"Yes, sir. Mr. Stillwell asked me to be there."
"Farnsworth Stillwell?"
"Yes, sir."
"When you can break loose, it might be a good idea to go back to the hospital; to have a word with Matt's family."
"Yes, sir, I'd planned to do that."
"Well, don't blame yourself for this, Peter. These things happen."
"Yes, sir."
Coughlin, without another word, hung up. He swung his feet out of bed, pulled open the drawer of a bedside table, and took out a telephone book. He dialed a number.
"Police Department."
"Let me speak to the senior officer on duty."
"Maybe I can help you."
"This is Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin. Get the senior police officer present on the telephone!"
"This is Lieutenant Swann. Can I help you?"
"This is Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin-"
"Oh, sure. How are you, Chief?"
"I need a favor."
"Name it."
"You know where the Payne house is on Providence Road in Wallingford?"
"Sure."
"Their son is a police officer. He has just been shot in the line of duty. He is in Frankford Hospital. I am about to notify them. I would consider it a personal favor if you would provide an escort for them from their home to the Philadelphia city line. I'll have a car meet you there."
"Chief, when the Paynes come out of their driveway, a car will be sitting there."
"Thank you."
"He hurt bad?"
"We don't think so."
"Thank God."
"Thank God," Denny Coughlin repeated, and, unable to trust his voice any further, hung up.
He walked into the kitchen, poured an inch and a half of John Jameson's Irish whiskey in a plastic cup, drank it down, and then reached for the telephone on the wall. He dialed a number from memory. It took a long time to answer.
Please, God, don't let Patty answer.
"Hello?"
"Brewster, this is Denny Coughlin."
"Is something wrong, Denny?" Brewster Cortland Payne, suddenly wide awake, asked.
"What is it?" a familiar female voice came faintly over the telephone.
"Matt's got himself shot," Denny Coughlin said very quickly. "Not seriously. He's in Frankford Hospital. By the time you get dressed, there will be a police car waiting in your driveway to escort you to the hospital. I'll meet you there."
"All right."
"My God, I'm sorry, Brewster."
"Yes, I know. We'll see you there, Denny."
The phone went dead.
Coughlin broke the connection with his finger and then dialed another number from memory.
"Highway."
"This is Chief Coughlin."
"Yes, sir."
"I have cleared this with Inspector Wohl. A Media police car is about to escort a car to the city line. I want a Highway car to meet it and take it the rest of the way to Frankford Hospital. Got that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you," Coughlin said, and hung up. Then he went into his bedroom and started to get dressed. As he was tying his shoes, he suddenly looked up, at the crucifix hanging over his bed.
"It could be worse. Thank you," he said.
FOURTEEN
Shortly after Mr. Michael J. O'Hara appeared in the city room of the PhiladelphiaBulletin at a little after six A.M., theBulletin's city and managing editors decided that since they had an exclusive (the term "scoop" is considered declasse' by modern journalists) in Mr. O' Hara's coverage of the shooting during the arrest of the Islamic Liberation Army, together with some really great pictures, it clearly behooved them to run with it.
The front pages of Sections A and B were redone. On Page 1A, a photograph of the President of the United States shaking hands with some foreign dignitary in flowing robes was replaced with a photograph of the cop bleeding all over himself as he held his gun on the guy who had shot him. Under it was the caption:
Special Operations Officer Matthew M. Payne, blood streaming from his wounds, holds his pistol on Charles D. Stevens, whom he had just bested in an early morning gun battle in Frankford. Stevens was one of eight men, alleged to be participants in the murder-robbery of Goldblatt's furniture store, whom police rounded up at dawn. Payne collapsed moments after this photo was taken. Full details on Page IB. [Bulletin Photograph by Michael J. O'Hara.]
Most of Page IB was redone. When finished it had three photographs lining the top, and a headline reading, "EXCLUSIVE BULLETIN COVERAGE OF EARLY MORNING SHOOTOUT.
Below the photographs-which showed Matt Payne being held up by the ACT cop; Charles D. Stevens being rolled into Frankford Hospital on a gurney; and Matt Payne, his face caked with blood, on his gurney in the corridor at Frankford Hospital-was the story:
By Michael J. O'Hara
Bulletin Staff Writer
Blood stained the freshly fallen snow in an alley in Frankford early this morning after Charles D. Stevens chose to shoot it out with the cops rather than submit to arrest and picked the wrong cop for his deadly duel.
Stevens, who sometimes calls himself Abu Ben Mohammed, is one of eight suspects in the murder-robbery of Goldblatt's Furniture earlier this week. It was the intention of Staff Inspector Peter Wohl, commanding the Special Operations Division, to arrest all eight suspects at once, and in the wee hours, to minimize risks to both the public and his officers.
Seven of the eight carefully orchestrated arrests went smoothly. But, as this reporter and Officer Matthew M. Payne, administrative assistant to Inspector Wohl, waited in a dark alley behind Stevens's house in the 4700 block of Hawthorne Street for the meticulously planned arrest procedure to begin, Stevens suddenly appeared in the alley, a blazing.45 automatic in his hand.
As this reporter dove for cover, two of Stevens's bullets struck Payne, who had been assigned to escort this reporter during Stevens's arrest. Payne went down, but he was not out. Somehow, Payne managed to get his own pistol into action. When the shooting was over, Stevens was critically, possibly fatally, wounded, and the young cop he had tried to gun down without warning was standing over him, blood dripping from his own wounds.
This was not the first battle for his life fought by Payne, who is twenty-two and a bachelor. Three months ago, while attempting to arrest Warren K. Fletcher, the Northwest Philadelphia serial rapist, Fletcher, who had his latest victim in his van, tried to run over the young police man. Moments later he was dead of a bullet in the brain fired by the then six-months-on-the-police-force rookie.
Payne, who collapsed moments after making sure Stevens posed no further threat, was taken to Frankford Hospital, where he underwent surgery for the removal of the bullet in his leg. His condition is described as "good."
Stevens, who was also rushed to Frankford Hospital by police, is in intensive care, his condition described as "critical" by hospital authorities.
Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein, who commands the Detective Division, under whose overall command the mass arrest took place, said that Stevens, if he lives, will have assault with a deadly weapon and resisting arrest added to the other charges, which include firstdegree murder, already lodged against him.
"I regret that force was necessary," Chief Lowenstein said. " Inspector Wohl and his men took every step they could think of to avoid it. But I cannot conceal my admiration for this young officer (Payne) who bravely stood up to this vicious criminal."
By 6:45 A.M., the appropriate plates had been replaced on the presses, and with a deep growl, they began to roll again.
It was the opinion of the managing editor that they could probably sell an additional thirty-five or forty thousand copies of the paper. Blood and shooting always sold.
How that goddamn O'Hara manages to always be in on things like this is a mystery, but giving the sonofabitch his due, he always is, and he probably is worth all the money we have to pay him.
****
Hector Carlos Estivez was in the first
of the vans carrying the prisoners to arrive at the Police Administration Building at 8th and Race Streets in downtown Philadelphia. The others arrived over the next fifteen minutes.
The van carrying Mr. Estivez entered the parking lot at the rear of the Roundhouse, and immediately backed up down the ramp leading to the Central Cell Room.
The driver and his partner got out and went to the rear of the van. They found Homicide detective Joe D'Amata, who had driven in his own car from Frankford, waiting for them. The driver opened the rear door of the van and Mr. Estivez, who had been handcuffed, was helped out of the van.
Detective D'Amata took one of Mr. Estivez's arms, and one of the officers who had been in the back of the van with him took the other.
Mr. Estivez was then led through the Cell Room to an elevator, and taken in it to the Homicide Bureau on the third floor.
There were several people standing just outside the office of Captain Henry Q. Quaire, commanding officer of the Homicide Bureau. Mr. Estivez recognized only one of them, Sergeant Jason Washington. The others were Farnsworth Stillwell, an assistant district attorney of Philadelphia County; Staff Inspector Peter Wohl; and Captain Quaire himself.
Mr. Estivez was taken to a small room furnished with an Early American-style chair and a small table. There was a window with oneway glass in one wall of the room. The chair was made of steel and was bolted to the floor. One end of a pair of handcuffs was looped through a hole in the chair seat.
Mr. Estivez's handcuffs were removed. Detective D'Amata told him to sit down and, when he had done so, put Mr. Estivez's left wrist in the handcuff cuffed to the chair.
Mr. Estivez was then left alone.
He looked with a mixture of contempt and uneasiness at the one-way glass window. There was no way of telling if someone was on the other side, looking in at him.
A minute or so later the door to the room opened, and Detective D' Amata returned. On his heels came Sergeant Jason Washington, Staff Inspector Wohl, and Assistant District Attorney Stillwell.
"Which one is this one?" Sergeant Washington inquired.
"This is Mr. Hector Carlos Estivez," Detective D'Amata replied.
Sergeant Washington, a carefully calculated (and in fact, once practiced before a mirror) look of contempt, scorn, and dislike on his face, then took two steps toward Mr. Estivez. Mr. Estivez, who was sitting, had to look up at him. There was no way that Mr. Estivez could not be aware of Washington's considerable bulk.
Sergeant Washington then squatted down, so that his face was on a level with Mr. Estivez, and examined him carefully for twenty seconds or so.
He then grunted, stood erect, said, "Okay, Hector CarlosEstivez. Fine," and scribbled something in his notebook.
This was a little psychological warfare, Jason Washington having long ago come to believe that the greatest fear is the fear of the unknown.
Washington knew he enjoyed a certain fame (perhaps notoriety) in the criminal community. There was a perhaps fifty-fifty chance that Estivez knew who he was. And even if he didn't, Washington was sure that the sight of a very large, very well-dressed black man in an obvious position of police authority would be unnerving.
Jason Washington then covered his mouth with his hand and said softly, so that Mr. Estivez could not understand him, "Obviously a pillar of his community, wouldn't you say?"
The remark caused Wohl to smile, which was Washington's intention. He had long ago also come to believe that knowing that one is the source of amusement, but not knowing specifically how, is also psychologically disturbing, particularly if the person amused holds great-if undefined-power over you. At that point, Inspector Wohl, Assistant District Attorney Stillwell, and Sergeant Washington left the interview room, closing the door behind them and leaving Detective D'Amata alone with Mr. Estivez.
"Mr. Estivez," Detective D'Amata said, "you have been arrested on warrants charging you with murder and armed robbery. Before I say anything else, I want to make sure that you are aware of your rights under the Constitution."
He then took a small card from his jacket pocket and read Mr. Estivez his rights under the Miranda Decision. Mr. Estivez had seen them enough on television to know them by heart, but he listened attentively anyway.
"Do you understand the rights I have pointed out to you?" Detective D'Amata said.
"Yeah," Mr. Estivez said. "I'm not going to say one fucking word without my lawyer."
"That is your right, sir," Detective D'Amata said.
He then left Mr. Estivez alone in the interview room again.
"Mr. Estivez," Detective D'Amata said dryly to Mssrs. Washington, Wohl, and Stillwell, "has elected to exercise his rights under the Miranda Decision."
"Really?" Wohl replied with a smile.
"So what happens now?" Farnsworth Stillwell asked. "We're not going to run into trouble with the Six-Hour Rule are we?"
The Pennsylvania Supreme Court had issued another ruling designed to protect the innocent from the police. It had decreed that unless an accused was brought before an arraignment judge within six hours of his arrest, any statement he had made could not be used against him.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Counselor," Jason Washington said with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "but as I understand the SixHour-Rule, it does not prohibit the use of a statement inadmissible against the individual who made it being used against other participants in the offense."
"Yes, of course, you're right." Stillwell said. It was obvious he did not like being lectured on the law.
"We'll take him back downstairs, process him, and send him over to the House of Detention," D'Amata replied.
"What I'm going to do, Inspector, unless you have something else in mind," Jason Washington announced, "is give them all day to thoughtfully consider their situation, and maybe get a little sound advice from the legal profession. Then, after they have had their supper, and are convinced that nothing further is going to happen to them today, starting at six-fifteen, I'm going to run them all through the lineup, for a positive identification by Mr. Monahan. Then I will give them the rest of the night to consider their situation, now that they know we have a witness, and then starting at eight tomorrow morning, I will interview them."
"Have at it, Jason," Wohl said.
"By then, I think we can count on somebody going to Mr. Stillwell to make a deal," Washington said. "There's seven of them. I think the odds are pretty good that at least one of them will try to save his skin."
Farnsworth Stillwell, whose wordless role in the little playlet had been orchestrated by Sergeant Washington, had played along for several reasons. For one thing, he had never seen how something like this was actually carried out, and he was curious. For another, when he had worked with Wohl during the investigation and prosecution of Judge Findermann, he had come to understand that Wohl was anything but a fool, and it logically followed from that that if Wohl was willing to play along with Washington, there was probably a good reason for it.
Secondly, the one bit of specific advice he had been given by District Attorney Thomas J. Callis had concerned Jason Washington.
"Not only does he know how to deal with, in other words, read, this kind of scum, but he has forgotten more about criminal law than you know. So don't make the mistake of trying to tell him how to do his job. I can't imagine Washington doing anything dumb, but if he does, Wohl will catch him at it, and he will take 'suggestions' from Wohl. Understand?"
The idea of getting one or more of the seven to testify against the others to save himself had a positive appeal. The State had only Monahan as a witness, which was rather frightening to consider. If this case went down the toilet, he would have egg all over his face. People with egg on their faces only rarely ever get to become the governor.
Kenneth H. Dome, aka "King," aka Hussein El Baruca, in handcuffs, a uniformed police officer on each arm, was led into Homicide and taken into a second, identical interview room and cuffed to the steel chair.
"Here we go again,"
D'Amata said. "Anyone want to bet that this one will announce that he has been thinking of his aged mother and wants to make a clean breast of the whole thing?"
D'Amata, Wohl, and Washington waited until Mr. Estivez had been uncuffed from his steel chair, cuffed behind his back, and led out of Homicide before going into the second interview room. Stillwell followed them.
The only thing that bothered him was how long this process was taking. He had scheduled a press conference to announce the arrest of these people, and the determination of Assistant District Attorney Farnsworth Stillwell to prosecute them to the full extent of the law, for nine o'clock, and two things bothered him about that: Should he take Wohl and Washington with him, or, more accurately,ask them, one of them, or both, to come along?
Having Washington in the picture-literally the picture, there were sure to be photographers-might be valuable, vis-a-vis the AfroAmerican voters, somewhere down the pike. Wohl, however, was a little too attractive, well dressed, well spoken, and with a reputation. The goddamn press was likely to be as interested, even more interested, in what he had to say than they would be in Farnsworth Stillwell.
And finally, is there going to be time to get from here to my office in time to meet the press?
The little playlet was run again, and a few minutes later, Wohl, Washington, and Stillwell were standing outside Captain Quaire's office again.
"I don't want to bubble over with enthusiasm," Washington said. "But I have a feeling that Mr. Dome may decide that being a religious martyr is not really his bag."
Detective D'Amata came out of the interview room, and announced, surprising no one, that Kenneth H. Dome, aka "King," aka Hussein El Baruca, had also elected to avail himself of his right to legal counsel before deciding whether or not he would answer any questions.
"What about him, Joe?" Washington said.
"You picked up on that too, huh, Jason?" D'Amata replied. "Yeah. Maybe. Maybe after the lineup. I wouldn't bet on it."
"I'm tempted to," Stillwell said. "Sergeant Washington's insight into things like that is legendary."
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