“My stomach is full of Chinese.”
“I’ll be at home until half past seven or so,” Amy said. “If you want to talk.”
“Amy, believe it or not, I’m touched by your concern,” Matt said. “But all I need is to finish this”—he held up his whiskey glass—“and get in bed.”
And then he surprised her by putting his arms around her.
“Who holds your hand when you need it, Doc?” he asked softly. “Don’t you ever get it up to here with other people’s problems?”
“Yeah,” she said, surprised at her emotional reaction. “Just between thee, me, and the lamp pole, I do. But not with your problems, Matt. You’re my little brother.”
“Chronologically speaking only, of course.”
She hugged him, and then broke away.
“Go to bed,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She went down the narrow flight of stairs and turned at the bottom and looked up.
“Try to stay on the black stuff between parked cars, Amy,” Matt called down to her with a wave.
“Wiseass,” she called back, and closed the door to the stairs. She had just enough time to be surprised to find the landing empty when she heard the whine of the elevator.
That has to be Peter, she thought. If he said he would wait for me, he will.
And then she just had time to recognize the depth of her original disappointment when the elevator door opened. It was not Peter, it was Jason Washington.
Where the hell is Peter? Did he decide, “Screw her, I’m going home”?
“Good evening, Doctor,” Washington said in his sonorous voice. “Or, more accurately, good morning.”
“Mr. Washington.”
“Do I correctly surmise from the look of disapproval on your face that now is not a good time to call on Matt?”
“No. As a matter of fact,” Amy said with a nervous laugh—Jason Washington was a formidable male—“I think you’d be good for him. He said he was going to bed, but I don’t believe him.”
“I couldn’t get here earlier,” he said. “Inspector Wohl—he’s with the security officer in the lobby—thought perhaps you…”
Peter did wait. Why are you so damned pleased?
“I think you’re very kind to come at this hour, and that Matt will be delighted to see you.”
“Thank you,” Washington said, and waved her onto the elevator.
Peter did not smile when he saw her.
“Thank you for waiting,” she said. “I really wanted to talk to you.”
“So you said.”
“Could we go somewhere for coffee? Or a drink?”
They locked eyes for a moment.
“Most of the places I’d take you to around here are closed.”
“Would you have time to stop by my apartment?”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s an invitation to breakfast.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” she snapped. “I want to talk about Matt. Nothing else.”
“We tried the other, right, and it didn’t work?”
“It didn’t seem to, did it?”
“I’ll meet you in your lobby,” Peter said. “I hate to follow people.”
“Thank you,” she said, and got back on the elevator. By the time she turned around, he was already out the door.
“How are you holding up, Matthew?” Jason Washington asked as he reached the top of the steep flight of stairs.“Most often by leaning against the wall,” Matt replied.
“He said, masking his pain with humor. I am your friend, Matthew. Answer the question.”
“You know the old joke: ‘How is your wife?’ and the reply, ‘Compared to what?’ I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”
“Try a one-word reply.”
“Empty,” Matt said after a moment.
Washington grunted.
“I would suggest that is a normal reaction,” he said. “I would have been here earlier, Matthew, but I was about the King’s business, protecting our fair city from assorted mountebanks, scoundrels, and scalawags.”
Matt chuckled. “Thanks for coming.”
“I’m very sorry about Penny, Matt,” Washington said.
“Thank you.”
“It was originally my intention, and that of my fair lady, to come to add our voices to the chorus of those telling you that you are in no way responsible for what happened.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean that. I am not just saying it.”
“I know,” Matt said.
“My lesser half—who is a bitch on wheels when awakened from her slumber in the wee hours—is going to be mightily piqued when I finally show up at home and tell her I have been here alone.”
Matt chuckled.
“Considering that sacrifice I have made—you have seen the lady in a state of pique and should be sympathetic—do you think you could find it in your heart to offer me one of whatever it is you’re drinking?”
“Sorry,” Matt said. “This is Irish. Is that all right?”
“Gaelic chauvinist’s scotch will do nicely. Thank you,” Washington said.
“You’ve been on the job?” Matt asked as he walked toward the kitchen.
“Indeed.”
“I thought you’d be taking some time off, going to the Shore or something.”
“There have been several interesting developments,” Washington said. “What opinion did you form of Staff Inspector Weisbach?”
“I liked him. He’s smart as hell.”
“That’s good, because he’s our new boss.”
“Really?”
“Would you be interested in his opinion of you?”
“Yeah.”
“He said you need to be held on a tight leash.”
“Is that what he said?”
“That’s what he said.”
“You said ‘our new boss.’ Are we going to be involved in this Ethical Affairs business?”
“I think we are the Ethical Affairs Unit.”
“That sounds like Internal Affairs by another name.”
Matt walked back into his living room and handed Washington the drink.
“Not precisely. Wohl and Weisbach have elected to lend a broad interpretation to their mandate.”
“Wohl was here.”
“I saw him in the lobby.”
“He didn’t say anything to me about…anything.”
“Under the circumstances…”
“He did mention half a dozen times that what I have to do is put…what happened to Penny…behind me, and get on with my life.”
“And so you should. Anyway, Armando C. Giacomo had Wohl and Weisbach as his guests for lunch at the Rittenhouse Club.”
“He’s representing Cassandro?”
“Uh-huh. And Mr. Cassandro really does not wish to go to jail. Mr. Giacomo proposed a deal: Cassandro testifies against Cazerra, Meyer, and company, in exchange for immunity from prosecution.”
“They’re not going to deal, are they? They don’t need his testimony. We have the bastard cold.”
“What Peter and Weisbach find interesting is why the deal was proposed. Giacomo can, if he can’t get him off completely, delay his trial for forever and a day, and then keep him from actually going to jail, with one appeal or another, for another couple of years. So, what, in other words, is going on?”
“What is?”
“Weisbach and Wohl, taking a shot in the dark, told Giacomo that the only thing we’re interested in, vis-à-vis Cassandro, that might accrue to his advantage would be help with the murder of Officer Kellog and what happened at the Inferno Lounge. According to Weisbach, Giacomo acted as if something might be worked out.”
“The mob would give us one, or both, doers in exchange for Cassandro?”
Washington nodded. “Which, since that would constitute a gross violation of the Sicilian Code of Honor, again raises the question, Why is Cassandro not going to trial so important? And that is what Weisbach and I have been trying to
find out.”
“And?”
“Nothing so far.”
“Anything turn up on the Inferno Lounge job?”
“No. But I suspect there may be a connection there. Rather obviously, it was a hit, not a robbery. If it was a contract hit, it was expensive. If they give us that doer, that means Cassandro not going to jail is really important, and we’re back to why.”
Matt grunted.
“Anyway, you’ll be close to that one. You’re still going to Homicide. Whenever you feel up to coming back on the job.”
“If I had my druthers, I’d come back tomorrow morning. I really dread tomorrow.”
“At something of a tangent,” Washington said, “I have something to say which may sound cruel. But I think I should say it. My first reaction when I heard what happened was relief.”
Matt didn’t reply at first.
“I’ve also felt that,” he said finally. “It makes me feel like a real sonofabitch.”
“I’ve seen a good many murders, Matt. And more than my fair share of narcotics addicts. I hold the private opinion that a pusher commits a far more heinous crime than—for example—whoever shot Officer Kellog. Or Mrs. Alicia Atchison and Mr. Anthony J. Marcuzzi at the Inferno. For them, it was over instantaneously. It was brutal, but not as brutal as taking the life of a young woman, in painful stages, over a long period of time.”
Matt did not reply.
“The point of this little philosophical observation, Matt, is that Penny was murdered the first time she put a needle in her arm. When you…became romantically involved…with one another, she was already dead. The man who killed her was the man who gave her her first hard drugs.”
“I loved her.”
“Yes, I know.”
“We had a fight the last time I saw her. About me being a cop.”
“If you had agreed to become the Nesfoods International Vice President in Charge of Keeping the Boss’s Daughter Happy as of tomorrow morning, Matt,” Washington said seriously, “she would have found some other excuse to seek narcotic euphoria. The addiction was out of her control. It had nothing to do with you. You’ve got to believe that, for the simple reason that it’s true.”
“I’ll never know now, will I?”
Washington met his eyes, then set his drink down.
“Let’s go bar-crawling.”
“What?” Matt asked, surprised at the suggestion.
“How long have you been up here in the garret?”
Matt thought about that before replying.
“I got here about one-thirty.”
“Twelve hours in a smoke-filled room. That’s enough. Get your coat.”
“Where are we going?”
“The Mall Tavern. At Tenth and Cherry. When I was an honest Homicide detective, I used to go there for a post-duty libation. Let’s go listen to the gossip. Maybe we’ll hear something interesting.”
FOURTEEN
He doesn’t look like a cop, Amy thought when she saw Peter talking to the night manager in the lobby of her apartment building. Mr. Ramerez has put the well-cut suit and the Jaguar together and decided Dr. Payne is carrying on with a lawyer or a stockbroker.
“Good evening, Doctor,” Peter said.“Thank you for coming at this hour,” Amy replied. “Shall we go up?” She smiled at Mr. Ramerez. “Good evening, Mr. Ramerez.”
It is obviously important to me that Mr. Ramerez understand that I am not carrying on with him, cop or stockbroker.
They rode in silence and somewhat awkwardly to Amy’s apartment. She unlocked the door, and entered. He followed her.
“Coffee? Or a drink?” she asked.
“Neither, thank you. You said you wanted to talk about Matt.”
“I think it important that he not be left alone.”
“Tiny Lewis—he’s a police officer…”
“I know who he is,” Amy interrupted.
Peter nodded and went on: “…will be at Matt’s apartment at seven-fifteen in the morning. If you think he should not be alone tonight, I can go back.”
“I think he’ll be all right tonight,” she said. “Can you keep him busy? Especially for the next few days?”
Wohl nodded.
“He blames himself for Penny,” Amy said.
“Yes, I know.”
“I don’t know if you appreciate it, but he is actually rather sensitive.”
“I know.”
“You know what he did tonight?” she asked, and went on without waiting for a reply. “He put his arms around me and asked who holds my hand when I need it.”
“There has been at least one applicant for that job that I know about. As I recall, you didn’t seem interested.”
“Damn you, Peter, you’re not making this easy.”
“I don’t know if you appreciate it, but I am actually rather sensitive,” Wohl mockingly paraphrased what she had said about Matt.
“You bastard!” she said, but laughed. “Honest to God, Peter, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He shrugged.
“I lied,” Amy said.
“Not returning calls, not being in, having ‘previous plans’ when I finally got you on the phone is not exactly lying.”
“I mean tonight,” Amy said. “Certainly to you, and probably to myself. I knew that you, the Ancient and Honorable Order of Cops, were going to gather protectively around Matt and do more for him than I could.”
Wohl looked at her, waiting for her to go on.
“I wanted somebody, to hold my hand. Penny Detweiler was my patient. I failed her.”
He looked at her a moment.
“Somebody? Anybody? Or me?”
“I knew you would be there,” Amy said.
Peter held his arms open. She took several hesitant steps toward him, and ultimately wound up with her face on his chest.
“Amy, you did everything that could be done for that girl,” Peter said, putting his hand on the back of her head, gently caressing it. “Some people are beyond help. Or don’t want it.”
“Oh, God, Peter! I feel so lousy about it!”
He felt her back stiffen under his hand, and then tremble with repressed sobs.
“Tell you what I’m going to do, Doc,” he said gently. “On one condition, I will accept your kind invitation to breakfast.”
She pushed away from him and looked up at his face.
“I made no such invitation.”
“That I cook breakfast. The culinary arts not being among your many other accomplishments.”
“You think that would help?”
“I don’t think it would hurt.”
“I don’t even know if there’s anything in the fridge.”
“So I’ll open a can of spaghetti.”
Amy tried to smile, failed, and put her head against his chest. She felt his arms tighten around her.
“Would you rather tear off my clothes here, or should we wait until we get into the bedroom?”
It was half past seven when the ringing of his door buzzer woke Matt Payne.He fumbled on his bedside table for his wristwatch, saw the time, muttered a sacrilege, and got out of bed.
The buzzer went off again, for about five seconds.
“I’m coming, for Christ’s sake,” Matt said, although there was no possibility at all that anyone could hear him.
There was ten seconds of silence as he looked around for his discarded underpants—it being his custom to sleep in his birthday suit—and then another five seconds of buzzer.
He was halfway through the kitchen when the buzzer sounded again.
He found the button that activated the door’s solenoid, pushed it, and then continued through the kitchen and the living room to the head of the stairs. When he looked down, the bulk of Officer Foster H. Lewis, Jr., attired in a nicely cut dark-blue suit, nearly filled the narrow stairway.
“Tiny, what the hell do you want?” Matt asked, far less than graciously.
“What I want to do is be home in my bed,” Tiny Lewis replied. “W
hat I have been told to do is not let you out of my sight.”
“By who?”
“Wohl,” Tiny said as he reached the head of the stairs. “God, are you always that hard to wake up? I’ve been sitting on that damned buzzer for ten minutes. I was about to take the door.”
“I didn’t get to bed until three,” Matt said.
Tiny looked uncomfortable.
“Matt, I don’t think booze is the solution.”
“I was with Washington at the Mall Tavern.”
“Doing what?”
“Ostensibly, it was so that he and I could listen to Homicide gossip. About the time he went home, I decided it was to introduce me socially to the Homicide guys; he was playing rabbi for me.”
“My father said they’re really going to be pissed that the Mayor sent you over there.”
“I think their reaction, thanks to Washington, has been reduced from homicidal rage, pun intended, to bitter resentment by Washington’s act of charity. Actually, they seemed to understand it wasn’t my doing.”
“I would have been here yesterday,” Tiny said. “Personally, not because Wohl would have sent me. But Washington said there would be enough people here then, and I should come today.” Tiny paused. “I’m sorry about what happened, Matt.”
“Thank you.”
“Anyway, you’re stuck with me,” Tiny said. “And apropos of nothing whatever, I haven’t had my breakfast.”
“See what’s in the refrigerator while I have a shower,” Matt said.
Matt came back into the kitchen ten minutes later to the smell of frying bacon and percolating coffee, and the sight of Tiny Lewis neatly arranging tableware on the kitchen table. He had taken off his suit jacket and put on an apron. It was a full-sized apron, but on Tiny’s massive bulk it appeared much smaller. He looked ridiculous, and Matt smiled.
“I’ll bet you can iron very well, too,” he said.
“Fuck you, you don’t get no breakfast,” Tiny replied amiably.
“When you’re through with that, you can vacuum the living room.”
“Fuck you again,” Tiny said. “Tell me about the double homicide at the Inferno.”
Over breakfast, Matt told him.
“This Atchison guy is very good,” he concluded. “Smart and tough. And his lawyer is good, too. Just when Milham was starting to get him, the lawyer—”
The Murderers Page 28
