" 'A runaround'?" Czernick asked. "Come on, Colonel. We don't operate that way, and you know we don't."
"Well, then, where is she?" Mawson asked.
"I don't know, but I'll damned sure find out," Czernick said. He pulled one of the telephones on his desk to him and dialed a number from memory.
"Homicide, Lieutenant DelRaye."
"This is the commissioner, Lieutenant," Taddeus Czernick said. "I understand that Miss Louise Dutton is the citizen who reported finding Mr. Nelson's body."
"Yes, sir, that's true."
"Do you know where Miss Dutton is at this moment?"
"Yes, sir. She's here. Inspector Wohl just brought her in. We've just started to take her statement."
"Well, hold off on that a minute," Czernick said. "Miss Dutton's legal counsel, Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, is here with me in my office. He wants to be present during any questioning of his client. He'll be right down."
"Yes, sir," DelRaye said.
Commissioner Czernick hung up and looked up at Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson.
"You heard that?" he asked, and Mawson nodded. "Not only is she right here in the building, but Staff Inspector Peter Wohl is with her. You know Wohl?"
Mawson shook his head no.
"Very bright, very young for his rank," Czernick said. "When I heard that Miss Dutton was a witness to Captain Moffitt's shooting, I asked Wohl to make sure that she was treated properly. We don't want WCBLTV's anchor lady sore at the police department, Colonel. I'm sure that Wohl showed her every possible courtesy."
"Then where the hell has she been? Why haven't I been able to see her, even find out where she is, until you got on the phone?"
"I'm sure she'll tell you where she's been," Czernick said. "There's been some crossed wire someplace, but whatever has been done, I'll bet you a dime to a doughnut, has been in your client's best interest, not against it."
Mawson looked at him, and decided he was telling the truth.
"We still friends, Colonel?" Commissioner Czernick asked.
"Don't be silly," Mawson said. "Of course we are."
"Then can I ask you a question?" Czernick asked, and went ahead without waiting for a response. "Why is Philadelphia's most distinguished practitioner of criminal law involved with the routine interview of a witness to a homicide?"
"Homicides," Mawson said. "Plural. Two cases of murder in the first degree."
"Homicides," Commissioner Czernick agreed.
"Okay, Ted," Mawson said. "We're friends. At half past three this morning, I had a telephone call. From London. From Stanford Fortner Wells III."
Commissioner Czernick shrugged. He didn't know the name.
"Wells Newspapers?" Mawson asked.
"Okay," Czernick said. "Sure."
"He told me he had just been on the telephone to Jack Tone, of McNeel, Tone, Schwartzenberger and Cohan, and that Jack had been kind enough to describe me as the… what he said was 'the dean of the Philadelphia criminal bar.' "
"That seems to be a fair description," Commissioner Czernick said, smiling. He was familiar with the Washington, D.C., law firm of McNeel, Tone, Schwartzenberger and Cohan. They were heavyweights, representing the largest of theFortune 500 companies, their staff larded with former cabinet-level government officials.
"Mr. Wells said that he had just learned his daughter was in some kind of trouble with the police, and that he wanted me to take care of whatever it was, and get back to him. And he told me his daughter's name was Louise Dutton."
"Well, that's interesting, isn't it?" Czernick said. "Dutton must be a TV name."
"We're friends, Ted," Mawson said. "That goes no farther than these office walls, right?"
"Positively," Commissioner Czernick said.
"Presuming your Inspector Wohl hasn't had her up at the House of Correction, working her over with a rubber hose, Ted," Mawson said, " asking him to look after her was probably a very good idea."
Commissioner Czernick laughed, heartily, and shook his head, and walked to Mawson and put his hand on his arm. "Can you find Homicide all right, Colonel? Or would you like me to have Sergeant Jankowitz show you the way?"
"I can find it all right," Mawson said. "Thank you for seeing me, Commissioner."
"Anytime, Colonel," Czernick said. "My door's always open to you. You know that."
The moment Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson was out the door, Commissioner Czernick went to the telephone, dialed the Homicide number, and asked for Inspector Wohl.
When Wohl came on the line, Commissioner Czernick asked, "Anything going on down there that you can't leave for five minutes?"
"No, sir."
"Then will you please come up here, Peter?"
****
There are four interview rooms in the first-floor Roundhouse offices of the Homicide Division of the Philadelphia Police Department. They are small windowless cubicles furnished with a table and several chairs. One of the chairs is constructed of steel and is firmly bolted to the floor. There is a hole in the seat through which handcuffs can be locked, when a suspect is judged likely to require this kind of restraint.
There is a one-way mirror on one wall, through which the interviewee and his interrogators can be observed without being seen. No real attempt is made to conceal its purpose. Very few people ever sit in an interview room who have not seen cop movies, or otherwise have acquired sometimes rather extensive knowledge of police interrogative techniques and equipment.
When Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson walked into Homicide, Miss Louise Dutton was in one of the interview rooms. Mawson recognized her from television. She was wearing a suit, with lace at the neck. She was better-looking than he remembered.
With her were three people, one of whom, Lieutenant DelRaye, Mawson had once had on the witness stand for a day and a half, enough time for them both to have acquired an enduring distaste for the other. There was a police stenographer, a gray-haired woman, and a young man in blue blazer and gray flannel slacks who looked like a successful automobile dealer, but who had to be, Mawson decided, Staff Inspector Wohl, "very bright; very young for his rank."
"Miss Dutton, I'm J. Dunlop Mawson," he said, and handed her his card. She glanced at it and handed it to Inspector Wohl, who looked at it, and handed it to Lieutenant DelRaye, who put it in his pocket.
"Lieutenant, I intended that for Miss Dutton," Mawson said.
"Sorry," DelRaye said, and retrieved the card and handed it to Louise.
"The station sent you, I suppose, Mr. Mawson?" Louise Dutton asked.
"Actually, it was your father," Mawson said.
"Okay," Louise Dutton said, obviously pleased. She looked at Inspector Wohl and smiled.
"Gentlemen, may I have a moment with my client?" Mawson asked.
"You're coming back?" Louise Dutton asked Inspector Wohl.
"Absolutely," Wohl said. "I'll just be a couple of minutes."
"Let's step out in the corridor a moment, Miss Dutton, shall we?" Mawson asked.
"What's wrong with here?"
"I meant alone," he said, gesturing at the one-way mirror. "And I wouldn't be at all surprised if there was a microphone in here that someone might inadvertently turn on."
She got up and followed him out of the room, and out of the Homicide office into the curved corridor. Mawson saw her eyes following Inspector Wohl as he walked down the corridor.
"How far did the interview get?" Mawson asked.
"Nowhere," she said. "The stenographer just got there."
"Good," he said. "I've been looking for you since four this morning, Miss Dutton. Where have they had you?"
"Since four?"
"Your father called from London at half past three," Mawson said.
"Okay," she said.
"I went to your apartment, and they said you had been taken here, and when I came here, no one seemed to know anything about you. Where did they have you?"
"What exactly are you going to do for me here and now, Mr. Mawson?" Louise replied.
&n
bsp; "Well, I'll be present to advise you during their interview, of course. To protect your rights. You didn't answer my question, Miss Dutton?"
"You can't take the hint? That I didn't want to answer it?They didn't have me anywhere. Where I was, I don't think is any of your business."
"Your father is going to be curious, I'm sure of that."
"It's none of his business, either," Louise said.
"We seem to have somehow gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Dutton," Mawson said. "I'm really sorry. Let's try to start again. I'm here to protect your interests, your rights. To defend you, in other words. I' m on your side."
"My side? The cops are the bad guys? You've got that wrong, Mr. Mawson. I'm on their side. I'll tell the cops anything they want to know. I want them to catch whoever butchered Jerome Nelson."
"You misunderstand me," Mawson said.
"I want to be as helpful and cooperative as I can," Louise said. "I just wasn't up to it last night… or early this morning, and that's what that flap was all about. But I've had some rest, and now I'm willing to do whatever they want me to."
"What 'flap'?"
"There was some disagreement last night about when I was to come here," she said. "But Inspector Wohl took care of that."
"All I want to do, Miss Dutton, is protect your rights," Mawson said. "I'd like to be there when they question you."
"I can take care of my own rights," she said.
"Your father asked me to come here, Miss Dutton," Mawson said.
"Yeah, you said that," Louise said. She looked at him thoughtfully, obviously making up her mind. "Okay. So long as you understand how I feel."
"I understand," Mawson said. "You were close to Mr. Nelson?"
She didn't respond immediately.
"He was a friend when I needed one," she said, finally.
Mawson nodded. "Well, why don't we go back in there and get it over with?"
****
The door from the curving third-floor corridor to the commissioner's office opens onto a small anteroom, crowded with desks. The commissioner's private office is to the right; directly ahead is the commissioner's conference room, equipped with a long, rather ornate table. Its windows overlooked the just-completed Metropolitan Hospital on Race Street.
When Peter Wohl walked into the outer office, he saw the conference room was crowded with people. He recognized Deputy Commissioner Howell, Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin, Captain Henry C. Quaire, commanding officer of the Homicide Bureau, Captain Charley Gaft of the Civil Disobedience Squad, Captain Jack McGovern of the Second District, and Chief Inspector of Detectives Matt Lowenstein before someone closed the door.
"He's waiting for you, Inspector," Sergeant Jank Jankowitz said, gesturing toward the commissioner's office door.
"Thank you," Peter said, and walked to the open door and put his head in.
"Come on in, Peter," Commissioner Czernick said. "And close the door."
"Good morning, sir," Peter said.
"I've got a meeting waiting. This will have to be quick," Czernick said. "I want to know what happened with that TV girl from the time I asked you to keep a lid on things. If something went wrong, start there."
"Nothing went wrong, sir," Peter said. "I had her taken from the scene by two cops I borrowed from Jack McGovern. She went to WCBL, and the cops stayed with her until she was finished. Then they took her home. I later went to her apartment and brought her to Homicide." He smiled, and went on: "Jason Washington put on his kindly uncle suit, and the interview went very well. She told me afterward she thought he was a really nice fellow."
Commissioner Czernick smiled, and went on: "But you did get involved with what happened later? With the Nelson murder?"
"Yes, sir. I was on my way home from dinner-"
"Did you go by the Moffitt house? I didn't see you. I saw your dad and mother."
"No, I didn't," Peter said. "I'm going to go to the wake. I went and had dinner… damn!"
"Something wrong?"
"I had dinner in Alfredo's," Peter said. "Vincenzo Savarese came by the table, with his wife and sister, and said he was sorry to hear about Dutch Moffitt, and left. When I called for the bill, they told me he'd picked up the tab. I forgot about that. I want to send a memo to Internal Affairs."
"Who were you with?"
"A girl named Barbara Crowley. She's a nurse at the Psychiatric Institute."
"That's the girl you took to Herman Webb's retirement party?"
"Yes, sir."
"I admire your taste, Peter," Commissioner Czernick said. "She seems to be a very fine young woman."
"So my mother keeps telling me," Wohl said.
"You should listen to your mother," Czernick said, smiling.
"When I got home, I called Homicide to see if anything had happened, if they'd found Gerald Vincent Gallagher, and they told me what had happened at Stockton Place, and I figured I'd better go, and I did."
That, Peter thought, wasn't the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but it wasn't a lie. So why do 1 feel uncomfortable?
"What happened there?"
"Can I go off the record?" Wohl asked.
The commissioner looked at him with surprise, thought that over, and then nodded.
"Lieutenant DelRaye had rolled on the job, and with his usual tact, he'd rubbed Louise Dutton the wrong way. When I got there, she was locked in her apartment, and DelRaye was about to take down her door. He had a wagon waiting to bring her over here."
"Jesus!" Czernick said. "So what happened?"
"I talked to her. She'd found the body, and was understandably pretty upset. She said she was not going to come over here, period. And she meant it. She asked me to take her out of there, and I did."
"Where did you take her?"
"To my place," Peter said. "She said she didn't want to go to a hotel. I'm sure she felt she would be recognized. Anyway, it was half past two in the morning, and it seemed like the thing to do."
"You better hope your girl friend doesn't find out," Czernick said.
"So I calmed her down, and gave her something to eat, and at eight o' clock, I brought her in. I just got to Homicide when you called down there."
"How do you think she feels about the police department?" Czernick asked.
"DelRaye aside, I think she likes us," Peter said.
"She going to file a complaint about DelRaye?" Czernick asked.
"No, sir."
"You see Colonel Mawson downstairs?"
"Yes, sir. I guess WCBL sent him over?"
"No," Czernick said. "The name Stanford Fortner Wells mean anything to you, Peter?"
Wohl shook his head no.
"Wells Newspapers?" Czernick pursued.
"Oh, yeah. Sure."
"He sent the colonel," Czernick said.
Peter suddenly recalled, very clearly, what he'd thought when he'd first seen Louise Dutton's apartment; that she couldn't afford it; that she might be a high-class hooker on the side, or some rich man's "good friend." That certainly would explain a lot.
"He's her father," Czernick went on. "So it seems the extra courtesies we have been giving Miss Dutton were the thing to do."
"She told me she had tried to call her father, but that he was out of the country," Peter said. "London, she said. She didn't tell me who he was."
He realized that he had just experienced an emotional shock, several emotions all at once. He was ashamed that he had been so willing to accept that Louise was someone's mistress, which would have neatly explained how she could afford that expensive apartment. His relief at learning that Stanford Wells was her father, not her lover, was startling. And immediately replaced with disappointment, even chagrin. Whatever slim chance there could be that something might develop between him and Louise had just been blown out of the water. The daughter of a newspaper empire was not about to even dally with a cop, much less move with him into a vine-covered cottage by the side of the road.
"Peter, I want you to stay with th
is," Commissioner Czernick said. " I'm going to tell J. Arthur Nelson that I've assigned you to oversee the case and that you'll report to him at least daily where the investigation is leading."
"Yes, sir," Peter said.
"Find out where things stand, and then you call him. Better yet, go see him."
"Yes, sir."
"Make sure that he understands what you're telling him is for him personally, not for theLedger. Tell him as much as you think you can. I don't want theLedger screaming about police ineptitude. And stay with the Dutton woman, too. I don't want the Philadelphia Police Department's federal grants cut because Stanford Fortner Wells III tells his politicians to cut them. Which I think he damned sure would have done if we had brought his daughter here handcuffed in the back of a wagon."
"Yes, sir," Peter said.
"That's it, Peter," Commissioner Czernick said. "Keep me advised."
NINE
Mr. and Mrs. Kevin McFadden, who lived in a row house on Fitzgerald Street, not far from Methodist Hospital in South Philadelphia, were not entirely pleased with their son Charles's choice of a career as a policeman. Kevin McFadden had been an employee of the Philadelphia Gas Works since he had left high school, and Mrs. McFadden (Agnes) had just naturally assumed that Charley would follow in his father's footsteps. By and large the gas works had treated Kevin McFadden all right for twenty-seven years, and when he turned sixty, he would have a nice pension, based on (by then) forty-one years of service to the company.
Mrs. Agnes McFadden could not understand why Charley, who his father had got on as a helper with the gas works after his graduation from Bishop Newman High School, had thrown that over to become a cop. Her primary concern was for her son's safety. Being a policeman was a dangerous job. Whenever she went in Charley's room and saw his gun and the boxes of ammunition for it, on the closet shelf, it made her shudder.
And it wasn't as if he would have been a helper forever. You can't start at the top, you have to work your way up. Kevin had worked his way up. He was now a lead foreman, and the money was good, and with his seniority, he got all of his weekends and most holidays off.
Kevin hadn't been a lot of a help, when Agnes McFadden had tried to talk Charley out of quitting the gas works and going on the cops. He had taken Charley's side, agreeing with him that a pension when you were forty-five was a hell of a lot better than a pension you got only when you were sixty, if you lived that long.
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