Final Justice boh-8

by W. E. B Griffin

  Mariani replied, “I talked to him last night, Mr. Mayor. He says he’s doing everything he can think of to do, and that something’s bound to turn up. Right now, we don’t even know who the doers are.”

  “There were no witnesses?”

  “There were witnesses, sir. Mickey O’Hara of the Bulletin even took a picture of the doers as they left the restaurant. He was one of the first to reach the scene. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a very good photograph.”

  “We have a picture of these people?” the mayor asked, incredulously.

  “Not a very good picture, Mr. Mayor.”

  “I can see the story in the Bulletin,” the mayor said, unpleasantly. “Even with a photo provided by the Bulletin, police are unable to identify, much less arrest-”

  "O’Hara wouldn’t write a story like that,” Mariani said. “He understands our problem.”

  “You have more faith in the press than I do, obviously,” the mayor said. “And none of the witnesses can come up with a description of these people?”

  “We put police artists on the job immediately, Mr. Mayor. The result of that has been a number of pictures none of which look like any other picture. Everybody saw something else.”

  “The bottom line, then, is that you don’t have a clue as to who these people are.”

  “We’re doing our best, sir.”

  “That’s really not good enough, Commissioner,” the mayor said. “I need something for the press, and I need it by three this afternoon.”

  “What would you like me to say, sir?”

  “How about forming a task force?”

  “We have one in everything but name now, sir. A cop has been killed. Washington can have anything he asks for. It’s just going to take some time, I’m afraid.”

  “A cop and a single mother of three,” the mayor said. “We don’t want to forget her, do we?”

  “We’re not forgetting her, sir. But when a police officer is killed, it sort of mobilizes the entire department.”

  “Just for the record, Commissioner, the entire police department should be mobilized whenever any of our citizens is brutally murdered.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  “What about Special Operations, Commissioner?”

  “Sir?”

  “Supposing I announce this afternoon that I have ordered that the Special Operations Division take over the investigation? ”

  “Sir, it’s a homicide,” the Commissioner said.

  “You don’t think it’s a good idea, I gather?”

  “Mr. Mayor, it won’t accomplish anything that’s not already been done. If I call Inspector Wohl…”

  “Who is?”

  “The commanding officer of Special Operations, sir.”

  “Okay.”

  “If I call him right now and give him the job, he’ll say ‘Yes, sir,’ and then he’ll call Lieutenant Washington and ask him how he can help. I don’t know this for a fact, but I’ll bet Wohl has already done that.”

  “Let’s do it anyway,” the mayor said. “Make it official. And tell this Inspector… Wohl, you said?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “To light a fire under Washington.”

  “Yes, sir. Sir, Inspector Wohl was once a homicide detective…."”

  “So much the better.”

  “A rookie homicide detective. Jason Washington, as a very experienced, very good, homicide detective, was charged with bringing Detective Wohl up to homicide speed-”

  “Commissioner,” the mayor interrupted somewhat sharply, “I’m getting the feeling you’re dragging your feet, for reasons I can’t imagine. So I repeat, call this Inspector Wohl and tell him he is now in charge of this investigation task force, and I expect results.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do so immediately.”

  “There’s one more thing,” the mayor said. “The cardinal called me at home last night.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “About the visit of Stan Colt. The cardinal said that Colt being here may raise a half million dollars or more for West Catholic High School.”

  “It probably will, sir.”

  “The cardinal wants to make sure Mr. Colt’s visit goes smoothly. And in this case, I want what the cardinal wants.”

  “So do I, Mr. Mayor. After the cardinal called me about Mr. Colt coming here, I gave Mr. Colt ‘Visiting Dignitary’ status for his trip. He will be under the care of the Dignitary Protection Unit.”

  “So he told me,” the mayor replied. “What he called me about was the assignment to Colt’s visit of a particular detective. Apparently this detective made a very good impression on Monsignor Schneider-who’s doing the nuts and bolts of Colt’s visit for the cardinal-when they met at some sort of preliminary meeting. I’d like this done.”

  “Certainly, sir. You have the detective’s name?”

  “Payne,” the mayor said. And then he read the commissioner’s face. “You know him? Is there going to be some problem with this?”

  “We published the sergeant’s examination ratings yesterday, ” the commissioner said. “Detective Payne ranked number one.”

  “In other words, he’s a very bright detective?”

  “And a very good one.”

  “And now he’s a sergeant?”

  “He will be whenever the promotion ceremony is held.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “Whenever you decide, Mr. Mayor.”

  “How about…” He checked his calendar. “I’m free from nine-fifteen until ten tomorrow morning.”

  “Sir, we have the funds to promote the top twenty-one men on the list immediately. It would be difficult to get all twenty-one in on such short notice.”

  The mayor gave him a look that was mingled curiosity and exasperation.

  “We could promote the top five,” Commissioner Mariani said. “You will recall, sir, we offered the top five examinees their choice of assignment.”

  “And you can get all five in here tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure I can.”

  “Good. We’ll get him in here and promote him, and the others, and then assign Sergeant Payne to Dignitary Protection. ”

  “But there’s a small problem there, too, I’m sorry to say. Payne is entitled to his choice of assignment.”

  “Commissioner, why don’t you suggest to Detective Payne that the Dignitary Protection Unit would be a fine choice of assignment?”

  “He wants to go to Homicide, sir.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Deputy Commissioner Coughlin told me, sir. He’s Detective Payne’s godfather.”

  “Figuratively speaking, or literally?” the mayor asked, sarcastically.

  “Both, sir.”

  The mayor exhaled in exasperation.

  “Then I suggest you suggest to Deputy Commissioner Coughlin that he suggest to Detective Payne that Dignitary Protection would be a fine choice-indeed the only choice- for Detective Payne to make.”

  “Mr. Mayor, the prize-the choice of assignment-has been widely publicized. If we don’t make good on the promise…”

  “What?”

  “I’m afraid the Fraternal Order of Police would-”

  “Jesus Christ!” the mayor exploded. “How about this, then, Commissioner? We promote Payne. Sergeant Payne is assigned to Homicide, and then temporarily assigned to Dignitary Protection for Stan Colt’s visit?”

  “That would work fine, sir.”

  “Then please see that it’s done,” the mayor said. “I’ll look for you here about quarter to three. Thank you, Commissioner. ”

  FIVE

  Inspector Wohl and Detective Payne were alone in Wohl’s office at the Arsenal. Payne’s laptop was on Wohl’s coffee table, and Payne was bent over it, using it as a notebook, as he reported to Wohl on his investigation of the sudden affluence of Captain Cassidy.

  Wohl held up his hand to Detective Payne to stop; he was about to answer his cellular phone.

  He picked the
cellular up from his desk and answered it. “Wohl.”

  Then he slipped the cellular into a device on his desk, which activated a hands-off system.

  “Are you there, Inspector?” Jason Washington’s deep, resonant voice came from the speaker.

  “Just putting the phone in the whatchamacallit, Jason.”

  “Lieutenant Washington reporting for duty, sir.”

  “Do I have to tell you this wasn’t my idea, Jason?”

  “I understand it was the mayor’s inspiration of the day,” Washington said.

  “Well, just for the record: Lieutenant, you are designated the senior investigating officer for the mayor’s task force investigating the murders at the Roy Rogers. You will report directly to me. Now, is there anything you feel you need to facilitate your investigation?”

  “No, sir.”

  “If there is, you will promptly let me know?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We now go off the record,” Wohl said. “Who told you?”

  “The commissioner. Off the record. He also told me about Matt. I thought Matt would have called me.”

  “Me, too,” Wohl said. “Detective Payne, why didn’t you telephone Lieutenant Washington and inform him of your spectacular performance?”

  “He’s there?” Washington asked.

  “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Well, Detective Payne?”

  “I thought,” Matt said, raising his voice so the microphone on Wohl’s desk would pick it up, “Tony would tell you.”

  “As indeed he did. When can we expect your services, Sergeant?”

  “Homicide’s wastebaskets need emptying, do they, Jason?” Wohl asked, innocently.

  “I’m not a sergeant yet.”

  “You will be, as I understand it, at approximately nine-thirty tomorrow morning. May I assume that you will report for duty immediately thereafter?”

  “Your wastebaskets must be overflowing,” Wohl said.

  “I have nothing so mundane in mind for Sergeant Payne, Inspector. His first duty will be to supervise Detective Harris, and Harris’s team.”

  Matt thought: That will be a blind man leading the guide dog around.

  “Tony’s somehow fallen from grace?” Wohl asked.

  “Actually, Peter, it was Tony’s idea. He figures Matt can keep other people from looking over his shoulder. And we all know what a splendid typist Sergeant Payne is.”

  Wohl considered that-the problem of how rookie Sergeant Payne will fit into Homicide has been solved. Jason said it was Tony’s idea, but I suspect Jason was involved. Matt will follow Harris around, relieve him of as many administrative details as possible, and since he is both bright and aware of his massive ignorance of Homicide procedures, he will keep his mouth shut, do whatever Tony “suggests”-which will include making sure that the rest of Tony’s team does what Tony wants them to do, and when-and in the process learn a hell of a lot-and grunted his agreement.

  “Tony hasn’t come up with anything on the doers?” Wohl asked.

  “They’re out there somewhere, Peter,” Washington said. “I think it highly unlikely that the mob imported two professionals from New York to stick up a Roy Rogers.”

  Wohl chuckled.

  “One distinct possibility, Peter, is that these two master criminals, once they have gone through the-best estimate- less than fifteen hundred dollars they earned on this job, will do it again.”

  “Yeah,” Wohl agreed, seeing both the likelihood of a second or third or fourth robbery before they were-almost inevitably-caught, and the likelihood that once they were arrested, they could be identified in a lineup as the Roy Rogers doers.

  “There is an obvious downside to that,” Washington went on. “Their willingness to use their weapons…”

  “Compounded by the fact they know they are already facing Murder Two,” Wohl interjected.

  “… and there will be no greater penalty if they use them again,” Washington finished for him.

  “Or they may really go underground,” Matt said, “knowing they’re wanted for Murder Two.”

  “The cheap seats have been heard from,” Wohl said.

  “I was about to make reference to wisdom from the mouths of babes,” Washington said. “Except, of course, he’s right.”

  “God, don’t tell him that. His ego needs no buttressing.”

  “Actually, Peter, he will bring a fresh approach, which may very well be useful. Yesterday, when Tony walked Coughlin and our new sergeant through the Roy Rogers, Matt wondered aloud why Doer Two put his revolver under Charlton’s vest. Tony was somewhat chagrined that question hadn’t occurred to him.”

  “Is that significant?”

  “Never leave a stone unturned…” Washington began.

  “… or the stone under the stone,” Wohl finished.

  “You were, as I recall, an apt pupil,” Washington said. “It might be. It opens avenues of inquiry. ‘Is Doer Two a cop hater?’ for example. ‘Is he someone who knew, and intensely disliked, Kenny Charlton?’ ‘Did Stan Colt-which brings us to that-use the under-the-vest technique in one of his cinema fantasies?’ ”

  “Yeah,” Wohl agreed. “What about Stan Colt?”

  “The commissioner didn’t mention that Sergeant Payne’s services will be required in Dignitary Protection when Stan Colt comes to our fair city?”

  “No,” Wohl said, simply. “He didn’t.”

  “He apparently made a very good impression on Monsignor Schneider,” Washington said, “as incredible as that might sound. I am to lose his services temporarily whenever the Colt people think they need him.”

  “Can’t you get me out of that?” Matt asked.

  On the other hand, that would give me a lot of time with Terry.

  “No,” Washington said. “Peter-Tony just walked in, shaking his head ruefully-you asked if there is anything I need. I just thought of something.”

  “It’s yours,” Wohl said.

  “I’m a little short of wheels. Sergeant Payne, obviously, will no longer be needing his sparkling new Crown Victoria.”

  “Okay,” Wohl said. “And to prove what a fully cooperating fellow I am, I will even have Sergeant Payne deliver it to you, tomorrow when he reports for duty.”

  “It’s always a pleasure dealing with you, Inspector,” Washington said, and the line went dead.

  Peter removed the cellular phone from the hands-off system, laid it on the desk, and turned to Matt.

  “Now, where were we?”

  The telephone on his desk buzzed, and Wohl answered it.

  The conversation was very brief.

  Wohl said “Yes, sir” three times, “Yes, sir, at three” once, and “Yes, sir” one final time.

  He looked at Matt again. “The commissioner thinks it would be a very good idea if I were to be at the Monti Funeral Home at three,” he said, “to coincide with the visit of the mayor, and his announcement that he has formed a task force to quickly get the Roy Rogers doers.”

  Matt nodded.

  “Now, where were we?” Wohl asked again.

  When the Hon. Alvin W. Martin got out of the mayoral limousine at the Monti Funeral Home on South Broad Street in Yeadon, just outside the city limits, he paused long enough on the sidewalk to tell the press that he would have an announcement to make as soon as he had offered his condolences to Mrs. Charlton and the Charlton family.

  Then he made his way into the funeral home itself, where he found the long, wide, carpeted central corridor of the building about half full of men with police badges on their uniforms, or hanging from breast pockets of suits, from chains around the necks, or on their belts.

  Each of the badges had a narrow, black “mourning band”-sliced from the elastic cloth around the bottom of old uniform caps-across it.

  The mayor spotted Deputy Commissioner Coughlin at almost the end of the corridor. Commissioner Mariani had told him that Coughlin knew Mrs. Charlton, and would escort him into the “viewing room” where Charlton’s body was laid out,
wait until the mayor paid his respects at the casket, then introduce him to Mrs. Charlton, and finally lead him out of the viewing room.

  Coughlin was in the center of a group of seven men. Mayor Martin recognized first Mr. Michael J. O’Hara of the Bulletin- no camera, and in a suit. What the hell is he doing here? And with these people? — and then Captain Hollaran, Coughlin’s executive assistant-or whatever the hell his title is-and Lieutenant Jason Washington. The others he could not remember having met-or, for that matter, even seen- before.

  One was in the special uniform of the Highway Patrol, and as Martin drew closer, he saw the insignia of a captain. That made him the Highway Patrol’s commanding officer. That little fellow is the head of Highway Patrol? There was another captain, a large man with an imposing, even somewhat frightening, mien-Jesus, I’d hate to get on the wrong side of him! — in a standard police captain’s blue tunic and white shirt uniform.

  The other two men-young men, one in his twenties, the other maybe ten years older-in Coughlin’s group didn’t look like policemen. Both were wearing gray, single-button suits very much like the suit the mayor was himself wearing- I’ll give three to two that they get their clothes in the same place, and that place is Brooks Brothers. They look like lawyers. I’ll give even money that’s what they are.

  Well, I would have lost that one, he thought, as the older of the lawyers turned toward Commissioner Coughlin-probably to tell him he spotted me-and in doing so, his previously concealed breast pocket came into view. There was a black-banded badge hanging from it.

  Martin extended his hand and smiled just a little as he reached Coughlin.

  “A sad occasion, Commissioner,” he said.

  “Indeed it is,” Coughlin said. “Mr. Mayor, I don’t believe you know any of these officers?”

  “Aside from Captain Hollaran and Lieutenant Washington, I’m really sorry to say I don’t,” Martin said. “Good to see you, Jason, Captain.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor,” they said, almost in unison.

  “This is Inspector Peter Wohl, of Special Operations,” Coughlin said, and the older lawyer put out his hand.

  “How do you do, sir?”

  “Captain Sabara, his deputy,” Coughlin went on, “and Captain Pekach of Highway Patrol.”