"I swear to Christ, I was in Baltimore with my mother when that motherfucker got himself shot!"
"Who told you some guinea did it?" McFadden asked.
"I don't remember," Mr. Lanier said.
"Yeah, you don't remember because you just made that up!" Officer Martinez said.
There followed a full sixty seconds of silence.
"Marvin, if we turn you loose on the shotgun and the uppers, do you think you could remember who told you a guinea shot Tony the Zee?" Officer McFadden finally asked. "Or get me the name of the guinea he said shot him?"
"You are not going to turn this cocksucker loose?" Officer Martinez asked incredulously.
"He ain't lied to us so far," Officer McFadden replied.
"That's right," Mr. Lanier said righteously. "I been straight with you guys."
"I think we ought to give Marvin the benefit of the doubt,'' Officer McFadden said.
Officer Martinez snorted.
"But if we do, what about the shotgun and the uppers?" McFadden asked.
"What uppers?" Mr. Lanier said. "What shotgun?"
"What are you saying, Marvin?" Officer McFadden asked.
"Suppose the uppers just went down the sewer?" Mr. La-nier asked.
"And the shotgun? What are we supposed to do with the shotgun?"
"You mean that shotgun we just found laying in the gutter? That shotgun? I never saw it before. I guess you would do what you ordinarily do when you find a shotgun someplace. Turn it in to lost and found or whatever.''
"What do you think, Hay-zus?" Officer McFadden asked.
"I think we ought to run the son of a bitch in, is what I think," Officer Martinez said, and then added, "But I owe you one, Charley. If you want to trust the son of a bitch, I'll go along."
Officer McFadden hesitated a moment and then said, "Okay, Marvin. You got it. You paid your phone bill? Still got the same number?''
"Yes."
"Be home at four tomorrow afternoon. Have something to tell me when I call you."
"I'll try."
"You better do more than try, you cocksucker. You better have something!" Officer Martinez said.
He picked up the shotgun and walked to the RPC and put it under the front seat.
"Marvin, I'm trusting you," McFadden said seriously. "Don't let me down."
Then he walked to the RPC and got in.
"We didn't ask him about Magnella," Hay-zus said as he turned right on Haverford Avenue and headed back toward the Schuylkill Expressway.
"I think he was telling the truth," Charley said. "About what he heard, I mean, about some guinea popping Tony the Zee. I wanted to stay with that."
"I think his sister had a baby too," Hay-zus said. "But we should have asked him about Magnella, anyway."
"So we didn't," Charley said. "So what do we do with what we got?"
"You mean the shotgun?"
"I mean, who do we tell what he said about who shot DeZego?"
"Shit, I didn't even think about that. Big Bill will have a shit fit and have our ass if we tell him what we done."
Sergeant Big Bill Henderson, in his little pep talk, had made it clear that, except in cases of hot pursuit, or in re-sponding to an officer-needs-assistance call, they were not to leave their assigned patrol route; in other words, since they were not real Highway Patrolmen, they could not, as real Highway cops could, respond to any call that sounded interesting, or head for any area of their choosing where things might be interesting.
"Well, we can't just sit on it," Charley said.
"Captain Pekach," Hay-zus said thoughtfully after a mo-ment.
"He's not on duty and he's not at home. We saw him and the rich lady, remember?"
"In the morning," Hay-zus said. "We'll ask to see him first thing in the morning."
"He's liable to be pissed. You think about that?"
"Well, you said it, we can't just sit on what Marvin told us."
"Maybe we could just tell Washington."
"And he tells somebody what we told him, like Big Bill, or even the inspector? It's gotta be Captain Pekach."
Charley's silence meant agreement.
A moment later Charley asked, "What about the shot-gun?"
"We run it through the NCIC computer to see if it's hot."
"And if it is?"
"Then we turn it in."
"And burn Marvin? Which means we have to explain how we got it."
"Maybe it ain't hot."
"Then what?"
"Then I'll flip you for it," Hay-zus said. "I always wanted a shotgun like that."
FIFTEEN
Amanda Spencer was a little drunk. Matt Payne's usual re-action to drunken-even half-drunk-women was that they had all the appeal of a run-over dog, but again, Amanda was proving herself to be the exception to the rule. He thought she was sort of cute. Her eyes were bright, and she was very intent.
And, Jesus Christ, she was beautiful!
She was still wearing the off-the-shoulder blue gown she and Daffy's other bridesmaids had worn at Saint Mark's. He found the curvature of the exposed portion of her upper bosom absolutely fascinating. During the ceremony his mind had wandered from what the bishop of Philadelphia was saying about the institution of marriage to recalling in some detail the other absolutely fascinating aspects of Amanda's anat-omy, in particular the delightful formation of her tail.
The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. Although Chad Nesbitt had been as tight as a tick, his condition hadn't been all that apparent, and except for one burp and one incident of flatulence that had caused some smiles and a titter or two, the exchange of vows had been appropriately solemn and even rather touching: Matt had happened to glance at Daffy while the bishop was asking her if she was willing to forsake all others until death did them part, and she actually had tears in her eyes as she looked at Chad.
Outside Saint Mark's afterward, however, his plans to kiss Amanda tenderly and as quickly as possible were sent awry by Lieutenant Foster H. Lewis, Sr., of the 9th District, who had been outside the church, seen Matt, and beckoned him over.
"Excuse me, please, Amanda," he said, and touched her arm, and she had smiled at him, and he'd walked over to Lieutenant Lewis.
"Yes, sir?"
"Are you on duty, Payne?"
"No, sir."
Lieutenant Lewis had examined him for a moment, nodded his head, and walked away.
By then Amanda had been shepherded into one of the lim-ousines and driven off to the Browne estate in Merion. He had known that it was highly unlikely that Amanda would have gone back to his apartment with him before they went to the house for the reception, but it had not been entirely beyond the realm of possibility.
Matt had to drive out to the Brownes' place by himself.
But once there he had found her right away, by one of the bars, with a champagne glass in her hand that she, with what he thought was entirely delightful intimacy, had held up to his lips.
Chad had searched him out, by then more visibly pissed, and extracted a solemn vow that if something happened to him in the service, Matt would look after Daffy.
There had been an enormous wedding cake. Chad had used his Marine officer's sword to cut it. From the way he with-drew it from the scabbard and nearly stabbed his new bride in the belly with it, Matt suspected that it was no more than the third time the sword had been out of its scabbard.
An hour after that the bride and groom, through a hail of rice and bird seed, had gotten in a limousine and driven off.
And now, an hour after that, he and Amanda were danc-ing.
The vertical manifestation of a horizontal desire, he thought, delightfully aware of the pressure of Amanda's bosom against his abdomen, the brushing of his thighs against hers.
"I watched you during the wedding," Amanda said against his chest.
He pulled back and looked down at her and smiled.
"I saw your gun," she said.
"How could you do that?" he asked, surprised. "It's in an an
kle holster."
"Figuratively speaking," she said, pronouncing the words very carefully.
"Oh," he said with a chuckle.
"Shipboard romance," she said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You know about shipboard romances, presumably?" Amanda asked.
"No," he said.
"People fall in love on a ship very quickly," she said.
"Okay," he said.
"Because they are in a strange environment and there is an element of danger," Amanda said.
"You have made a study of this, I gather?"
"The romance fades when the ship docks," Amanda said, "and people see things as they really are."
"So we won't get on a ship," Matt said. "A small sail-boat, maybe. But no ship. Or if we do, we'll just never make port. Like the Flying Dutchman."
"They grow up, so to speak," Amanda went on. "See things for what they really are."
"You said that," he said.
"Or, " she said significantly, "one of them does."
"Meaning what?" There was something in what was going on that made him uncomfortable.
"When are you going to stop playing policeman and get on with your life is what I'm wondering," she said, putting her face against his shirt again.
"I don't think I'm 'playing' policeman," he said.
"You don't know that you're playing policeman," she said. "That's what I meant when I said one of them grows up."
"I don't think I like this conversation," Matt said. "Why don't we talk about something pleasant, like what are we going to do next weekend?"
"I'm serious, Matt."
"So'm I. So what's your point?"
"I know why you became a policeman," she said.
"You do?"
"Because you couldn't get in the Marines with Chad and had to prove you were a man."
"You have been talking to Daffy, I see," he said.
"Well, now you've done that. You became a cop and you shot a man. You have nothing else to prove. So why are you still a cop?"
"I like being a cop."
"That's what I mean," she said.
She stopped dancing, freed herself from his arms, and looked up at him.
"The ship has docked," she said.
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning I'm sorry I started this conversation," she said, "but I had to."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"
"Yes you do!" she said, and Matt saw that she was on the edge of tears.
"What's wrong with me being a cop?" Matt asked softly.
"If you don't know, I certainly can't tell you."
"Jesus!"
"I'm tired," she said. "And a little drunk. I'm going to bed."
"It's early," he protested.
She walked away with a little wave.
"Call you in the morning before you go?"
There was no reply to that, either.
"Shit," Matt said aloud.
Thirty minutes later, just as Matt had decided she wasn't coming back out of the house, and as he had indicated to the bartender that he would like another Scotch and soda, easy on the soda, his father touched his arm and announced, "I've been looking for you."
I am about to get hell, Matt decided. The party is just about over, and I have not danced with my mother. Actually I haven't done much about my mother at all except wave at her. And to judge by the look on his face, he is really pissed. Or disappointed in me, which is even worse than his being pissed at me.
"My bad manners are showing again, are they?" Matt asked.
"Are you sober?" Brewster C. Payne asked evenly enough.
"So far," Matt said.
"Come with me, please, Matt," his father said. "There's no putting this off, I'm afraid."
"No putting what off?"
"Leave your drink," his father said. "You won't be need-ing it."
They walked out of the tent and around it and up the lawn to the house. His father led him into the butler's pantry, where he had been early that morning with Soames T. Browne.
H. Richard Detweiler was sitting on one of the high stools. When he saw Matt, he got off it and looked at Matt with both hurt and anger in his eyes.
"Would you like a drink, Matt?" Detweiler asked.
"He's already had enough to drink," Brewster C. Payne answered for him, and then turned to Matt. "Matt, you are quoted as saying that Penny has a problem with drugs, specifically cocaine."
"Quoted by whom?" Matt said.
"Did you say that? Something like that?" his father pur-sued.
"Jesus Christ!" Matt said.
"Yes, or no, for God's sake, Matt!" H. Richard Detweiler said angrily.
"Goddamn him!" Matt said.
"So it's true," Detweiler said. "What right did you think you had to say something filthy like that about Penny?"
"Mr. Detweiler, I'm a policeman," Matt said.
"Until about an hour ago I was under the impression that you were a friend of Penny's first, and a policeman inciden-tally," he said.
"Oh, Matt," Matt's father said.
"I think of myself as a friend of Penny's, Mr. Detweiler," Matt said. "We're trying very hard to find out who shot her and why."
"And the way to do that is spread... something like this around?"
"I didn't spread it around, Mr. Detweiler. I talked to Chad about Penny-"
"Obviously," Detweiler said icily.
"And in confidence I told him what we had learned about Penny-about Penny and cocaine."
"Not thinking, of course, that Chad would tell Daffy, and Daffy would tell her mother, and that it would soon be com-mon gossip?'' Brewster Payne said coldly.
"And that's all it is, isn't it?" H. Richard Detweiler said angrily, disgustedly. "Gossip? Filthy supposition with noth-ing to support it but your wild imagination? What were you trying to do, Matt, impress Chad with all the inside knowl-edge you have, now that you're a cop?"
"Where did you hear this, Matt? From that detective? The black man?" his father asked.
"Mr. Detweiler," Matt said, "I can't tell you how sorry I am you learned it the way you have, but the truth is that Penny is into cocaine. From what I understand, she is on the edge of being addicted to it."
"That's utter nonsense!" Detweiler flared. "Don't you think her mother and I would know if she had a problem along those lines?"
"No, sir, I don't think you would. You don't, Mr. Det-weiler. ''
"I asked you the source of your information, Matt," his father said.
"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that," Matt said. "But the source is absolutely reliable."
"You mean you won't tell us," Detweiler said. "Did it occur to you that if there was any semblance of truth to this that Dr. Dotson would have been aware of it and brought it to my attention?"
"I can't believe that Dr. Dotson is not aware of it," Matt said. "Mr. Detweiler, I don't pretend to know anything about medical ethics-"
"Medical ethics or any other kind, obviously," Detweiler snapped.
"But Penny is twenty-one, an adult, and it seems to me that Penny wouldn't want you to know.''
"Russell Dotson has been our family doctor for-for all of Penny's life and then some. Good God, Matt, he's a friend. He's outside right now. If he knew, suspected, something like that, he would tell me."
"I can't speak for Dr. Dotson, Mr. Detweiler," Matt said.
"Maybe we should ask him to come in here," Detweiler said. "I think I will. Let the two of you look each other in the eye."
"I wish you wouldn't do that, Mr. Detweiler," Matt said.
"I'll bet you do!"
"Dick, Matt may have a point," Brewster C. Payne said. "There is the question of doctor-patient confidentiality."
"Whose side are you on?" Detweiler snapped.
"Yours. Penny's. Matt's," Brewster C. Payne said.
Detweiler glowered at him for a moment, then turned to Matt. "How long did you say you have been aware of this situation?''
W E B Griffin - Badge of Honor 03 - The Victim Page 26
