"Good man," Wohl said.
"Oooops, there he comes."
"With the suitcase?"
"No. He doesn't have it. He's changed out of his uniform."
"You're going to stay there, right?"
"Right. He's walking back to his car. But Captain Olsen can see him. No problem."
"Olsen is on him?" Wohl asked, surprised.
"Yes, sir. Olsen won't lose him."
"If anything happens, call this number, they'll know where to get me."
"Yes, sir."
"I'm going to send somebody to back you up," Wohl said. "In case somebody interesting comes to pick up the suitcase."
"Yes, sir."
"Good job, Jerry," Wohl said, and hung up.
If Olsen can work this job himself, why can't I? I'd love to catch Ricco Baltazari or one of his pals walking down Ritner Street with that suitcase in his hand.
Dangerous thought. No!
"Jack, can we get our hands on Tony Harris?"
"Yes, sir."
"Get on the horn to him and tell him to go back up O'Dowd."
"Yes, sir."
"And then turn this over to the duty lieutenant and go home and get some sleep."
"Yes, sir."
"That applies to you too, Detective Payne. With all the jumping from roof to roof, and through windows, you've done today, I'm sure you're worn out. Go home and go to bed. I want you here at eight A.M., bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."
That, to judge by the kicked puppy look in your eyes, was another failed attempt to be jocular.
"Yes, sir."
Or is there something else wrong with him? Something is wrong.
"Jack, you want to go somewhere for a nightcap?" Wohl asked. "The reason I am being so generous is that I just took forty bucks from my father and Chief Coughlin, who don't play poker nearly as well as they think they do."
"I accept, Inspector. Thank you."
"The invitation includes you, Detective Payne, if you promise not to jump through a window or otherwise embarrass Lieutenant Malone and me."
"Thank you, I'll try to behave."
The look of gratitude in your eyes now, Matt, is almost pathetic. What the hell is wrong with you?
****
Jack Malone had two drinks, the second reluctantly, and then said he had to get to bed before he went to sleep at the bar.
"I'm going to call the Schoolhouse, and see what happened to Lanza," Wohl said. "And then I'm going home. Order one more, please, Matt."
Two minutes later, Wohl got back on the bar stool beside Payne.
"Lanza went to the Schermer woman's apartment. The lights went out, and Olsen figures he's in for the night," he reported.
"And you're hoping that somebody will show up at his house for the suitcase?" Payne asked.
Wohl nodded. "We may get lucky."
"Why didn't he take it with him? Isn't that woman involved?"
"I don't know how much she's involved, and I don't know why he left the suitcase at his house. These people are very careful."
Payne nodded.
"And now that Malone has gone home, and I don't have to be officially outraged-as opposed to personally admiring-at your roofjumping escapade, are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"
"Jesus, does it show?"
"Yeah, it shows."
Matt looked at him for a moment, and then at his drink for a longer moment, before finally saying, "Penny Detweiler is in the psycho ward at University Hospital."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Wohl said.
But not surprised. A junkie is a junkie is a junkie.
"I put her there," Matt said.
"What do you mean, you put her there?"
"You really don't want to hear this."
You 're right. I really don't want to hear this.
"I'm not trying to pry, Matt. But, hell, sometimes if you talk things over, when you're finished, they don't seem to be as bad."
****
It was quarter to two when Inspector Wohl, not without misgivings, installed Detective Payne behind the wheel of the unmarked Ford and sent him home with the admonition to try not to run any stoplights or into a station wagon full of nuns.
I believed what I told him, that if it hadn't been the other woman showing up at his apartment, that it would have been something else. That being turned loose from a drug addiction program does not mean the addiction is cured, just that, so far as they can tell, it's on hold.
But clearly, if the horny little bastard wasn't fucking every woman in town, it would not have happened. Taking the Detweiler girl to bed was idiotic. He has earned every ounce of the weight of shameful regret he's carrying.
But his wallowing in guilt isn't going to do anybody any good.
Sometimes, Peter Wohl, you are so smart, so Solomon-like, I want to throw up.
He started home to Chestnut Hill, then suddenly changed his mind, got on first Roosevelt Boulevard and then the Schuylkill Expressway and headed for Ritner Street.
I don't want to go to bed. I don't want to delegate authority. I want to put that dirty cop and the Mafioso he's running around with away. And right now there's nobody who can tell me to butt out.
Wohl drove slowly down Ritner Street, saw where Sergeant O'Dowd was parked, and made a left at the next corner and parked the car.
O'Dowd had been alone when he had driven past, but as he walked up to the car now, he first saw another head, and then recognized it as that of Detective Tony Harris, sitting beside O'Dowd.
Wohl opened the rear door and got in.
"I thought that was you driving by," O'Dowd said. "Something come up?"
"I got curious, is all," Wohl said. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood."
"There's somebody in the house," Tony Harris said. "I was out in back. You know how these houses are laid out, Inspector? With the bathroom at the back of the house?"
"Yeah, sure."
"First a dull light, which means a light on in one of the bedrooms, shining into the hall. Then a bright light. Somebody's in the bathroom. I figure it's his mother, taking a piss. Then the bright light goes out, and then the dim light, and I figure she's back in bed."
"Okay. So what?"
"So nothing. So that's what's been going on here."
'There's more, Tony. What are you thinking?"
"I don't think Paulo Cassandro or Ricco Baltazari or any other Mafioso is going to come waltzing down Ritner Street tonight to pick up that suitcase. Those bastards aren't stupid. There's been half a dozen cars come by here, any one of who could have been taking a look, and if they were, they saw us."
"Oh, ye of little faith!" Wohl said.
Why did you say that? Jesus, that was dumb! Three drinks and your mouth gallops away with you!
"You're the boss. You say sit on the house, we'll sit on the house."
"Tell me what you think is going to happen, Tony," Wohl said.
"I'll tell you what Idon't think is going to happen," Harris said.
"Okay. Tell me what's not going to happen."
"I don't think we're going to catch anybody but this dirty cop. The Mob is going to come up with some pretty clever way to get their hands on that suitcase without us catching them at it."
"Okay. So what would you do if you were me?"
"Let's say we catch Lanza actually handling the suitcase to, say, Ricco Baltazari. We arrest them. They have the best lawyers around. They say we set them up. They ask all kinds of questions of how come we were watching Lanza in the first place. The guy has a spotless record, et cetera. And Lanza is not, I'll bet my ass on it, going to pass the suitcase to anybody. If they send somebody for it, or they tell Lanza to carry it someplace and give it to somebody, we arrest him, it will be some jerk we can't tie to Baltazari or anybody else. And Lanza pleads the Fifth and won't help either. He takes the fall. He pleads guilty to stealing a suitcase. He doesn't know anything about drugs, he just stole a suitcase. First offense, what'll he get?"
"What
I asked, Tony, is what you would do if you were in charge?"
"You really want to know, or are we just sitting here killing time bullshitting?"
"I really want to know."
"I go up to the door, I say 'Sorry to bother you this time of night, Mrs. Lanza, but Vito brought my suitcase here, and I'm here to collect it.' She gives me the suitcase, while you and O'Dowd watch, and O'Dowd takes pictures, and then we bust her for possession of cocaine, or whatever shit is in the suitcase. And then we go get Vito out of his girlfriend's bed and tell him he better go down to Central lockup and see what he can do for his mother, who's charged with possession with the intent to distribute. And the Mob is out however much shit they was trying to ship in."
There was a long silence.
"Not you, Tony," Wohl said, finally. "Martinez. In uniform."
"Martinez, the little Spic? What's he got to do with this?"
"DetectiveMartinez, Detective Harris, has been working undercover at the airport, trying to catch whoever has been smuggling drugs."
"No shit?"
"If Mrs. Lanza asked him questions about the airport, he would know the answers," Wohl said.
"Yeah," Harris said thoughtfully.
"That saloon is closed," Wohl said, after looking out the rear window. "Where can I find a telephone around here?"
"There's a pay station on Broad Street. If somebody hasn't ripped it off the wall."
****
"Hello?"
"You awake, Matt?"
"Yes, sir. What's up?"
"You know Martinez's home phone and where he lives?"
"Yes, sir."
"Call him up. Tell him to put his uniform on, then pick him up, and meet me at Moyamensing and South Broad."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
****
The door to the apartment of Mrs. Antoinette Marie Wolinski Schermer opened just a crack. It was evident that she had the chain in place.
"What is it?" Mrs. Schermer asked, her tone mingled annoyance and concern.
"It's the police, Mrs. Schermer," Captain Swede Olsen said. "We're here to talk to Corporal Lanza."
When there was no immediate response, Captain Olsen added, "We know he's here, Tony. Open the door."
The door closed. It remained closed for about a minute, but it seemed much longer than that. And then it opened.
Vito, wearing a sleeveless undershirt and trousers, his hair mussed, stood inside the door.
"Corporal Lanza," Olsen said, "I'm Captain Olsen of Internal Affairs. These are Detectives Martinez and Payne. I think you can guess why we're here."
Vito looked at Martinez and Payne. His surprise registered in his eyes, but then they grew cold and wary.
"What's going on?"
"We want you to get dressed and come with us, Corporal," Olsen said conversationally.
"What for?"
"You know what for, Lanza," Olsen said.
"You got a warrant?"
"No. We don't have a warrant. We don't need a warrant."
"What's the charge?"
"That's going to depend in large part on you, Lanza. For the moment, you can consider yourself under arrest for theft of luggage from Eastern Airlines."
Lanza's face whitened.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Lanza said.
"Detective Martinez," Olsen said, "will you go with Corporal Lanza while he puts his clothes on? Take his pistol."
"Yes, sir."
"This is some kind of mistake," Vito Lanza said.
"Get your clothes on, Lanza," Olsen said.
"You're a detective?" Lanza asked Martinez.
"Yeah, I'm a detective."
"Get your clothes on," Captain Olsen repeated. "It's over, Lanza."
Lanza turned and went into the apartment. Martinez followed him.
"Mrs. Schermer," Captain Olsen said. "Detectives are going to want to talk to you later today. They will call you either here, or at work, and set up a time."
"I don't know what this is all about," Tony said.
"You can talk about that with the detectives," Captain Olsen said.
The three stood at the door for the two or three minutes it took Vito to put his shoes and socks and a shirt on.
Finally he came back to the door, followed by Jesus Martinez, who carried Vito's off-duty snub-nosed revolver and its holster in his hand.
"Give the pistol to Detective Payne," Captain Olsen ordered. "And put handcuffs on Corporal Lanza."
They walked down the corridor to the elevator, where Vito saw that the door was being held open by a Highway Patrolman. There was another Highway Patrolman in the lobby, and when they got to the street, there were two Highway RPCs, the lights on their bubble gum machines flashing. There were two unmarked cars on the street, their behindthe-grills blue lights flashing, and three or four people in plainclothes Vito had been a cop long enough to know were fellow police officers.
Vito Lanza, for a moment, thought he was going to throw up, then he felt hands on his arms, and a Highway Patrolman put his hand on the top of Vito's head, and pushed down, so that Vito wouldn't bang his head on the door as he got into the back seat of one of the Highway RPCs.
"Watch your fucking head, scumbag," the Highway officer said.
****
Ricco Baltazari's voice, when he answered the telephone, was sleepy and annoyed. "Yeah?" he snarled.
"Ricco?" Tony asked.
He recognized the voice. His tone changed to concern and anger.
"What are you doing, calling here?"
"Who is it?" Mrs. Baltazari asked, rolling over on her back.
"Ricco, the cops were just here. They arrested Vito."
"What?"
"A guy who said he was a captain, and two detectives, and they told him to get dressed, and they took his gun away and put handcuffs on him, and when I looked out the window, there was cop cars all over the street."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"
"Whatis it, honey?" Mrs. Baltazari asked. "Who is that?"
"Go back to sleep, for Christ's sake," Ricco said. "Okay. I'll take care of it. You just keep your mouth shut, Tony, you understand?"
"Ricco, I'm scared!"
"Just keep your goddamned mouth shut!" Ricco said, and hung up.
He got out of bed, and found a cigarette, but no matches.
He walked to the bedroom door.
"Where are yougoing!" Mrs. Baltazari demanded.
"Just, goddammit, go back to sleep."
Mr. Baltazari then went downstairs and into the kitchen and found a match for his cigarette, and lit it, and then banged his fist on the sink and said, "Shit!"
He then picked up the handset of the wall telephone and started to dial a number, but then hung up angrily.
If the cops have the cop, they maybe have this line tapped. I can' t call from here. I'm going to have to go to a pay phone.
But shit, if the cops have the cop, they're as likely to have Gian-Carlo's phone tapped as they are to have this one tapped.
I'm going to have to go to Gian-Carlo's house and wake him up and tell him the cops have the cop. And that means they have the shipment for the people in Baltimore!
Jesus Christ! He's not going to like this worth a fuck! And Mr. Savarese!
It's not my fucking fault! I don't know what happened, but it's not my fucking fault!
But they 're not going to believe that!
Oh, Jesus Christ!
****
Salvatore J. Riccuito, Esq., a slightly built, olive-skinned thirty-two-year-old, was a recent addition to the district attorney's staff. Prior to his admission to the bar, he had spent eleven years as a police officer, mostly in the 6^th District, passing up opportunities to take examinations for promotion in order to find time to graduate from LaSalle College and then the Temple University School of Law, both at night.
Understandably, because he knew how cops thought and behaved, if he was available, he was assigned cases involving the pro
secution of police officers. When this case had come up, via a 3:15 A.M. telephone call from Thomas J. "Tommy" Callis, the district attorney himself, Sal had pleaded unavailability. Callis has been unsympathetic.
"We'll rearrange your schedule. Get down to Narcotics and see Inspector Peter Wohl."
Sal knew there was no point in arguing. Wohl had been the investigator in the case that resulted in Judge Findermann taking a long-term lease in the Pennsylvania Penal System. Callis had prosecuted himself. The publicity would probably help him get reelected.
In a way, Sal thought as he drove to the Narcotics Unit, it was flattering. Wohl almost certainly had not asked for "an assistant DA." He had either asked for "a good assistant DA" or possibly even for him by name.
"Let me tell you how things are, Vito," Sal, who had grown up six blocks from Vito, but didn't know him personally, said.
Vito was sitting handcuffed to a steel captain's chair in one of the interview rooms in the headquarters of the Narcotics unit. He was slightly mussed, as it had been necessary to physically restrain him on his arrival at Narcotics, when he had seen his mother similarly handcuffed to a steel captain's chair.
"Tell me how things are," Vito said with a bluster that was almost pathetically transparent.
"You're dead. That's how things are. They saw you steal the suitcase. They saw you sneak it out to the parking lot. They havephotographs."
"The sonsofbitches, fucking cocksuckers, had no right to do that to my mother!"
"Let's talk about your mother," Sal said. "She gave the suitcase to Detective Martinez. They have photographs. They have witnesses, a detective, a sergeant,a staff inspector. The chain of evidence, with your mother, is intact. The suitcase contained about twenty pounds of cocaine. Nine Ks. They just got the lab report. It's good stuff. If they decide to prosecute, she's going down. Simple possession is all it takes for a conviction."
"She didn't know anything about it," Lanza said. "They tricked her. Can they do that?"
"The little Mexican said, quote, Can I have the suitcase Vito brought? end quote, and she gave it to him. No illegal search and seizure, if that's what you're asking."
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