Is that sarcasm?
Matt looked over at her. Penny was bent over, fixing the carpet, or something, on the floorboard. He got a quick, unintentional look down her blouse. A white brassiere. For some reason, he had always found crisp white feminine undergarments to have a certain erotic quality.
He put the car in gear and started down the driveway.
"You want to tell me what the bag, and Allentown, are all about?"
"I'm glad you waited until we were out of there before you asked that."
"Which means?"
"That in case anybody asks, I was asked by a dear friend of mine, who understands my problems, whose mother is a dear friend of my mother's, GiGi Howser, who lives inAllentown, to come to a party. And I called you, and asked you to take me, and you agreed."
"We're going to a place called the Oaks and Pines Lodge," Matt said, without thinking.
"Wherever," Penny said. "I'm helpless in your hands."
"What's with Allentown? And what's with the bag?"
"If the party's fun, and lasts until late, and you have more to drink than you should, we may sleep over."
"Jesus Christ!"
"I thought you'd be pleased," Penny said. "You were the one who told me you automatically shift into the seduce mode."
What we are going to do is go to the Oaks and Pines and have dinner, and then we are going to come back here and tell the Detweilers we had a lousy time.
"We're not sleeping over anywhere. I have to be at work at eight o'clock in the morning."
"I don't mind getting up early," Penny said. "I told Mother that might happen. She understands. She'd much rather have you bring me home early in the morning than us get in a wreck because you had too much to drink, the way you usually do."
"And what if she calls yourGiGi and asks to speak to you?"
"We will have just gone out for pizza or something, and will have to call back. When we get where you're taking me, I'll have to call GiGi and let her know where we are. Don't worry. GiGi is very reliable."
He glanced at her and found that she had shifted on her seat so that she was turned to him. She smiled naughtily at him.
****
By ten minutes after five, there were very few people left on the tenth floor of the First Pennsylvania Bank amp; Trust Company, and it would probably be possible to exit the building without being jammed together in an elevator, but Marion Claude Wheatley liked to be sure of things, so he waited until 5:25 before locking his desk and his filing cabinets and walking to the bank of elevators.
Except for a stop at the seventh floor, where it picked up two women-probably secretaries, they seemed a little too bright to be simple clerks-the elevator went directly to the lobby, and it really could not be called crowded with only the three of them on it, and Marion was pleased that he had decided to wait the additional fifteen minutes.
When he left the South Broad Street entrance of the building he turned right, toward City Hall, until he reached Sansom Street, and then walked east on Sansom to South 12^th, and then north to Market. That way, he had learned, he could avoid the rush of people headed toward City Hall at this hour of the day.
On Market Street, he turned east, toward the Delaware, and then changed his plans when he saw the Reading Terminal. He had planned to do some of the necessary shopping, take the things home, and then do something about supper. But now it seemed to make more sense to have a little something to eat at one of the concessionaire stands in the Reading Terminal Market before shopping. That would obviate having to worry about supper when he got home. He would, so to speak, be killing two birds with one stone.
Marion believed that the efficient use of one's time was a key to success.
He sat at a counter and had a very nice hot roast beef sandwich with french fried potatoes and a sliced tomato, finishing up with a cup of decaffeinated coffee.
Then he went back out onto Market Street, crossed it again, and after looking in the window of the Super Drugstore on the corner of 11^th Street and seeing exactly what he wanted, he went in and bought an AWOL bag. It was on sale, for $3.95, and it had a metal zipper, which was important.
The reason it was on sale, he decided, was because it had a picture of a fish jumping out of the waves on it, with the legend, Souvenir of Asbury Park, N.J. Whoever had first ordered the bags had apparently overestimated the demand for them, and had had to put the excess up for sale, probably at a loss.
Overestimating demand, Marion thought, was a common fault with many small businesses. The petroleum business did not have, simplistically, that problem. They didn't have to produce their raw material, pump oil from the ground, until they were almost certain of a market. And even if that market collapsed, it was rarely that oil had to be put up for immediate sale. It could be stored relatively inexpensively until a demand, inevitably, arose.
He insisted on getting a paper bag for the AWOL bag-he was not the sort of person who wished to be seen walking through Center City, Philadelphia, with a reddish-orange bag labeledSouvenir of Asbury Park, N.J. -and then continued walking east on Market Street.
A very short distance away, just where he had remembered seeing them, which pleased him, there was a tacky little store with a window full of "leather" attache cases, on SPECIAL SALE.
Special Sale, my left foot,Marion thought. It was a special sale only because money would change hands. He went in the store, and spent fifteen minutes choosing an attache case that (a) looked reasonably like genuine leather, (b) was deep and wide enough to hold the shortwave transmitter, (c) had its handles fastened to the case securely. The last thing he could afford was to have a handle pull loose, so that he would drop the shortwave transmitter onto the marble floors of 30^th Street Station.
He did not insist on a paper bag for the attache case. He thought he would submit that to a little test. He would stop in on the way home, in one of the cocktail lounges along Chestnut Street that catered to people in the financial industry. He would put the " leather" attache case out where people who customarily carried genuine leather attache cases could see it, and see if anyone looked at it strangely.
He had solved the problem of supper, had one AWOL bag and the attache case, and there was time, so why not?
EIGHTEEN
North of Doylestown, on US Route 611, approaching Kintnersville, Matt became aware of a faint siren. When he glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw that it was mounted in a State Police car, and that the gumball machine on the roof was flashing brightly.
"Shit," he said.
Penny turned in her seat and giggled.
There was no place to pull safely to the side of the road where they were, so Matt put a hand over his head in a gesture of surrender, slowed, and drove another mile or so until he found a place to stop.
"Mother will not be at all surprised that we wound up in jail," Penny said cheerfully. "She expects it of you."
Matt got out of the car, making an effort to keep both hands in view, and then went back to the State Police car. A very large State Policeman, about thirty-five, got out, and straightened his Smoky-theBear hat.
"Good evening, sir," the State Policeman said, with the perfect courtesy that suggested he was not at all unhappy to be forced to cite a Mercedes driver for being twenty-five or thirty miles over the speed limit.
"Good evening," Matt replied, and took his driver's license from his wallet. "There's my license."
"I'll need the registration too, please, sir."
Matt took out the leather folder holding his badge and photo ID and handed that over.
"That's what I do for a living. How fraternal are you feeling tonight?"
The State Policeman examined the photo on the ID card carefully, then handed it back.
"Being a Philly detective must pay better than they do us. That's quite a set of wheels."
"The wheels belong to the lady."
The State Policeman took a long look at Penny, who, resting her chin on her hands on the back of her seat, was l
ooking back at them, smiling sweetly.
"I don't think I'd have given her a ticket, either," he said. " Very nice."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," the State Policeman said, and turned back to his car.
Matt got back in the Mercedes.
"We're not going to jail?"
"I told the nice officer that I was rushing you to the hospital to deliver our firstborn," Matt said.
"You would do something like that too, you bastard," Penny said, laughing. "But that's an interesting thought. I wonder what our firstborn would look like?"
The question made Matt uncomfortable.
"I didn't have any lunch," Penny went on. "You're going to have to get me something to eat, or you're going to have to carry me into wherever you're taking me."
"I'm taking you to a restaurant, can't you wait?"
"How far?"
"About an hour from here, I suppose."
"Then no. But I will settle for something simple."
I don't have dinner reservations for this place, Matt suddenly thought. For that matter, I don't even know if it's open to the public for dinner. I better find a phone and call.
Ten minutes later, just south of Easton, he saw the flashing neon sign of a restaurant between the highway and Delaware River. Penny saw it at the same time.
"Clams!" she cried. "I want steamed clams! Steamed clams and a beer!Please, Matthew!"
"Your wish, mademoiselle, is my command."
Inside the restaurant, they found a cheerful bar at which a half dozen people sat, half of them with platters of steamed clams before them.
Penny hopped onto a bar stool.
"Two dozen clams and an Ortlieb's for me," she ordered, "and two dozen for him. I don't know if he wants a beer or not. He may be on duty."
The bartender took it as a joke.
"Two beers, please," Matt said.
Two frosted mugs and two bottles of beer appeared immediately.
"And while I'm waiting for the clams, I'll have a pickled egg," Penny said.
"Two," Matt said.
"You're being very agreeable. That must mean you want something from me."
"Not a thing, but your company," Matt said.
"Bullshit," Penny said. "I am not quite as stupid as you think I am. You didn't invite me to dinner in the sticks because you love food or drives through the country, and you've made it perfectly clear that you're not lusting after my body, so what is going on?"
Her eyes were on him, over the rim of her beer mug.
"I want to take a look at the Oaks and Pines Lodge," he said.
"In your line of work, you mean, not idle curiosity?"
Matt nodded.
"You going to tell me why?"
He shook his head, no.
"What I thought was that I would attract less attention if I had a girl, a pretty girl, with me."
She considered that for a moment.
"Okay," she said. "I'm using you, too. I would have gone to watch the Budapest Quintet with you-and you know how I hate fiddle music-if it had gotten me out of the house."
"Pretty bad, is it, at home?"
"Mother's counting the aspirin," Penny said.
"I'm sorry."
"I think you really are," Penny said. "So tell me, is there anything I can do to help you do whatever it is you're not going to tell me you're doing?"
The answer came immediately, but Matt waited until he had taken the time to take a long pull at his beer before he replied.
"I don't even know if this place is open to the public for dinner. Some of them aren't. And I don't have reservations."
"You never were too good at planning ahead, were you?"
"I thought I'd call from here and ask about reservations…"
"But?"
"It would be better, it would look better, if I called and asked for a room."
She smiled at him.
"This is the first time that anyone has proposed taking me to a hotel room, said he did not have sex in mind, and meant it. But okay, Matthew."
"Thank you, Penny," Matt said.
"Why is that, Matt? Because I was on drugs? Because of Tony DeZego? Or is it that you simply don't find me appealing?"
"I find you appealing," Matt blurted. "I just think it would be a lousy idea."
Before she had a chance to reply, he got off his bar stool and went to the pay phone he had seen in the entrance.
When he returned, having learned that he was in luck, the Oaks and Pines Lodge, having had a last-minute cancellation, would be able to accommodate Mr. and Mrs. Payne in the Birch Suite, the clams had been served, and Penny was playing airhead with the bartender, who was clearly taken with her.
****
Charley Larkin, jacket off, tie pulled down, was sitting behind the very nice mahogany desk and SAC Joseph J. Toner was sitting on the couch with Wohl.
Mr. H. Charles Larkin, Wohl thought, has taken over the office of the supervisory agent in charge of the Secret Service's Philadelphia office.
Is it a question of priorities or rank? Certainly, keeping the Vice President from being disintegrated has a higher Secret Service priority than catching somebody who prints his own money or other negotiable instruments, and it would follow that the guy in charge of that job would be the one giving the orders. But it might be rank too. Larkin has been in the Secret Service a long time. He probably outranks Toner too. What difference does it make?
One of the telephones on Toner's desk rang. Larkin looked to see which one it was, and then picked it up.
"Larkin," he said, and then a moment later, "Ask them to come in, please."
Lieutenant Jack Malone, in plainclothes, and Sergeant Jason Washington, in a superbly tailored, faintly plaided gray suit, came into the office.
"Charley, you know Jack," Wohl said. "The slight, delicate gentleman in the raggedy clothes is Sergeant Jason Washington. Jason, Charley Larkin. Watch out for him, he and my father and Chief Coughlin are old pals."
Larkin walked around the desk to shake Washington's hand.
"You know the line, 'your reputation precedes you'?" he asked. "I' m glad you're working with us on this, Sergeant. Do you know Joe Toner?"
"Only by reputation, sir," Washington said. He turned to Toner, who, obviously as an afterthought, stood up and put out his hand.
"How are you, Sergeant?"
"Pretty frustrated, right now, as a matter of fact, Mr. Toner," Washington said.
"I'm Joe Toner, Lieutenant," Toner said, and gave his hand to Malone.
"You mean you didn't come here to report we have our mad bomber in a padded cell, and we can all go home?" Wohl asked.
"Boss, we laid an egg," Washington replied. "We've been through everything in every file cabinet in Philadelphia, and we didn't turn up a looney tune who comes within a mile of that profile."
"And we just checked the Schoolhouse. There has been no, zero, zilch, response from anybody to the profiles we passed around the districts."
"Who's holding the phone down?" Wohl asked.
"Lieutenant Wisser," Malone replied. "Until two. Then a Lieutenant Seaham?"
"Sealyham?" Wohl asked.
"I think so. Captain Sabara arranged for it. He'll do midnight to eight, and then O'Dowd will come back on," Malone said. "We stopped by the Schoolhouse, and talked to them.Sealyham on the phone. If they get anything that looks interesting, they're going to call either Washington or me."
Wohl nodded his approval.
"You've had a busy day," he said.
"Spinning our wheels," Jason said.
"I don't offer this with much hope," Charley Larkin said, "but this is the profile the FBI came up with. Did you stumble on anyone who comes anywhere near this?"
He handed copies to both Washington and Malone.
"There's coffee," Larkin said. "Excuse me, I should have offered you some."
Both Malone and Washington declined, silently, shaking their heads, but Washington, not taking his eyes from the sh
eet of paper, lowered himself onto the couch between Wohl and Toner. The couch was now crowded.
"This is just about what Matt's sister came up with," Washington said.
"'Matt's sister'?" Toner asked.
"Dr. Payne, sir," Washington said. "A psychiatrist at the University of Pennsylvania. She's been helpful before. Her brother is a detective, Matt Payne."
"Oh," Toner said.
"The FBI says that this guy is probably a 'sexual deviate,'"^: Malone quoted, "Dr. Payne says he's 'asexual.' What's the difference?"
"Not much," Washington replied. "'Celibacy is the most unusual of all the perversions,' Oscar Wilde."
Larkin and Wohl chuckled. Toner and Malone looked confused.
"And anyway," Washington went on, "Jack and I went through the files in Sex Crimes too. Same result, zero."
"Who's Oscar Wilde?" Malone asked.
"An English gentleman of exquisite grace," Washington said. " Deceased."
"Oh."
"Sergeant Washington," Larkin said. "Would you mind if I called you 'Jason'?"
"No, sir."
"Jason, I'd like to hear your wild hairs," Larkin said. "I think we all would."
"Yeah," Wohl agreed.
"This chap is going to be hard to find," Washington said. "He's the classic face in the crowd. Law abiding. Respectable. Few, if any, outward signs of his mental problems."
"We know that," Wohl said, a touch of impatience in his voice.
"Possibly a rude question: How wide have we thrown the net?" Washington asked.
"Meaning?" Toner asked.
"Wilmington, New Jersey, even Baltimore. For that matter, Doylestown, Allentown? Is there a record that matches the profile right over the city border in Cheltenham?"
"Our people, Sergeant," Toner said, somewhat coldly, "have taken care of that. Plus seeking cooperation from other federal agencies, making that profile available to them."
"It was a question worth asking, Jason," Wohl said, flashing Toner an icy look.
"Please ask whatever pops into your mind," Larkin said.
"What about the Army? For that matter, the Navy, the Marines? Coal companies, whatever? Have there been any reports of stolen explosives?"
The Assassin boh-5 Page 30
