Special Operations boh-2

by W. E. B Griffin

  ****

  "So what does Mr. Walton Williams have to say about the burglaries of the Peebles residence?" Staff Inspector Peter Wohl inquired, at almost the same moment Martha Peebles handed Captain David Pekach the 1893 wild cherry-stocked Ludwig Hamner Remington rolling-blockSchuetzen rifle.

  "We had a little trouble finding him, Inspector," Officer Charley McFadden replied.

  "But you did find him?"

  "No, sir," McFadden said. "Not really."

  "You didn't find him?" Wohl pursued.

  "No, sir. Inspector, we was in every other fag bar in Philadelphia, last night."

  "Plus the bar in the FOP?" Wohl asked.

  "We met Payne there is all, Inspector," McFadden said.

  "Oh, I thought maybe you thought you would find Mr. Williams hanging around the FOP."

  "No, sir. It was just a place to meet Payne."

  "So you had nothing to drink in the FOP?"

  "Hay-zus didn't," Charley said.

  "Does that mean that you and Payne had a drink? A couple of drinks?"

  "We had a couple of beers, yes, sir."

  "Payne can't hold his liquor very well, can he?"

  "He put it away all right last night, it seemed to me," McFadden said.

  "In the FOP, or someplace else?"

  "We had to order something besides a soda when we was looking for Williams, sir."

  "Hay-zus, too?"

  "Hay-zus doesn't drink," McFadden said.

  "I thought you just said, or implied, that to look credible in the various bars and clubs in which you sought the elusive Mr. Williams, it was necessary to drink something other than soda."

  "I don't know how Hay-zus handles it, sir."

  "Weren't you with him?"

  "No, sir. We split up. Hay-zus took the plain car, and I took Payne and we looked in different places."

  "Using a personal vehicle?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Must have been fun," Wohl said. "To judge by the way Payne looks and smells this morning."

  "He looked all right to me when we went home," Charley said.

  "I'll take your word for that, Officer McFadden," Wohl said. "Far be it from me to suggest that you would consider yourself to be on duty with a bellyful of booze and impaired judgment."

  "Yes, sir," McFadden said.

  "I have a theory why you were unable to locate Mr. Williams last night," Wohl said. "Would you care to hear it?"

  "Yes, sir," McFadden said.

  Wohl glared at Jesus Martinez.

  "May I infer from your silence that you are not interested in my theory, Officer Martinez?"

  "Yes, sir. No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, I'd like to hear your theory."

  "Thank you," Wohl said. "My theory is that while you, McFadden, and Payne were running around town boozing it up on what you erroneously believed was going to be the taxpayer's expense, and you, Martinez, were doing-I have no idea what-that Mr. Williams went back to Glengarry Lane and burglarized poor Miss Peebles yet one more time. You did hear about the burglary?"

  "Yes, sir," Martinez said. "Just before we came in here."

  "Miss Peebles is not going to be burglarized again," Peter Wohl said.

  "Yes, sir," they replied in chorus.

  "Would either or both of you be interested to know why I am so sure of that?"

  "Yes, sir," they chorused again.

  "Because, from now until we catch the Peebles burglar, or hell freezes over, which ever comes sooner, between sundown and sunup, one of the three of you is going to be parked somewhere within sight and sound of the Peebles residence."

  "Sir," Martinez protested, "he sees somebody in a car, he's not going to hit her house again."

  "True," Wohl said. "That's the whole point of the exercise."

  "Then how are we going to catch him?" Martinez said.

  "I'll leave that up to you," Wohl said. "With the friendly advice that since however you were going about that last night obviously didn't work, that it might be wise to try something else. Are there any questions?"

  Both shook their heads no.

  Wohl made a gesture with his right hand, which had the fingers balled and the thumb extended. Officers McFadden and Martinez interpreted the gesture to mean that they were dismissed and should leave.

  When they were gone, and the door had been closed after them, Captain Michael J. Sabara, who had been sitting quietly on the couch, now quietly applauded.

  "Very good, Inspector," he said.

  "I used to be a Highway Corporal," Wohl said. "You thought I'd forgotten how to eat a little ass?"

  "They're good kids," Sabara said.

  "Yes, they are," Wohl said. "And I want to keep them that way. Reining them in a little when they first get here is probably going to prevent me from having to jump on them with both feet a little down the pike."

  EIGHTEEN

  "What we're going to do," Officer Jesus Martinez said, turning to Officer Charles McFadden as they stood at the urinals in the Seventh DistrictPOLICE PERSONNEL ONLY men's room, "is give your rich-kid rookie buddy the midnight-to-sunup shift."

  "What are you pissed at him for?" Charley McFadden asked.

  "You dumb shit! Where do you think Wohl heard that you two were boozing it up last night?"

  "We wasn't boozing it up last night," McFadden argued.

  "Tell that to Wohl," Martinez said, sarcastically.

  "If we make him work from midnight, then who's going to be staking out the house from sunset to midnight? Somebody's going to have to be there."

  McFadden's logic was beyond argument, which served to anger Martinez even more.

  "That sonofabitch is trouble, Charley," he said, furiously. "And he ain'tnever going to make a cop."

  "I think he's all right," McFadden said. "He just don't know what he' s doing; is all. He just came on the job, is all."

  "You think what you want," Martinez said, zipping up his fly. "Be an asshole. Okay. This is what we'll do: We'll park Richboy outside the house from sunset to midnight. We'll go look for this Walton Williams. Then we'll split the midnight to sunrise. You go first, or me, I don't care."

  "That would make him work what-what time is sunset, six? Say six hours, and we would only be working three hours apiece."

  "Tough shit," Martinez said. "Look, asshole, Wohl meant it: until we catch this Williams guy, we're going to have to stake out the house from sunset to sunrise. So the thing to do is catch Williams, right? Who can do that better, you and me, or your rookie buddy? Shit, he don't even know where to look, much less what he should do if he should get lucky and fall over him."

  Sergeant Ed Frizell raised the same question about the fair division of duty hours when making the stakeout of the Peebles residence official, but bowed to the logic that Officer Payne simply was not qualified to go looking for a suspect on his own. And he authorized three cars, one each for what he had now come to think of as Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, and the Kid. He also independently reached the conclusion that unless Walton Williams was really stupid, or maybe stoned, he would spot the car sitting on Glengarry Lane as a police car, and would not attempt to burglarize the Peebles residence with it there. And that solved the problem of how just-about-wholly inexperienced Matt Payne would deal with the suspect if he encountered him; there would be no suspect to encounter.

  ****

  At two-fifteen, when Staff Inspector Wohl walked into the office after having had luncheon with Detective Jason Washington atD' Allesandro's Steak Shop, on Henry Avenue, Sergeant Frizell informed him that Captain Henry C. Quaire, the commanding officer of the Homicide Bureau, had called, said it was important, and would Wohl please return his call at his earliest opportunity.

  "Get him on the phone, please," Wohl said. Waving at Washington to come along, he went into his office.

  One of the buttons on Wohl's phone began to flash the moment he sat down.

  "Peter Wohl, Henry," he said. "What's up?"

  "I just had a call from the State Trooper bar
racks in Quakertown, Inspector," Quaire said. "I think they found Miss Woodham."

  "Hold it, Henry," Wohl said, and snapped his fingers. When Jason Washington looked at him, Wohl gestured for him to pick up the extension. "Jason's getting on the line."

  "I'm on, Captain," Washington said, as, in a conditioned reflex, he took a notebook from his pocket, then a ballpoint pen.

  "They-the Trooper barracks in Quakertown, Jason," Quaire went on, " have a mutilated corpse of a white female who meets Miss Woodham's description. Been dead twenty-four to thirty-six hours. They fed it to NCIC and got a hit."

  "Shit," Jason Washington said, bitterly.

  "Where did they find it?" Wohl asked, taking a pencil from his desk drawer.

  "In a summer cottage near a little town called Durham," Quaire said. "The location is:"

  He paused, and Wohl had a mental image of him looking for a sheet of paper on which he had written down the information.

  ": 1.2 miles down a dirt road to the left, 4.4 miles west of US 611 on US 212."

  Jason Washington parroted the specifics back to Quaire.

  "That's right," Quaire said.

  "They don't have anything on the doer, I suppose?" Washington said.

  "They said all they have so far is what I just gave you," Quaire said.

  "If they call back," Wohl said, "get it to me right away, will you?"

  "Yes, sir," Quaire said, his tone showing annoyance.

  That was stupid of me, Wohl thought. I shouldn't have told Quaire how to do his job.

  "I didn't mean that the way it came out, Henry," Wohl said. "Sorry."

  There was a pause, during which, Wohl knew, Henry Quaire was deciding whether to accept the apology.

  "The last time we dealt with Quakertown, they were a real pain in the ass, Inspector," Quaire said, finally. "Resented our intrusion into their business. But I know a Trooper Captain in Harrisburg…"

  Wohl considered that a moment.

  "Let's save him until we need him, Henry," he said. "Maybe we'll be lucky this time."

  "Call me if you think I can help," Quaire said.

  "Thanks very much, Henry," Wohl said. "I'll keep you advised."

  "Good luck," Quaire said, and hung up.

  Wohl looked up at Washington.

  "I'll get up there just as fast as I can," Washington said. "I'm wondering if I need Tony up there, too."

  "Whatever you think," Wohl said.

  "Would it be all right if I took the kid with me?" Washington said.

  It took Wohl a moment to take his meaning.

  "Payne, you mean? Sure. Whatever you need."

  "It's in the sticks," Washington explained. "He might be useful to use the phone…"

  "You can have whatever you want," Wohl said. "You want a Highway car to go with you?

  "No, the kid ought to be enough," Washington said. "Highway and the Troopers have never been in love. Would you get in touch with Tony and tell him, and let him decide whether he wants to go up there, too?"

  "Done."

  "Maybe I can get a description of this sonofabitch anyway," Washington said. "Or the van."

  "I was afraid we'd get something like this," Wohl said.

  "It's not like Christmas finally coming is it?" Washington said, and walked out of Wohl's office.

  Matt Payne was sitting at an ancient, lopsided table against the wall beside Sergeant Ed Frizell's desk, typing forms on a battered Underwood typewriter.

  "Come on with me, Payne," Washington said.

  Matt looked at him in surprise, and so did Sergeant Ed Frizell.

  "Where's he going with you?" Frizell said.

  "He's going with me, all right?" Washington said, and took Matt's arm and propelled him toward the door.

  "I need him here," Frizell protested.

  "Tell Wohl your problem," Washington said, and followed Matt outside.

  "You know Route 611? To Doylestown, and then up along the river to Easton?" Washington asked.

  "Yes, sir," Matt said.

  "You drive," Washington said.

  Matt got behind the wheel.

  "Take a right," Washington ordered, "and then a left onto Red Lion."

  "Yes, sir," Matt said, and started off.

  There was a line of cars stopped for a red light at Red Lion Road. Matt started to slow.

  "Go around them to the left," Washington ordered. "Be careful!"

  And then he reached down and threw a switch. A siren started to howl.

  "Try not to kill us," Washington ordered. "But the sooner we get out there, the better. Maybe we can find this sonofabitch before he does it again."

  "Where are we going?"

  "The State Troopers found Miss Woodham," Washington said. "Mutilated. Dead, of course. In the sticks."

  Matt edged into the intersection, saw that it was clear, and went through the stop sign.

  My God, I'm actually driving a police car with the siren going, on my way to a murder!

  "Are you sure you'd rather not drive, Mr. Washington?" Matt asked.

  "You have to start somewhere, Payne. The first time I was driving and my supervisor turned on the light and siren, I was sort of thrilled. I felt like a regular Dick Tracy."

  "Yeah," Matt Payne said, almost to himself, as he pulled the LTD to the left and, swerving into and out of the opposing lane, went around a UPS truck and two civilian cars.

  ****

  Sergeant Ed Frizell stood in Inspector Wohl's doorway and waited until he got off the telephone.

  "Sir, am I going to get Payne back? Detective Washington just took him off somewhere, and I have all those-"

  "You'll get him back when Washington's through with him. You better find Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson and tell them Payne might not be back by the time he's supposed to be at the Peebles residence."

  "Yes, sir," Frizell said, disappointed, and started to leave.

  "Wait a minute," Wohl said. "There's something else." He had just that moment thought of it.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Get somebody on the Highway Band and ask them to get me a location on Mickey O'Hara. I mean me, say 'W-William One wants a location on Mickey O'Hara.' "

  "He might be hard to find, sir. Wouldn't it be better to put it out on the J-Band? And have everybody looking for him?"

  "I think Mickey monitors Highway," Wohl said.

  "Can I ask what that's all about, Inspector?"

  "Put it down to simple curiosity," Wohl said. "Thank you. Sergeant."

  And then, as Frizell closed the door, Wohl thought of something else, and dug out the telephone book.

  "Dr. Payne," Amelia Alice Payne's voice came over the line.

  "Peter Wohl," he said.

  "Oh," she said, and he sensed that her voice was far less professional, more-what?girlish- than it had been a moment before.

  "I called to break our date," he said.

  "I wasn't aware that we had one," she said, coyly.

  "We had one for dinner," he said. "Iremember."

  "So do I," she confessed. "I was waiting for you to call."

  "The State Police called," he said.

  "They found the Woodham woman," Amy said. "Oh, God!"

  "They found the mutilated body of a woman who may be Miss Woodham," he said.

  "Where?"

  "In the sticks. Bucks County. Near the Delaware River. Way up."

  "Mutilated? How?"

  Now she sounds like a doctor again.

  "I don't know that yet," Wohl said. "I just sent a detective up there."

  I did not mention MattPayne, he decided, because her next question would probably be a challenging "why?"

  "This is another of those times I hate having to say, 'I told you so,' " Amy said.

  "It'll take him an hour, an hour and a half to get there and have a quick look. I've been reminded that the State Troopers aren't always as cooperative as they could be. I may have to go up there myself and wave a little rank around. So that blows our dinner, I'm afraid."
r />   "I'd like to see the body," Amy said.

  I know she's a doctor, a shrink, so why did that shock the shit out of me?

  "How was she killed?" Amy went on, without waiting for a reply.

  "I don't know that, either," Wohl said. "Or even where. All I know is what I told you."

  "Where did they find the body?"

  "In a summer cottage," he said.

  "Maybe if I could look around," Amy said. "Oh, I don't know. I might just be butting in and getting in the way. But you have to find that man, Peter."

  "If this body is Miss Woodham," he said.

  "Well, what do you think?" she asked, sharply.

  "I think it's going to prove to be her," Wohl said. "I have nothing to back up that feeling, of course. It very well could be someone else."

  "And thanks but no thanks, huh? Peter, you came to me! I didn't ask to become involved in this."

  "Could you get off to go up there with me? Presuming I have to go? In say an hour and a half?"

  "I don't want to butt in."

  "I'm asking for your help," Wohl said. "Again."

  "Yes, I could," she said. "I'll just cancel my appointments, that's all."

  "I'll get back to you," he said, "as soon as I hear from Washington."

  "From Washington!"

  "That's the detective's name," Wohl said.

  "Oh." She chuckled.

  "There's a flock of nice restaurants up there," he said. "We can have dinner in the country, if you'd like."

  "Are they run by gangster men of honor, or would you actually have to pay for it?"

  "Jesus, you're something," he said. "There goes my other phone. I'll call you."

  His caller was an indignant Inspector from the Traffic Division who had wrecked his car, sent someone to get him another from the motor pool, and been informed that Peter Wohl's Special Operations Division had, in the last three days, taken all the available new cars. Peter's explanation that they had drawn what cars the motor pool had elected to give them did not mollify the Inspector from Traffic.

  The next call, which came in while the Traffic Inspector was still complaining, was from Mickey O'Hara.

  "I understand that you're looking for me," Mickey said. "What's up, Peter?"

  "Nothing."

  "Bullshit, I heard the call."