“Keep him alive?”
“We have every reason to believe . . . the girl’s grandfather—”
“Who is?” O’Hara asked.
Wohl didn’t reply.
“Somebody important,” O’Hara went on. “Or you wouldn’t have danced around using his name. Who is he, Peter?”
Wohl again looked at Coughlin for guidance, and again Coughlin chose to answer the question himself.
“Vincenzo Savarese,” he said.
“Holy Christ! And Savarese knows the name of this dirty cop?”
“Not yet. Or at least we don’t think so. You’re getting the idea, Mickey, why this is sensitive?”
“I’m getting the idea,” O’Hara said. “So where does that guy fit in?” he asked, gesturing toward Ketcham.
“He’s the girl’s boyfriend,” Wohl explained. “Sava rese—this is the theory we’re working under—suspected he might know something about what had happened to his granddaughter, scooped him up from his apartment, and took him to a deserted NIKE site for a little talk. We think the story came out.”
“And that guy’s still alive?”
“We think Savarese left him there to starve to death,” Coughlin said.
O’Hara considered that a moment, then said: “Yeah, that fits.” He nodded, then went on: “But that guy didn’t identify the cop to Savarese?”
“I don’t think Mr. Ketcham knew Officer Prasko’s name,” Washington said. “When I go back in there, I will delve into that further.”
“If Officer Prasko is still alive, Vincenzo Savarese doesn’t have his name,” O’Hara said flatly.
“I don’t need that, for God’s sake!” Amy exclaimed in horror.
“Need what?” Wohl said.
“Mickey means this gangster will take the law into his own hands, right?”
“Well, maybe not the law, Amy,” O’Hara said. “An ax possibly, or maybe a chain saw, something to cut Officer Prasko slowly into small pieces. . . .”
“I have a sick girl—a very nice sick girl—who has been subjected to an unspeakably brutal rape. She is on the edge of schizophrenia right now. If she hears now, or at some later time, that her grandfather brutally—”
“I get the picture,” Wohl said. “And believe me, we’re going to try very hard to keep Savarese from getting at Officer Prasko.”
“Answer Amy’s question, Peter,” O’Hara said. “Why don’t you arrest Prasko? If nothing else, that would make it harder for Savarese to get at him when he gets his name. And he will get his name.”
“We have reason to believe the whole Narcotics Five Squad is dirty,” Coughlin answered for Wohl.
“That’s interesting,” O’Hara replied. “You are going to tell me about that, right?”
“Jesus!” Danny the Judge said. It was the first time he’d heard anything about that.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you, Danny,” Coughlin said “that that doesn’t go any further than this room. And that includes your brother-in-law, the deputy commissioner.”
“Yes, sir,” Danny the Judge said.
“Afterward, I’ll tell him I ordered you to keep him in the dark,” Coughlin said. “He won’t like it, but we’re too close to getting these scum to take any chance of having it go down the drain because too many people know what we’re doing.”
“Thank you,” Danny the Judge said.
“Now that Five Squad is on the table,” Wohl said, “we theorize that the rape of Miss—the girl was raped during a Five Squad drug bust. And that the bust itself was dirty.”
“How?” O’Hara asked.
“This is all speculation, Mickey,” Wohl said. “But I think what we’re going to find is that when Five Squad makes a bust, and there are seized drugs—and/or cash—not all of it makes it to the evidence room.”
O’Hara picked up on that immediately.
“And what drug dealer is going to complain to anybody that he had three kilos of shit when he was arrested, and only two was turned in as evidence?”
“That is the theory,” Washington said. “Buttressed a few minutes ago when Mr. Ketcham indignantly announced that not only had Officer Prasko raped the girl, but that he had also stolen twenty thousand dollars from him.”
“What’s the girl’s name?” O’Hara asked.
“You don’t need to know that, Mickey!” Amy said.
O’Hara ignored her.
“I can find out,” O’Hara said.
“Right now, Mickey,” Wohl said, “we’re friends. We have been friends for a long time. Don’t do anything to change that.”
“That sounds like a threat,” O’Hara said.
“Not a threat, a statement of fact,” Wohl said.
“From me, Mickey,” Coughlin said “you can consider it a threat.”
“I ally myself with Chief Coughlin,” Washington announced. “We are not talking of soiling the girl’s reputation, we are dealing, according to Dr. Payne, with shoving the girl over the precipice into schizophrenia. Your readers do not need to know the girl’s name, if schizophrenia is to be the price.”
“I’m missing something here,” O’Hara said. “When they try this slimeball—you are going to prosecute the bastard, I presume?—her name will be a matter of public record.”
“My God, I didn’t think of that!” Amy said in almost a wail. “If that girl is subjected to the kind of humiliation she would get in a trial, the damage would be devastating. And irreparable.”
“They will, of course, correct me if I err,” Washington said “but what I think Chief Coughlin and Inspector Wohl have in mind is seeing that society is protected from this individual for a very long time by seeing that he is prosecuted—and incarcerated—for all of his criminal activity except the rape.”
“Do you think a jury is going to get all worked up because a poor, underpaid cop has ripped off a drug dealer?” Mickey said. “A good lawyer—even one six months out of law school—would have the jury voting him cop of the year.”
“What I have been thinking, Dr. Payne, listening to all of this . . .” Walter Davis of the FBI began. It was the first time he had opened his mouth since Chief Coughlin had ordered Washington to proceed, over Davis’s objections, with his interrogation of Ketcham. “. . . is that if we can bring to the U.S. Attorney appropriate evidence, Officer Prasko—and the others—can be prosecuted under civil rights statutes.”
“Run that by me again, Walter?” Coughlin asked.
“Maybe I’m wrong, Denny,” Davis said, “but it seems to me that you and Peter are thinking that what Officer Prasko—and the others—have done is—and it certainly is—a number of things: simple theft, theft of evidence, dereliction of duty, perhaps extortion, et cetera, et cetera.”
“And?” Coughlin asked.
“I’m suggesting that perhaps you haven’t considered that it is a violation of an individual’s civil rights—a federal felony—to extort money—or anything of value—from him, or her, under color of office.”
“I don’t under—” Coughlin began.
“You’re saying the U.S. Attorney would prosecute these clowns for violating the civil rights of drug dealers?” Wohl interrupted.
“Yes, I think that’s entirely likely.”
“The ‘color of office’ meaning that police officers are officials of the City of Philadelphia?” Wohl pursued.
Davis nodded.
“Wouldn’t that then permit the drug dealers to sue the City of Philadelphia for damages, since their civil rights had been violated by officials of the city?”
Coughlin thought: Peter’s already starting to think like a police commissioner.
“Possibly,” Davis said.
“And in a civil suit,” Coughlin interjected, “presuming that these dirty cops were found guilty of violating the civil rights of drug dealers, wouldn’t that be all the proof needed to find the city liable for the actions of its officers?”
“I think it would,” Davis said. “But it would also have put Officer Pra
sko and the others into a federal prison.”
“May I suggest, gentlemen,” Washington said, “that while I find these arguments fascinating, none of us—with all due respect—know what we are talking about. I think Mr. Davis is right. The U.S. Attorney should be brought into this as soon as possible, and so should our beloved District Attorney Tony Callis.”
There were nods of agreement, and then Washington looked at Coughlin and went on: “If I may be permitted to make a further suggestion, Chief . . .”
“Sure.”
“Mr. Callis personally. Not one of his assistants, not even Harrison J. Hormel, Esquire.”
“You have a reason for saying that?” Coughlin asked.
“The same reason you gave Danny Justice here when you suggested he delay informing the deputy commissioner of the situation—to reduce the risk that the wrong people might learn of our activity.”
“And what, Jason, would you suggest we do about Mayor Carlucci?” Wohl asked. “When do we tell him?”
“I am but a lowly sergeant, Inspector,” Washington said. “I don’t have to make dangerous decisions like that.”
Coughlin looked at Wohl.
“The minute we tell him what this Prasko did, he’ll go ballistic,” he said. “Unless we have a plan, a detailed plan, one that he can’t find fault with, he’ll tell us what to do. So let’s come up with one—a damned good one—before we call him.”
Wohl grunted his agreement.
“Have we heard anything from Harrisburg?” Washington asked.
“The last I have is that Matt doesn’t have anything except that Officer Calhoun went into a safe-deposit at the bank, and that the woman in charge says she has no record of his doing so.”
“That’s the last I had,” Washington said. “But that suggests to me there’s something there.”
Wohl grunted his agreement again.
“When are we going to find out more?” Coughlin asked.
“Probably in the morning,” Wohl replied. “Why are you asking?”
“Calhoun may be the key to this, is what I’m thinking,” Coughlin said. “Presuming there is something in the safe-deposit box. We arrest him first—”
“We don’t know if he’s still in Harrisburg,” Washington interjected. “If, presuming he did put something incriminating in the safe-deposit box, I think it’s likely that he would immediately return to Philadelphia after having done so.”
“This is hanging by a thread, isn’t it?” Wohl said. “So let’s see what we do have, and do this one slow step at a time.”
He reached for the telephone.
“Operator, person-to-person, Matthew Payne, Penn-Harris Hotel, Harrisburg . . .”
He stopped when Washington held his hand out for the telephone, then gave it to him.
From memory, Washington gave the operator the number of the Penn-Harris Hotel, and then the number of Matt’s room.
“Make that station-to-station, please, Operator,” he said, and handed the telephone back to Wohl.
Until the third ring, Matt Payne seriously considered not answering the telephone, and even specifically—by picking it up, immediately hanging up again, and then leaving it off the hook, so that if they called back there would be a busy signal—how not to answer it.
Susan was asleep in his arms, really out. She was exhausted, he had decided, both by the intensity of their coupling—couplings—and by her emotional state. They had screwed, he had somewhat ungallantly decided, as if it might be the last time, and when he thought that it was a genuine possibility, the ramifications of it had brought him back to wakefulness.
She stirred but did not waken when he moved to pick up the telephone.
I’m going to have to wake her and send her home soon.
“Payne,” he said softly into the telephone.
“It’s Peter, Matt.”
“What’s up?”
“There’s been a couple of unexpected developments,” Wohl said. “Things are going much more quickly than anyone expected.”
“What developments?” Matt asked, and then had a second thought: “Vis-à-vis which bad guys?”
“Five Squad,” Wohl said. “Calhoun may be the key. Bring me up-to-date on that.”
At the least the sky is not about to fall in on Susan. Or at least Peter Wohl isn’t about to drop it on her. On us.
“Not much to report, beyond what I already have. I saw him go into the safe-deposit vault.”
“You’re sure it was Calhoun?”
“Either him or his twin brother,” Matt replied. “And then when I got my contact here to ask discreet questions, he reported that the safe-deposit vault lady—her name is Adelaide Worner—had no record of anybody going into any box. As far as I’m concerned, that eliminates the possibility that I thought I made the wrong guy; if I had, she would have had a name. She denied anyone had been into a box. Ergo sum, she’s lying, and I saw Calhoun.”
“And what happens next?”
“I went to Lieutenant Deitrich with it. He’s going to see what he can turn up for me. He said he’d get back to me at eight.”
“Where?”
Matt was looking down at Susan. He felt her body tense, and then she turned her face on his chest so that she could look at him. He put his finger in front of his lips. She nodded, then sat up and looked at him.
All I want to do is put my face between her breasts and have her hold me there and caress the back of my head.
“Here.”
“What do you think he might have?”
“I think I know what he’s looking for—a connection between Adelaide Worner and Timothy J. Calhoun—but I have no idea if he’ll find one. Or what else he might come up with.”
“Best possible world, Matt. Your Lieutenant Deitrich comes up with a strong enough connection so that you—I mean you, there—can go to a judge and get a search warrant for the box. You serve the search warrant and find something—drugs would be best, but a large amount of cash would also work—in the box . . . Wait a second . . .”
Matt heard what he presumed was the sound of a hand covering the microphone.
He looked down at Susan again. His hand reached out and he touched, almost reverently, her right nipple with the balls of his fingers. She looked down to see what he was doing, and then looked into his eyes. Her hand covered his and pressed it against her breast.
“Walter Davis just said . . .”
Christ, the FBI guy. What’s going on down there?
“. . . that if you have anything at all, he’ll call Chief Mueller, who probably knows the right judge to go to for the search warrant.”
“Okay.”
“Hold it again,” Wohl said and went off the line for almost a minute.
Susan moved close to Matt and kissed him tenderly, then touched his face with her hand.
Wohl came back on the line: “Chief Coughlin just decided it would be better if you didn’t go to Deitrich tonight. But Mr. Davis will call Chief Mueller, as soon as I get off the phone, and call in a favor about the warrant.”
“Okay.”
“So. Leave it this way. At eight o’clock, you will learn from Deitrich if he’s come up with a connection. Or something else. Either way, you call . . . wait a second. . . . Okay. You call Washington as soon as possible after eight, and tell him what’s happened to that point. He’ll tell you either to go get the warrant and serve it, or something else. Do you happen to know if Calhoun is still out there?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe Walter can ask Chief Mueller to have an RPC discreetly check if his car is parked at one of his relatives’ houses. If that happens, Washington will let you know when you speak with him. If you learn, for sure, that he’s in Harrisburg, or has left, you call Washington.”
“You mean in the morning?”
“I mean whenever you find out. We’re going to arrest Calhoun in any event. The question is when, and whether you will do it up there, based on what you find in the safe-deposit box,
or we do it here in Philadelphia.”
“Are you going to tell me what these ‘new developments’ are?”
“There’s no time for that now. If there’s time in the morning, Washington will fill you in then.”
“Okay.”
“Hold on once more,” Wohl said, went off the line for another forty seconds, and came back on. “Mr. Davis wants to know how you’re doing with the Reynolds woman.”
“Tell him she’s naked in my bed right now.”
“Goddamn it, that’s not funny! Do you have anything or don’t you?”
“No, sir.”
“You going to see her anytime soon?”
“Tomorrow, probably.”
“Calhoun is your priority, but the other remains in place. If you think she’s going to meet with Chenowith, call Jack Matthews.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Washington will be waiting to hear from you around eight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll be talking,” Wohl said. “Good night, Matt.” The line went dead.
“ ‘She’s naked in my bed right now’?” Susan quoted when he had hung up the phone.
“I don’t think he believed me.”
“I really think you have a screw loose,” she said.
“Well, now that we’re wide awake, whatever shall we do?”
“I should get dressed and go home,” Susan said.
“It’s only . . .”
“Quarter past three,” Susan furnished. “My God!”
“That late? I had no idea! Say, I just had a marvelous idea! Why don’t you just lie back down, we’ll leave a call for, say, half past five, have a good breakfast . . .”
“Matt, I had to sneak out of the house to come here. The last thing I need now is for my mother to catch me sneaking back in. Sometimes she gets up early. . . . I have to go.”
“Spoken like a true member of the next generation of a Bennington mommy.”
“We have enough trouble without her finding out that I’ve been with you all night.”
“You think Mommy doesn’t already have deep suspicions—with more than a little reason—that you and I have been playing Hide the Salami?”
The Investigators Page 44