness. He didn't press the question.

  "But you came, didn't you?" Louise asked, rhetorically. "Even if you didn't know I'd sent for you?"

  Peter Wohl couldn't think of a reply. She half turned on the seat and held on to his arm with both hands.

  "Why did they do that to him? Keep stabbing him, I mean? My God, theyhacked him!"

  "That's not unusual with murders involving sexual deviates," Peter Wohl said. "There's often a viciousness, I guess is the word, in what they do to each other."

 
She shuddered.

  "He was such anice little man," she said. She sighed and shuddered, and added, "Bad things are supposed to come in threes. God, I hope that isn't true. I can't take anything else!"

  "You're going to be all right," Peter said.

  When they were inside the apartment, he turned the radio on, to WFLNFM, the classical music station, and then smiled at her.

  "I won't ask you if I can take your jacket," he said. "How do you like your coffee?"

  "Made in the highlands of Scotland," she said.

  "All right," he said. "I'll be right with you."

  He went in the kitchen, got ice, and carried it to the bar. He took his jacket off without thinking about it, and made drinks. He carried them to her.

  "Until tonight, I always thought there was something menacing about a man carrying a gun," she said. "Now I find it pleasantly reassuring."

  "The theory is that a policeman is never really off duty," he said.

  "Like Dutch?" she said.

  "You want to talk about Dutch?" he asked.

  "Quickly changing the subject," Louise said. "This is not what I would have expected, apartment-wise, for a policeman," she said, gesturing around the apartment. "Or even for Peter Wohl, private citizen."

  "It was professionally decorated," he said. "I once had a girl friend who was an interior decorator."

  "Had?"

  "Had."

  "Then I suppose it's safe to say I like the naked lady and the red leather chairs, but I think the white rug and most of the furniture looks like it belongs in a whorehouse."

  He laughed delightedly.

  She looked at her drink.

  "I don't really want this," she said. "What I really would like is something to eat."

  "How about a world-famous Peter Wohl Taylor ham and egg sandwich?"

  "Hold the egg," Louise said.

  He went into the kitchen and took a roll of Taylor ham from the refrigerator and put it on his cutting board and began to slice it.

  He fried the Taylor ham, made toast, and spread it with Durkee's Dressing.

  "Coffee?" he asked.

  "Milk?" she asked.

  "Milk," he replied. He put the sandwiches on plates, and set places at his tiny kitchen table, then filled two glasses with milk and put them on the table.

  Louise ate hungrily, and nodded her head in thanks when he gave her half of his sandwich.

  She drained her glass of milk, then wiped her lips with a gesture Peter thought was exquisitely feminine.

  "Aren't you going to ask me about me and Dutch?"

  "Dutch is dead," Peter said.

  "I never slept with him," Louise said. "But I thought about it."

  "You didn't have to tell me that," he said.

  "No," she said, thoughtfully. "I didn't. I wonder why I did?"

  "I'm your friendly father figure," he said, chuckling.

  "The hell you are," she said. "Now what?"

  "Now we see if we can find you a pair of pajamas or something-"

  "Have you a spare T-shirt?"

  "Sure, if that would do."

  "And then we debate who gets the couch, right? And who gets the bed?"

  "You get the bed," he said.

  "Why are you being so nice to me?"

  "I don't know," he said.

  "No pass, Peter?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

  "Not tonight," he said. "Maybe later."

  He walked into his bedroom, took sheets and a blanket from a chest of drawers, carried them into the living room, and tossed them on the couch. Then he went back into the bedroom, found a T-shirt and handed it to her, wondering what she would look like wearing it.

  "I'll brush my teeth," he said. "And then the place is yours. I shower in the morning."

  Brushing his teeth was not his major priority in the bathroom, with all he'd had to drink, and as he stood over the toilet trying to relieve his bladder as quietly as possible, the interesting fantasy that he would return to the bedroom and find her naked in his bed, smiling invitingly at him, ran through his head.

  When he went back in the bedroom, she was fully dressed, and standing by the door, as if she wanted to close it, and lock it, after him as soon as possible.

  "Good night," he said. "If you need anything, yell."

  "Thank you," she said, almost formally.

  As if, he thought, I am the bellhop being rushed out of the hotel room.

  He heard the lock in the door slide home, and remembered that both Dorothea and Barbara were always careful to make sure the door was locked; as if they expected to have someone burst in and catch them screwing.

  He took off his outer clothing, folded it neatly, and laid it on the armchairs.

  Then he remembered that he had told the cop in the basement garage to tell Lieutenant DelRaye that he was taking her to the Roundhouse. He would have to do something about that.

  He tiptoed around the living room in his underwear until he found the phone book. He had not called Homicide in so long that he had forgotten the number. He found the book, and then sat down on the leather couch and dialed the number. The leather was sticky against his skin and he wondered if it was dirty, or if that's the way leather was; he had never sat on his couch in his underwear before.

  "Homicide, Detective Mulvaney."

  "This is Inspector Wohl," Peter said.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Would you please tell Lieutenant DelRaye that I will bring Miss Dutton there, to Homicide, at eight in the morning?"

  "Yes, sir. Is there any place Lieutenant DelRaye can reach you?"

  Wohl hung up, and then stood up, and started to spread sheets over the leather cushions.

  The telephone rang. He watched it. On the third ring, there was a click, and he could faintly hear the recorded message: "You can leave a message for Peter Wohl after the beep."

  The machine beeped.

  "Inspector, this is Lieutenant DelRaye. Will you please call me as soon as you can? I'm at the Roundhouse."

  It was evident from the tone of Lieutenant DelRaye's voice that he was more than a little annoyed, and that leaving a polite message had required some effort.

  Peter finished making a bed of the couch, took off his shoes and socks, and lay down on it. He turned off the light, and went to sleep listening to the sound of the water running in his shower, his mind's eye filled with the images of Louise Dutton's body as she showered.

  ****

  When Police Commissioner Taddeus Czernick, trailed by Sergeant Jank Jankowitz, walked briskly across the lobby of the Roundhouse toward the elevator, it was quarter past eight. He was surprised therefore to see Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson hurrying to catch up with him. He would have laid odds that Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson never cracked an eyelid before half past nine in the morning.

  "How are you, Colonel?" Czernick said, smiling and offering his hand. "What gets you out of bed at this unholy hour?"

  "Actually, Ted," J. Dunlop Mawson said, "I'm here to see you."

  They were at the elevator; there was nothing Commissioner Czernick could do to keep Mawson from getting on with him.

  "Colonel," Czernick said, smiling and touching Mawson's arm, "you have really caught me at a bad time."

  "This is important, or else I wouldn't bother you," Mawson said.

  "I just came from seeing Arthur Nelson," Commissioner Czernick said. "You heard what happened to his son?"

  "Yes, indeed," Mawson said. "Tragic, shocking."

  "I wanted to both offer my personal condolences," Commissioner Czernick said, and then interrupted himself, as the elevator door opened. "After you, Colonel."

  They walked down the curving corridor together. There were smiles and murmurs of "Commissioner" from people in the corridor. They reached the commissioner's private door. Jankowitz quickly put a key to it, and opened it and held it open.

  Commissioner Czernick looked at Mawson.

  "I can give you two minutes, right now, Colonel," he said. "You understand the situation, I'
m sure. Maybe later today? Or, better yet, what about lunch tomorrow? I'll even buy."

  "Two minutes will be fine," Mawson said.

  Czernick smiled. "Then come in. I'll really give you five," he said. "You can hardly drink a cup of coffee in two minutes. Black, right?"

  "Thank you, black."

  "Doughnut?"

  "Please."

  Commissioner Czernick nodded at Sergeant Jankowitz and he went to fetch the coffee.

  "I have been retained to represent Miss Louise Dutton," Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson said.

  "I don't understand," Czernick said. "You mean by WCBL-TV? Has something happened I haven't heard about?"

  "Ted, that seems to be the most likely answer," Mawson said.

  "Take it from the beginning," Czernick said. "The last I heard, we had arranged to have Miss Dutton taken home from the Waikiki Diner, so that she wouldn't have to drive. Later, as I understand it, we picked her up at her home, brought her here for the interview, and then took her home again."

  "You didn't know she was the one who found young Nelson's body?" Mawson asked.

  Jankowitz handed him a cup of coffee and two doughnuts on a saucer.

  "Thank you," Mawson said.

  "No, I didn't," Commissioner Czernick said. "Or if somebody told me, it went in one ear and out the other. At half past six this morning, they called me and told me what had happened to Arthur Nelson's boy. I went directly from my house to Arthur Nelson's place. I offered my condolences, and told him we would turn the earth upside down to find who did it. Then I came here. As soon as we're through, Colonel, I'm going to be briefed on what happened, and where the investigation is at this moment."

  "Well, when that happens, I'm sure they'll tell you that Miss Louise Dutton was the one who found the body, and called the police," Mawson said.

  "I don't know where we're going, Colonel. I don't understand your role in all this. Or why WCBL-TV is so concerned."

  "I've been retained to represent Miss Dutton," Mawson said. "But not by WCBL. I've been told that the police intended to bring her here, to interview her-"

  "Well, if she found Nelson's body, Colonel, that would be standard procedure, as I'm sure you know."

  "No one seems to know where she is," Mawson said. "She's not at her apartment, and she's not here. And I've been getting sort of a runaround from the people in Homicide."