“Hello,” she said.
“The people who work in Narcotics spend their lives surrounded by the scum of the earth,” Wohl said. “Sometimes—and I suppose it’s understandable—they seem to forget that there are some nice people left in the world. What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry about this, but I understand why it happened.”
“They were just doing their jobs, I suppose,” Amanda said. “I mean, there was a shooting—”
“Well, I’m relieved that you understand.”
“Can I go now?”
“There’s bad news and good news about that,” Wohl said. “The bad news is that you still have to make a statement at Homicide. That’s in the Police Department Administration Building. I’ll get you through that as quickly as possible, but it has to be done.”
“That’s the good news?” she asked almost lightheartedly.
“No. The good news is that you get to ride down there in my car. I drive a Jaguar XK-120. It’s a much nicer car than that piece of German junk your boyfriend drives.”
“I have this strange feeling you’re not kidding,” Amanda said.
“Do I look like a kidder?”
“Yes, you do,” Amanda said, laughing. “What kind of a cop are you, anyway?”
“Depending on who you ask, you can get a very wide range of responses to that question. Are you ready to go?”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” she said.
He held the door open for her, and she walked out of the interview room.
“Just a moment, please,” he said, and walked to Lieutenant Mikkles.
“Your men tell me they found nothing in Officer Payne’s car. Is there any reason he can’t have it back?”
“No, I don’t suppose there is.”
“Try ‘No, sir,’ Mikkles,” Captain Pekach said, flaring.
“No, sir,” Mikkles said.
“Do you think it would be a good idea, Lieutenant, if you went with Officer Payne to reclaim his car?” Wohl asked evenly.
“Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”
“Ask him to meet me in Homicide, please. Tell him I’m driving the young lady.”
“Yes, sir,” Mikkles repeated.
Wohl waited until Mikkles had left the room before speaking to Pekach.
“Run down Sergeant Dolan and find out what he thinks he has,” Wohl said. “And then meet us at Homicide. When you’re in your car, get word to Lucci where I am.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And before I forget: On your way out, if that young cop is still out there, talk to him and see if you think he’d be useful to us in Special Operations. He struck me as pretty bright.”
It was quarter after eleven before Homicide had finished taking the statements of Officer Matthew Payne and Miss Amanda Spencer, and Captain Pekach had not yet returned from meeting with Sergeant Dolan.
Wohl, who was ninety-five percent convinced that what had happened was that Dolan, for any number of reasons-ranging from a fight with his wife to resentment about a cop wearing formal clothes and driving a Porsche to plain stupidity—had gone off the deep end, but he was reluctant to turn Payne and, for that matter, the girl, loose until he heard from Pekach.
He walked to where they were sitting, on folding chairs against the interior wall.
“Am I the only undernourished person in the room? Did you two get dinner?”
“I’m not especially hungry,” Payne said.
“I’m starved,” Amanda said. “I haven’t had a thing to eat since lunch.”
“They serve marvelous hoagies at the 12th Street Market this time of night,” Wohl said.
“I just got hungry,” Matt Payne said.
“I’d like to know how Penny is,” Amanda said.
“I checked a little while ago,” Wohl said. “She’s listed as ‘critical but stable.’”
“What does that mean?”
“That she’s hanging on,” Wohl said.
“You know where I mean, Matt?” Wohl asked. “In the 12th Street Market?” Matt nodded. “Take Amanda there. I’ll meet you. I want to get word to Pekach where we’ll be.”
In the elevator Amanda said, “He’s very nice.”
“What was that business about you riding in his car?” Matt asked.
“You’re jealous!”
“Oh, bullshit!”
“You are!” she insisted.
“The hell I am.”
She smiled at him triumphantly.
“Whatever you say, Officer Payne,” she said.
“Thanks for getting us out of there,” Matt Payne said to Peter Wohl.
They were sitting at a tiny table in the 12th Street Market, on fragile-looking bent-wire chairs. Three enormous hoagies on paper plates, a pitcher of beer, and three mugs left little room for anything else.
Peter Wohl finished chewing a large mouthful before replying.
“My pleasure,” Wohl said.
“How’d you find out?” Matt asked.
“Lieutenant Natali called me. He thought I ought to know.”
“Am I in trouble?” Matt Payne asked as he poured a mug half full of beer.
“Why did you take your car away from the crime scene without permission?”
“I didn’t know I needed permission. It was blocking the exit ramp. I moved it out of the way of the wagon when they took Penny Detweiler to Hahneman. And then, when I went to the Union League to tell her parents what had happened, I just got in it and drove off. No one said I shouldn’t.”
“Who told you to notify her parents?”
“There was a 9th District lieutenant there. I didn’t get his name. Great big black guy. I told him I knew her parents, where they were, and he said it was okay for me to tell them. He saw me get in the car, and he didn’t say anything.”
“Lewis? Lieutenant Lewis?”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s the name.”
“Officer Lewis’s father,” Wohl said.
“Oh! Oh, yeah. I didn’t put that together.”
“Okay. Let’s take it from the top.”
“Jesus, again?”
“Don’t be a wiseass with me, Matt. The last I heard, not only am I your commanding officer but also I’m one of the good guys.”
“Sorry,” Matt said sincerely. “That son of a bitch upset me. The whole thing upset me.”
“From the top,” Wohl repeated, reaching for the pitcher of beer.
Captain David Pekach walked up just as Matt finished, and a second pitcher of beer was delivered. He took one of the bent-wire chairs from an adjacent table and sat down on it.
“You want a glass? Good beer,” Wohl said.
“No thanks. I’m cutting down. Oh, what the hell!”
He got up and went to the stand and returned with a mug.
“What did you find out?” Wohl asked.
Pekach looked at Payne and Amanda and then at Wohl, his raised eyebrows asking if Wohl wanted him to continue in front of them.
“Go on,” Wohl said. “I’m convinced that neither Matt Payne nor Miss Spencer shot Tony the Zee or is into drugs.”
“Dolan says the Detweiler girl was,” Pekach said.
“My God!” Amanda exclaimed.
“What?” Matt asked incredulously. “That’s absurd!”
“No, it’s not. Dolan is a good cop,” Pekach said, responding more to Peter Wohl’s raised eyebrows than to Matt Payne. “I believe him. He says that he was following her, that he has reason to believe she went to the Penn Services Parking Garage to make a buy, and that the shooting was tied in with that. And Tony the Zee had a thousand dollars’ worth of Coke on him, in a plastic bag.”
“Dolan was following her?” Wohl asked thoughtfully. “Where was he during the actual shooting?”
“He said the first he heard of it, he was across the street, watching the entrance and exit, and the other one, who I used to think was a smart cop, was watching the fire exits in the alley.”
“Try that again, I’m confused,” W
ohl said.
“Okay. They followed her to the parking garage. Dolan stayed across the street and watched the entrance and exit ramps. Gerstner, the other Narcotics cop, watched the fire exits on the alley. At least until he heard the sirens and went out on the street to see what was happening. I guess that’s when the doers left the building, via the fire escape to the alley.”
“So where does Dolan figure Payne ties in?”
“He saw him drive in. Had no idea at first he was a cop but recognized him as someone—him and Miss Spencer—he had seen in the last couple of days. And then he saw him drive his car away from the place later. And apparently figured that’s where the drugs—according to him, the Detweiler girl is into cocaine—were.”
“That whole scenario is incredible,” Matt said.
“No it’s not,” Wohl said. “If I were the cop on the street, Dolan, that’s pretty much how I would see it.”
“You don’t think I’m into drugs? Or that Amanda is?”
“I didn’t say that,” Wohl said carefully. “No. I don’t think either of you are. But if this Sergeant Dolan has good reason to believe that the Detweiler girl was into drugs, I have no reason to doubt him. And you didn’t help matters any by driving away from the crime scene with Miss Spencer.”
Matt exhaled audibly.
“Payne went to the Union League,” Wohl explained to Pekach, “to tell the Detweiler girl’s family what had happened. Lieutenant Lewis, who I suppose was the senior supervisor there then, told him it was okay.”
“Dolan didn’t mention Lewis,” Pekach said.
“Is there a Captain Petcock or something here?” a loud voice interrupted. Matt stopped and turned to the voice. A tall, very skinny, long-haired man in white cook’s clothing was holding up a telephone.
“Close.” Wohl chuckled. “Go answer the phone, Captain Petcock.”
“Yes, sir, Inspector Wall,” Pekach said, and got up.
“Miss Spencer—” Wohl began.
“You were calling me Amanda,” she said. “Does Miss Spencer mean I’m a suspect again?”
“Amanda, did you ever hear anything about the Detweiler girl being into drugs?”
She hesitated a moment before replying. Matt wondered if she was going to defend Penny Detweiler loyally.
“She took diet pills to stay awake to study sometimes,” she said finally. “And I suppose she smokes grass—I know she smokes grass—I’m about the only one I know who doesn’t. But I never heard anything about her and heroin or cocaine or anything else. Hard drugs.”
“Just out of idle curiosity, why don’t you smoke grass?” Wohl asked.
“I tried it once and it made me sick,” Amanda said.
“Me too,” Wohl said, smiling at the look of surprise on Matt Payne’s face.
Captain David Pekach walked back up to the table.
“That was Lucci,” he said. “There was just a radio call. M-Mary One wants H-Highway One and W-William One to meet him at Colombia and Clarion.”
Curiosity overwhelmed Amanda Spender’s normally good manners. “M-Mary One? W-William One? What in the world is that?”
“The mayor is M-Mary One,” Wohl explained, somewhat impatiently. “Did Lucci say what the mayor is doing at Colombia and Clarion?”
“They found a 22nd District cop lying in the gutter,” Pekach said. “Shot to death.”
“Oh, my God!” Amanda said.
Wohl stood up, fished in his pockets, and came up with a set of keys. He handed them to Payne.
“I’ll ride with Captain Pekach, Matt. The Jag’s on 12th Street. Right across from your car. You bring the Jag there. You know where it is?”
Matt shook his head no.
“Just before you get to Temple University on North Broad, turn right,” Captain Pekach said. “Couple of blocks in from North Broad. Colombia and Clarion. You won’t have any trouble finding it.”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said.
“Are you going to be able to get home by yourself all right, Amanda?” Wohl asked.
“Sure. Don’t worry about me, I’ve got Matt’s car.”
Wohl and Pekach hurried away.
“Is it always like this?” Amanda asked.
“No,” Matt said. “It isn’t.”
He went to the counter and paid the bill. When they got outside to 12th Street, he handed Amanda the keys to the Porsche.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I just got in a cab?” she asked. “Or, how long are you going to be?”
“God knows,” he said. “I really don’t want to leave the car here. Some street artist would draw his mother’s picture with a key on the hood by the time I got back.”
“Couldn’t I leave it at your apartment, then?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to need it?”
“Jesus, would you?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“I live on Rittenhouse Square—”
“That’s right by the church?”
“Yeah. I live on the top floor of the Delaware Cancer Society Building—”
“Where?” she asked, chuckling.
“You can’t miss it. Anyway, there’s a parking garage in the back. Just drive in. There’s two parking spaces with my name on them. And there’s a rent-a-cop on duty. He’ll call you a cab.”
He started to hand her money. She waved it away.
“Nice girls don’t take cab fare,” she said. “Haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib?”
“This has been one hell of a date, hasn’t it?” he said.
“It lends an entirely new meaning to the word memorable,” Amanda said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be an ass,” she said, and stretched upward to kiss him.
Whatever her intentions, either to kiss his cheek or, chastely, his lips, it somehow didn’t turn out that way. It was not a passionate embrace ending with Amanda semi-swooning in his arms, but when their lips broke contact, there seemed to be some sort of current flowing between them.
“Jesus!” Matt said softly.
She put her hand up and laid it for a moment on his cheek. Then she ran across the street and got in the Porsche.
Matt got in Wohl’s Jaguar and drove north to Vine Street, then left to North Broad, and then turned right onto Broad Street. There was not much traffic, and understandably reasoning that he was not going to get ticketed for speeding while driving Inspector Wohl’s car to a crime scene, he stepped hard on the gas.
A minute or two later there was the growl of a siren behind him, and he pulled toward the right. An Oldsmobile, its red lights flashing from their concealed position under the grill, raced past him. After a moment he realized that the car belonged to Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin. He wondered if Denny Coughlin, or Sergeant Tom Lenihan, who was driving, had recognized him or Wohl’s car or both.
Just south of Temple University he saw that Captain Pekach was right; he would have no trouble finding Colombia and Clarion. There were two RPCs, warning lights flashing, on Broad Street and Colombia, and two uniformed cops in the street.
When he signaled to turn right, one of them emphatically signaled for him to continue up Broad Street. Matt stopped.
“I’m Payne. Special Operations. I’m to meet Inspector Wohl here.”
The cop looked at him doubtfully but waved him on.
Clarion is the second street in from Broad. There was barely room for Matt to make it past all the police cars, marked and unmarked, lining both sides of Colombia. There was a black Cadillac limousine nearly blocking the intersection of Clarion and Colombia. Matt had seen it before. It was the mayoral limousine.
Then he saw two familiar faces, officer Jesus Martinez and the Highway sergeant who had almost made him piss his pants on the roof of the Penn Services Parking Garage by suggesting that the price for moving a fucking muscle would be having his fucking brains blown out, and who had seemed wholly prepared to make good the threat.
They were directing traffic. The sergeant first began—impatiently, even
angrily—to gesture for him to turn right, south, on Clarion, and then he apparently recognized Wohl’s car, for he signaled him to park it on the sidewalk.
Matt got out of the car and looked around for Wohl. He was standing with Police Commissioner Thaddeus Czernich, Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin, half a dozen uniformed senior supervisors, none of whom looked familiar, two other men in civilian clothing, and His Honor, Mayor Jerry Carlucci.
Twenty feet away, Matt saw Sergeant Tom Lenihan standing with three men Matt supposed were both policemen and probably drivers. He walked over to them.
And then he saw the body. It was in the gutter, facedown, curled up beside a 22nd District RPC. There were a half dozen detectives, or crime-lab technicians, around it, two of them on their hands and knees with powerful, square-bodied searchlights, one of them holding a measuring tape, the others doing something Matt didn’t quite understand.
“Hello, Matt,” Tom Lenihan said, offering his hand. “I thought that was you in Wohl’s Jag.”
“Sergeant,” Matt said politely.
“This is Matt Payne, Special Operations—” Lenihan said, beginning the introductions, but he stopped when Mayor Carlucci’s angry voice filled the street.
“I don’t give a good goddamn if Matt Lowenstein, or anyone else, likes it or not,” the mayor said. “The way it’s going to be, Tad, is that Special Operations is going to take this job and get whatever sons of bitches shot this poor bastard in cold blood. And you’re going to see personally that the Department gives Wohl everything he thinks he needs to get the job done. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Commissioner Czernich said.
“And now, Commissioner, I think that you and I and Chief Coughlin should go express our condolences to Officer Magnella’s family, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Commissioner Czernich and Chief Coughlin said, almost in unison.
The mayor marched toward the small knot of drivers, heading for his limousine. He smiled absently, perhaps automatically, at them, and then spotted Matt Payne. The expression on his face changed. He walked up to Matt.
“Were you at the Union League tonight?”
“I didn’t quite make it there, Mr. Mayor,” Matt said.
“Yeah, and I know why,” the mayor said. He turned to Commissioner Czernich. “And while I’m at it, Tad, I want you to assign Wohl to get to the bottom of what happened to Detweiler’s daughter and that mafioso scumbag DeZego on the roof of the parking garage tonight.”
The Victim Page 12