W E B Griffin - Badge of Honor 04 - The Witness

by The Witness(lit)

  "You'll feel better with something in your stomach and some coffee," Washington said.

  Wohl had eaten two fried egg sandwiches, emptied the sec-ond can of 7-Up, and had sipped half his mug of coffee before Tony Harris came into the cafeteria.

  "Good morning, Inspector," he said.

  That's pretty formal. That's because of the ass-chewing I gave him yesterday about the evils of alcohol. What Detective Harris is now thinking is, What a fucking hypocrite is Inspec-tor Wohl.

  "Get anything out of Mrs. Monahan, Tony?" he asked.

  "She said he wasn't sleeping well. At about six o'clock, he got out of bed to take a piss. This apparently woke her up. On the way back to bed, he heard something outside on the street. He pushed the curtains aside, looked out, and told her `the cops have just changed again,' or words to that effect. Then he got back in bed. Then the doorbell rang. He went down to open it. She told him to stay in bed, she would see what they wanted. He went anyway. She got out of bed and put a robe on, because she knew that whenever the cops knocked on the door, Monahan would offer them coffee, and she wanted to make it. So she got to the head of the stairs in time to see him peek through the peephole in the door. Then he took the chain off the door, and opened it. A cop started to come inside. He took a gun from his coat pocket and shot him. Then he closed the door and went away. She went down the stairs, saw that he, Monahan, was unconscious, and called the cops."

  "The number we gave her or Police Emergency?" Wash-ington asked.

  "Police Emergency. She said our number was next to the bed, and she used the phone in the kitchen."

  "She get a good look at the cop?"

  "White guy."

  "Would she recognize him if she saw him again?"

  "She doesn't know; she doesn't think so. I think she means that. I mean, I don't think she would be afraid to point her finger at the doer."

  "Did she see the two cars outside?" Wohl asked.

  "No. He looked out the window. He said 'the cops have changed again.' I think you have to figure he saw the two cars. Otherwise how would he know they were going off and coming on?"

  "You couldn't get more precise times out of her?" Wash-ington asked.

  "No. 'Around six.' "

  "She said she saw the gun?"

  "Right."

  "And saw him shoot it?"

  "Right. And then he fell."

  "There are no puncture wounds in the body," Wohl said.

  "There would have to be."

  "The doctor says she looked. The doctor says she thinks he died of a heart attack.

  "What the hell?"

  "Get on the radio, Tony," Washington ordered. "Tell the lab people to really look for a bullet-how many shots did she say she heard?"

  "One. Said it sounded like a.22."

  "Yeah," Washington said. "Tell the lab people to look very carefully for a bullet hole. In the carpets, in the furniture."

  'You think the medical examiner will find the wound, Ja-son?" Wohl asked.

  "I have no idea what he'll find. But if Mrs. Monahan said she heard a shot-"

  "Where are you going to be?" Harris asked.

  "The inspector and I are going to talk to the cops who were on the job."

  "There's bullshit in there somewhere," Tony said as he got up from the table. "The cops going off the job say they were relieved. The cops coming on the job say there was nobody there when they got there."

  "Tony," Washington said. "Check with the district and see what their RPCs who rolled by there just before six saw. And the same from Highway. I'll be at Bustleton and Bowler for the next hour or so."

  Harris nodded his understanding and walked out of the caf-eteria.

  "What was that you were saying before about Stillwell?" Washington asked.

  "He's being appointed a deputy attorney general for cor-porate crime," Wohl replied. "He told me last night. He wants me to become his chief investigator."

  "Are you going to take it?"

  "Last night, it was all I could do to keep myself from telling him to go fuck himself. Now, after this, I may need the job."

  "That's why you tied one on?"

  "He said he doesn't think we can get a conviction. And that was before we lost Monahan. But he did say that the feds are going after Payne."

  "I don't understand that."

  "You ever hear of the Coalition for Equitable Law Enforce-ment? Something like that, anyway?"

  "Yeah. I know who they are."

  "They have requested that the Justice Department investi-gate the shooting of Charles David Stevens, alleging that it violated his civil rights."

  "And the feds are going along with it?"

  "According to Stillwell, they are," Wohl said. "But to an-swer your question, Jason, I don't know why I got drunk. But at the time, it seemed like a marvelous idea."

  "I don't think Matt's got anything to worry about. That was an absolutely justified shooting; Stevens had shot at him-hit him-before Matt shot."

  "Tell that to the Coalition for Equitable Law Enforcement."

  "I don't know what, if anything, this means, but I just re-membered hearing that they-the Coalition-were just about out of business, going broke, when Arthur Nelson rescued them with a substantial donation."

  "That figures, knowing Nelson's interest in equitable law enforcement," Wohl said bitterly. "Jesus, what a field day that sonofabitch is going to have with this!"

  "I hadn't even thought about that," Washington said, shook his head, and then asked, "You know what's going to happen now?

  "Those sleaze-balls are going to walk."

  "You're going to the Athletic Club, where you will take a steam bath, followed by a shave and haircut."

  "Am I?"

  "You're going to have to face Czernick and the mayor, and soon. Don't give Czernick the opportunity to point out to Carlucci that you were hung over. I'll try to get to the bottom of which cops were where and when. And by then, maybe the medical examiner can tell us what happened to Monahan."

  "He got shot, is what happened to Monahan," Wohl said. "Because I fucked up his protection."

  "Wait until we sort it out before you start kicking yourself. Right now, go sweat the whiskey out of you."

  "A good long shower will do as well as a steam bath," Wohl said. "Besides, I've got to go home anyway to dress properly before I meet the firing squad."

  "Then don't answer your phone. Or the radios in your car."

  Wohl nodded, and then pushed himself up from the table.

  ***

  In the ten minutes Peter Wohl had been in his car en route from his apartment to Special Operations, there had been three calls for W-William One.

  That meant, he believed, that the police radio operator had been instructed, most likely by the Hon. Taddeus Czernick, commissioner of police, but possibly by the Hon. Jerry Carlucci, mayor of the City of Philadelphia, to keep trying to locate Staff Inspector Peter Wohl until you find him.

  He had not responded to the calls for W-William One because he was absolutely sure that the message for him would be to immediately report to the commissioner. It was bad enough that Monahan had been killed while he was charged with his protection; he didn't want to face Czernick and/or the mayor and have to tell him that although Mrs. Monahan said she saw a cop shoot him, there were no wounds in the body, or that the two groups of cops who were supposed to be sitting on Monahan told conflicting stories and he wasn't sure who was telling the truth.

  There had also been two calls on the Supervisor Band that he had listened to with half a mind. They were not intended for him. Someone was trying to reach I-Isaac Seventeen. The only reason he paid any attention to the calls at all was be-cause, in the happy, happy days of yore when he had not been W-William One, commanding officer of the Special Operations Division, he had been I-Isaac Seventeen, just one more simple staff inspector.

  I wonder who I-Isaac Seventeen is now, and I wonder why W-William Seven wants to talk to him.

  Jesus H. Christ! As f
ar as turning my brain back on is con-cerned, that shower didn't do me a goddamn bit of good.

  He grabbed the microphone.

  "W-William Seven, I-Isaac Seventeen."

  "Isaac Seventeen, can you meet me at the medical exami-ner's?"

  Even with the frequency clipped tones of the radio, Jason Washington's deep melodic voice was unmistakable.

  "Isaac Seventeen, on the way."

  Wohl tossed the microphone onto the seat beside him, braked sharply, and then made a wide sweeping U-turn, tires squeal-ing in protest, and headed for the medical examiner's office.

  Jason wouldn't want me there unless he has learned some-thing.

  The ME probably found the bullet puncture that damned redhead couldn't find. It's not much, but it's something!

  ***

  Jason Washington was sitting in his car outside the medical examiner's office when Wohl pulled into the parking lot. There was a space next to him. Wohl pulled into it, and then got in Washington's car.

  "I suspect when you walk in there," Washington said, "there will be a message for you to call the commissioner immediately. So let's take a minute here."

  "They've been calling me on the radio every three min-utes," Wohl said. "That Isaac Seventeen business was clever, Jason, thank you."

  "It will prove to be clever if Czernick, or somebody else who remembers you used to be Isaac Seventeen and will run to Czernick, wasn't listening to the radio."

  "I thought of that too. I owe you another one, Jason."

  "I talked to the cops who were sitting on Mr. Monahan," Washington said, cutting him off. "I think they're all telling the truth."

  "How can that be?"

  "A guy named Kallanan was taking his turn walking around the house just before six. I happen to know him. When I did my civic duty in the Black Police Officer's Association, I worked with him. I was treasurer when he was secretary. Good man."

  "Okay. I'll take your word."

  "He said it was a couple of minutes before six when he came out of the alley and started down Sylvester Street. He said that the relief RPC was already there. He said he couldn't see into the relief RPC clearly-the side windows were mostly frozen over-but he remembers that two of the guys inside were wearing-what do you call those hats with earflaps?"

  "I know what you mean."

  "Okay. Two guys were wearing winter hats, for lack of a better word. And that the driver was black. He could see that well."

  "He didn't recognize anybody?"

  "No. It was still pretty dark. The windshield was fogged over. He saw what I just told you."

  "Okay."

  "The other two guys in the car getting relieved didn't say anything except that there was a car. When Kallanan got in the car, they drove off. They're either all much better liars than I think is credible, or they're telling the truth."

  "And the relief car?"

  "The guy driving was John Wilhite. He said they were a little late-"

  "Why? Did he say?"

  "They stopped at a McDonald's to get their coffee thermoses filled. They had to wait until they made coffee. He said it was five, six minutes after six when they got to the scene. And there was no car there."

  Wohl shrugged.

  "The other two guys in the relief car were a guy named McPhail and a guy named Hennis. They're white. So is Wil-hite."

  "And Kallanan said the guy driving the relief car was black?"

  "Right."

  "And he said it was a couple of minutes before six when the relief car got there? And Wilhite says he was five, six min-utes late getting there? Which means we have ten minutes that needs explaining."

  "Scenario, Peter: The doers show up at five minutes to six, pretending to be the relief RPC. The guys on the job, who are expecting relief, see an RPC and think they're relieved and drive off. When they are around the corner, somebody gets out of the RPC, rings Monahan's doorbell, shoots him, gets back in the car, and they drive off. A couple of minutes after that, the real relief RPC shows up."

  "W-William Seven," the radio went off.

  Washington looked at Wohl, who gestured for him to reply.

  "William Seven," Washington said to his microphone.

  "William Seven, have you a location on William One?"

  Washington again looked at Wohl for instruction. Wohl nod-ded yes.

  "I'm at the medical examiner's. William One is en route to this location."

  "William Seven, advise William One to contact C-Charlie One by telephone as soon as possible."

  "Will do," Washington said. "I expect him here in about ten minutes."

  "W-William One. W-William One," the radio said. Washington reached to the controls and turned it off.

  "Was it an RPC?" Wohl asked. "Or did Kallanan just pre-sume it was an RPC because it was a four-door Ford or what-ever?"

  "He says there was no question in his mind that it was an RPC," Washington said. "A new one. One of ours. I think, consciously or subconsciously, he would have picked up on it if it wasn't a bona fide RPC."

  "Jesus, you know what we're saying, Jason?" Wohl said.

  "I'm not saying anything yet," Washington said.

  "Mrs. Monahan said she saw a cop shoot her husband," Wohl said.

  "Yeah, but the doctor said she could find no puncture wounds. Let's find out about that first, before we start saying anything."

  He opened his door.

  "What's going on here?"

  "The ME called me. He's an old pal. He said I wasn't going to believe what he had to show me."

  "Did you ask him if he found an entrance wound?"

  "Just before he told me I wasn't going to believe what he had to show me," Washington said as he got out of the car.

  ***

  Chief Inspectors Dennis V. Coughlin and Matt Lowenstein were in the office of Police Commissioner Taddeus Czernick when Staff Inspector Peter Wohl came into it. The mayor was not. Wohl wondered where he was.

  The odds are that in the next five or ten minutes, either Lowenstein or Coughlin will be ordered to temporarily assume command of Special Operations, pending the naming of a per-manent new commanding officer.

  "Good morning, sir," Wohl said.

  "You're a hard man to locate, Wohl," Czernick said.

  "I'm sorry about that, sir."

  "Sorry won't cut it, Wohl," Czernick said. "You know that someone with your responsibilities can't simply vanish from the face of the earth for three hours."

  "Yes, sir."

  "You're not going to try to tell me you weren't aware I had sent out a call for you?

  "I am now, sir."

  The door opened and Mayor Carlucci walked in, drying his hands on a paper towel.

  Everybody stood up.

  The mayor finished wiping his hands, looking around for a wastebasket, and, finding none, carefully laid the towel in Czernick's OUT basket and turned to Wohl.

  "My mother used to tell me if you looked hard enough, you could always find something nice about anybody," he said. "I can find a few nice things about you, Peter. For one thing, you're here. That took some balls; I wouldn't have been sur-prised if you had just mailed in your resignation. And you look remarkably crisp and well turned out for someone who, I am reliably informed, arrived at the scene of the Monahan shoot-ing looking and smelling as if he had spent the night on a saloon floor."

  Wohl forced himself to meet the mayor's eyes. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then the mayor looked away.

  "No denial?" he asked softly.

  "I drank too much last night, sir."

  "The third nice thing I have to say about you is that you seemed to be able to instill a high, hell, incredibly high, level of loyalty in people who work for you. It took a lot of balls from Jack Malone, especially considering the trouble he's in already, to march into my office and tell me that if anyone was to blame for this colossal fuckup, it was him, not you."

  "He did what?" Czernick asked indignantly.

  "You heard what I said," the mayor sa
id. "And if you're thinking about doing anything to him for coming to see me, forget it."

  "The responsibility is mine, Mr. Mayor," Wohl said, "not Lieutenant Malone's."

  "Yeah, that's what I told him," Carlucci said. "Okay, Peter, you're here. Tell me what the fuck happened."