The Witness boh-4

by W. E. B Griffin

  "Officer Lewis," he said, "you will now go stand by the hood of the car until a police wrecker comes to haul it off. If you somehow could convey the impression that it has a mysterious malady, fine. But in no event let anyone touch it, much less get inside."

  "Yes, sir."

  ****

  Assistant Special Agent in Charge (Criminal Affairs) Frank F. Young came into the morning Senior Staff Conference ten minutes late.

  "Sorry to be late, Chief," he said as he took a chair at the table that butted against Special Agent in Charge Walter F. Davis's desk and made a vague but unmistakable gesture of dismissal to Special Agent F. Charles Vorhiss, who had been filling in for him.

  Davis waited until Vorhiss had left the room before replying, "It's all right, Frank, we know what difficulty you have getting up before noon."

  Not quite sure whether Davis was cracking witty or had some other agenda, Young said, "I was just having the most fascinating conversation with Agent Matthews, whowas out carousing until the wee hours."

  "With the cops, you mean?"

  "In the FOP," Young said.

  "We were, just coincidentally, talking about the police," Davis said, and slid a copy of the PhiladelphiaLedger across the desk to him. " Have you seen this?"

  "No," Young said, and since he suspected he was expected to, he read the front-page story.

  ASSASSINS GET PAST POLICE TO MURDER WITNESS AGAINST ILA

  By Charles E. Whaley

  Ledger Staff Writer

  Albert J. Monahan, 56, was shot to death before his wife's eyes early this morning at his home in the 5600 block of Sylvester Street according to a highly placed police official who declined to be identified.

  Monahan was shot with a small-caliber weapon, according to the same police official, when he opened his door to an assassin who had somehow gotten past three officers of the "elite" Special Operations Division that was charged with his round-the-clock protection.

  Staff Inspector Peter F. Wohl, commanding officer of the Special Operations Division, which was formed, reportedly at the orders of Mayor Jerry Carlucci, late last year to combat the growing crime in Philadelphia, was "not available to the press" for comment.

  Monahan, who was employed by Goldblatt amp; Sons Credit Furniture amp; Appliances, Inc., was scheduled to appear before the Grand Jury next Monday. Assistant District Attorney Farnsworth Stillwell was to seek an indictment for murder against six men for a shooting death during a robbery at the South Street furniture store. Monahan reportedly had positively identified seven men presently being held in the Detention Center as being involved.

  "Prosecution now seems unlikely," the police official said, "with the death of Mr. Monahan, and Mr. Stillwell off the case." He was apparently referring to the appointment, announced today, of Stillwell to the staff of the state attorney general in Harrisburg. (See " Governor Names Stillwell As Corporate Crime Prosecutor," Page B-l).

  Police have thrown up a barrier of silence around the incident. Police Captain Michael J. Sabara, deputy commander of Special Operations, the only senior police official willing to speak officially to the press at all, would say only that "the incident is under investigation and no information can be released at this time."

  Sabara also refused to discuss rumors circulating throughout the Police Department that the Justice Department is investigating Officer M. M. Payne, Inspector Wohl's administrative assistant. During the arrest of the eight men charged in the Goldblatt robbery, Payne shot to death one of the alleged bandits, Charles David Stevens. It has been said the Justice Department is investigating allegations that Payne, who has something of a reputation for being too quick to use his pistol, exceeded Police Department criteria governing the use of force. If the allegations are true, Payne could be charged with violating Stevens's civil rights, a federal offense.

  "Jesus!" Young said. "I wonder how that happened?"

  "How about gross incompetence?" Glenn Williamson, A-SAC (Administration), asked rhetorically.

  "I would think it's a case of having underestimated the opposition," SAC Davis said. "What do we have on the ILA? Did you check with Washington?"

  "There's three of them," A-SAC (Counterintelligence) Isaac J. Towne said. "One in New York, one in Chicago, and one in Berkeley, California. There is no known connection between the three, and no known connection between any of them and anyone in Philadelphia."

  "Have we got anybody in with them?"

  "In all three. That's where we got what I came up with."

  "Any of them ever into anything like this?"

  "They're mostly into protest marches," Towne said. "Talk and protest marches."

  "I'd like to help Wohl if I could," SAC Davis said.

  "There was something I heard-" Towne said, stopped, and then went on. "I heard that Wohl was going with Farnsworth Stillwell. As his chief investigator."

  "Really?" Davis asked.

  "He might as well," Young said. "I'll bet Carlucci throws him to the wolves."

  "You think that 'unnamed police official' was Carlucci?"

  "I think it was somebody close to Czernick. Maybe even Czernick himself."

  "Not Czernick," Davis said. "Czernick wouldn't do that, unless Carlucci told him to. But somebody close to Czernick-"

  "If Carlucci isn't behind it, and finds out who the big mouth is, he' s in more trouble than Wohl."

  "I don't think anyone's in more trouble than Wohl," Davis said. "How good was your source about Wohl going with Stillwell?"

  "I just heard it. I can't even remember where. Maybe on one of those radio talk shows driving to work.

  "See what you can find out for sure, Isaac, will you please?" Davis said.

  "Yes, sir," Towne said.

  "I'll tell you what I can see," Davis said. "Armed robberies of banks, with witnesses afraid to testify because of this case, because of what happened to Mr. Monahan."

  "You really think so, Chief?" Young asked.

  "I think it's a credible possibility," Davis said. "I think this could be a dry run for something like that."

  "Well, there goes our bank robbery solution rate," A-SAC Williamson said.

  "I wasn't trying to be funny, Glenn," Davis said.

  "Chief, neither was I," Williamson said. "I'm very much afraid you're absolutely right."

  "I hope not," Davis said.

  It was evident to the others that Davis did not violently object to being told he was absolutely right.

  "This isn't exactly on the same subject-" Young said.

  "But?" Davis prodded.

  "I told you the reason I was late was because I was talking with Jack Matthews. He heard something last night that might, just might, affect one of our ongoing investigations."

  "Which one?"

  "Bob Holland."

  "Oh, Jesus, that's all we need! We're getting pretty close to the end of that, aren't we?"

  "At the cost of I don't like to think how much money and man-hours," A-SAC Williamson said, "I have been assured that we are beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel."

  "Well, spit it out, Frank, what did young Matthews hear?"

  "Nothing specific. But what he did hear made him think he should bring me in on it. He went drinking with young Payne, his bodyguard, and another young cop-"

  "What the hell isthat all about?" Williamson interrupted.

  "He went out drinking with the cops? I've been telling my people to maintain a polite, cordial, but distant-"

  "I sent him," Davis said, annoyance in his voice. "Okay, Glenn? Go on, Frank."

  "Well, toward the end of the evening, when Matthews mentioned that he was working on interstate auto theft, he said the ears of both Payne and one of the cops-McSomething- perked up, and they started asking all sorts of questions about how the Bureau runs a car theft investigation. From the nature of their questions, Jack thought that they could be talking about Bob Holland's operation."

  "What kind of questions?" A-SAC Towne asked.

  "Why don't
we go to the source?" SAC Davis said. He picked up his telephone. "Carolyn, would you please ask Special Agent Matthews to come in here?"

  ****

  "Who's that?" Officer Robert Hartzog said into the microphone of the new intercom on the wall of Matt Payne's kitchen.

  "Inspector Wohl."

  "Be right there, Inspector," Hartzog said. He then went down the stairs two at a time.

  Wohl appeared a moment later at the head of the stairs, carrying Hartzog's shotgun.

  "I told him to take a couple of laps around Rittenhouse Square," Wohl said, resting the shotgun against the closet door. "And how areyou this morning, Casanova?"

  "I heard about what happened," Matt said. "I'm sorry."

  "For me or Monahan?"

  "Both."

  "I'm sorry for Malone and Monahan, and for me. I'm even sorry for you. Everybody's sorry for someone else."

  "Why are you sorry for me?" Matt asked.

  "I would desperately like to have a cold beer," Wohl said, as if he hadn't heard the question. "For purely medicinal purposes."

  "Help yourself," Matt said, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Bring me one too, please."

  "You want a glass?" Wohl called the kitchen.

  "Absolutely. A good beer, like a decent wine, needs to breathe."

  "Oh, God!"

  "It's true," Matt said.

  Wohl came into the living room with two bottles of Tuborg, glasses sitting upside down on their necks.

  "And there is a way to get the beer from the bottle to the glass," Matt said, demonstrating. "One pours the glass approximately half full by decanting against the side of the glass, and then, at the precise moment, allowing the incoming liquid to fall into the middle, thus providing the proper head."

  He looked at Wohl, smiling. Wohl did not return the smile.

  "You're going to be investigated by the FBI, for the Justice Department, for violating the civil rights of Charles David Stevens."

  "I know. The FBI told me last night."

  "They were here already?" Wohl asked, surprised.

  "They sent a young FBI agent, Jack Matthews, to tell me. On the QT."

  "How nice of the FBI," Wohl said. "I wonder why they are being so friendly?"

  "I've been wondering the same thing myself."

  "I wouldn't worry about this, Matt."

  "You know the joke?"

  "What joke?"

  "The doctor about to perform major surgery looks down at the patient and says,Iwouldn't worry about this,' and the patient looks up and says,'if I wasn't lying here, I wouldn't be worried either.'"

  "Well, I mean it. It's a defense tactic, a sleazy one, but that's all it is."

  "I was worried about it," Matt said. "But I just got off the telephone with Colonel Mawson. He said he's going to sue the-what is it?-Coalition for Something?"

  "Equitable Law Enforcement."

  "He's going to sue them for ninety-nine million dollars, the minute the FBI actually shows up here. I think he's delighted it happened."

  Wohl smiled.

  "I had a few too many drinks last night."

  "The Tuborg will fix that," Matt said.

  "I shouldn't have made that early morning call."

  "Why don't we both forget it? I just hope, among other things, that the knowledge won't make it awkward for you with Stillwell. How the hell did you find out, anyhow?"

  "Why should it be awkward for me?

  "In Harrisburg, I mean."

  "I'm not going to Harrisburg."

  "That's not what it said on the radio. The radio said you had been appointed chief investigator to Stillworth, who was just appointed to some bullshit position with the attorney general."

  "The radio is wrong. Never believe what you hear on the radio. For that matter, never believe what you read in the newspaper, especially theLedger.

  "Really?"

  "Dave Pekach proposed to Martha Peebles. Surprising no one at all, she accepted. She had a few of his friends, Mike Sabara and his wife, Jack Malone, and me, plus Mr. and Mrs. Farnsworth Stillwell in for a little intimate supper."

  "And that's where you found out? Matt asked. "Christ, how?

  "Yourparamour -is that the word?"

  "For the sake of discussion only, it will do."

  "Yourparamour, as I said, was there. She sounded very much like a lady who left erotic messages on your answering machine. Being the clever fellow I am, I put two and two together. And being the horse's ass I seem to be when I'm drinking, I-I called you."

  "Christ, does anybody else know?"

  "I don't think so. But that wasn't the smartest thing you ever did, Matt."

  "You ever hear that a stiff prick has no conscience?"

  "How deep are you in with her?"

  "It happened just once," Matt said. "She was at a party downstairs. She saw my gun and got turned on by it. She was a little drunk."

  "Are you going to pursue it?" Wohl asked, and then, before Matt could reply, asked, "What do you mean she got turned on by your gun?

  "It was a little frightening. She wanted to know if it was the gun I used on the serial rapist. It aroused her."

  "Well,are you going to pursue it?"

  "What do you do to get out of something like this?"

  "You thank God the lady's leaving town. In the meantime, don't answer your telephone."

  "Anything like this ever happen to you?"

  "You mean a gun fetishist?"

  "I mean a married woman."

  "Yeah. Once. It was very painful."

  Matt picked up his glass and leaned back in the leather armchair, looking thoughtfully into his beer.

  I wonder why I told him that? Wohl thought. I damned sure never told anybody else.

  "I don't want to sound like I didn't know what I was doing, but I didn't actually seduce her," Matt said.

  "No man has ever seduced a mature woman," Wohl said. "And probably very few virgins have ever been seduced. The way it works is thatthey decide whothey want to have take them to bed, and thenthey arrange to be seduced."

  Matt looked up at him.

  "You really believe that?"

  I don't know if I do or not. It sounds plausible. But what I was really trying to do was cheer him up. More than that, to point him onto Ye Olde Straight and Narrow.

  Why the hell am I doing that? What the hell am I doing here, anyway? I could have told him about the FBI investigation on the phone.

  The answer, obviously, is that I am very fond of this kid. He is, I suppose, the little brother that I never had. So what's wrong with that?

  "It sounds plausible," Wohl said with a grin.

  "So I'm not on your shit list?"

  "You're not on mine, butI'm apparently on everybody else's."

  "They're not blaming you for what happened?"

  "It's a question of who had the responsibility. That's spelled W O H L."

  "You couldn't be expected to sit outside his house yourself," Payne argued. "If it's anybody's fault, it's Jack Malone's."

  "Malone works for me," Wohl said. "Whatever he does, or doesn't do, is my responsibility."

  "Loyalty down and loyalty up, huh?"

  "Is something wrong with that?"

  Matt shrugged and looked uncomfortable.

  "Come on, Matt, out with it."

  Payne met his eyes.

  "Did you tell Malone to lay off trying to catch Bob Holland?"

  "Not specifically," Wohl replied. "I'm sure he got the message, though." And then he understood the meaning of Payne's question. "What do you know that I don't, Matt?"

  "I promised him if I decided to tell you, I would tell him first."

  "This isn't the Boy Scouts. You can't have it both ways."

  "Charley caught him surveilling Holland's body shop, the one up by Temple."

  "What do you mean, caught him?"

  "McFadden-off duty, he had just dropped Margaret off at work at Temple-"

  "Margaret being his girlfriend?"

  "Right. So h
e saw this old car with somebody in it parked near Holland's body shop. And he checked it out. It was Malone. He, Malone, told Charley not to tell anybody about it."

  "Which proves what?"

  "The night you had me measuring the school building, Malone showed up there. Charley was with me. He offered to buy us a cheese-steak, and I brought him here. Both of them. And he admitted that what he was trying to do was catch Holland."

  "And you decided not to tell me, right?"

  Matt nodded.

  "I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't gone to play Dick Tracy and gotten myself shot, but that night, I told Malone I was going to sleep on it, that I would probably decide I had to tell you, but if I did, I would tell him first."

  "You must have had a reason," Wohl said, more than a little annoyed. "You work for me, getting back to that loyalty business.

  "He convinced the both us that Holland is a thief," Matt said.

  "You and McFadden, of course, being experts in the area of car theft."

  "Open the goddamn door!" the intercom speaker erupted. "Michael J. O' Hara is gracing these crummy premises with his presence."

  "Oh, shit!" Wohl said, even though he had to smile. "The last guy in Philadelphia I want to see is Mickey."

  "You want to hide in the bedroom while I get rid of him?"

  "No," Wohl said, after a moment's hesitation. "I've always thought, said, Mickey can be trusted. Let's put it to the test."

  He walked quickly to the stairwell, and down it, to let O'Hara in.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  "Imust be getting old," Michael J. O'Hara said to Inspector Peter Wohl as Wohl handed him a bottle of Tuborg. "I should have guessed you would be here."

  "I'm not here, Mickey. You didn't see me."

  O'Hara looked at him intently for a moment, and then shrugged and nodded his agreement.

  "Okay. Neither of us are here. But if we were here, and I asked you, on or off the record, 'How do you think you're going to like Harrisburg?' what would be your off-the-record, just-between-us-boys reply?"

  "Onthe record, I'm not going to Harrisburg."

  "That's not what it said-whathe said,he being Farnsworth Stillwell-on the radio."

  "As I was just saying to Casanova here, you should never believe everything you hear on the radio, or read in the newspapers, especially theLedger."