He pulled back and looked down at her and smiled.
"I saw your gun," she said.
"How could you do that?" he asked, surprised. "It's in an ankle holster."
"Figuratively speaking," she said, pronouncing the words very carefully.
"Oh," he said with a chuckle.
"Shipboard romance," she said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You know about shipboard romances, presumably?" Amanda asked.
"No," he said.
"People fall in love on a ship very quickly," she said.
"Okay," he said.
"Because they are in a strange environment and there is an element of danger," Amanda said.
"You have made a study of this, I gather?"
"The romance fades when the ship docks," Amanda said, "and people see things as they really are."
"So we won't get on a ship," Matt said. "A small sailboat, maybe. But no ship. Or if we do, we'll just never make port. Like theFlying Dutchman."
"They grow up, so to speak," Amanda went on. "See things for what they really are."
"You said that," he said.
"Or, "she said significantly, "one of them does."
"Meaning what?" There was something in what was going on that made him uncomfortable.
"When are you going to stop playing policeman and get on with your life is what I'm wondering," she said, putting her face against his shirt again.
"I don't think I'm 'playing' policeman," he said.
"You don'tknow that you're playing policeman," she said. "That's what I meant when I saidone of them grows up."
"I don't think I like this conversation," Matt said. "Why don't we talk about something pleasant, like what are we going to do next weekend?"
"I'mserious, Matt."
"So'm I. So what's your point?"
"I know why you became a policeman," she said.
"You do?"
"Because you couldn't get in the Marines with Chad and had to prove you were a man."
"You have been talking to Daffy, I see," he said.
"Well, now you've done that. You became a cop and you shot a man. You have nothing else to prove. So why are you still a cop?"
"I like being a cop."
"That'swhat I mean," she said.
She stopped dancing, freed herself from his arms, and looked up at him.
"The ship has docked," she said.
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning I'm sorry I started this conversation," she said, "but Ihad to."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"
"Yes you do!" she said, and Matt saw that she was on the edge of tears.
"What's wrong with me being a cop?" Matt asked softly.
"If you don't know, I certainly can't tell you."
"Jesus!"
"I'm tired," she said. "And a little drunk. I'm going to bed."
"It's early," he protested.
She walked away with a little wave.
"Call you in the morning before you go?"
There was no reply to that, either.
"Shit," Matt said aloud.
Thirty minutes later, just as Matt had decided she wasn't coming back out of the house, and as he had indicated to the bartender that he would like another Scotch and soda, easy on the soda, his father touched his arm and announced, "I've been looking for you."
I am about to get hell, Matt decided. The party is just about over, and I have not danced with my mother. Actually I haven't done much about my mother at all except wave at her. And to judge by the look on his face, he is really pissed. Or disappointed in me, which is even worse than his being pissed at me.
"My bad manners are showing again, are they?" Matt asked.
"Are you sober?" Brewster C. Payne asked evenly enough.
"So far," Matt said.
"Come with me, please, Matt," his father said. "There's no putting this off, I'm afraid."
"No putting what off?"
"Leave your drink," his father said. "You won't be needing it."
They walked out of the tent and around it and up the lawn to the house. His father led him into the butler's pantry, where he had been early that morning with Soames T. Browne.
H. Richard Detweiler was sitting on one of the high stools. When he saw Matt, he got off it and looked at Matt with both hurt and anger in his eyes.
"Would you like a drink, Matt?" Detweiler asked.
"He's already had enough to drink," Brewster C. Payne answered for him, and then turned to Matt. "Matt, you are quoted as saying that Penny has a problem with drugs, specifically cocaine."
"Quoted by whom?" Matt said.
"Did you say that? Something like that?" his father pursued.
"Jesus Christ!" Matt said.
"Yes, or no, for God's sake, Matt!" H. Richard Detweiler said angrily.
"Goddamn him!" Matt said.
"So it's true," Detweiler said. "What right did you think you had to say something filthy like that about Penny?"
"Mr. Detweiler, I'm a policeman," Matt said.
"Until about an hour ago I was under the impression that you were a friend of Penny's first, and a policeman incidentally," he said.
"Oh, Matt," Matt's father said.
"I think of myself as a friend of Penny's, Mr. Detweiler," Matt said. "We're trying very hard to find out who shot her and why."
"And the way to do that is spread… something like this around?"
"I didn't spread it around, Mr. Detweiler. I talked to Chad about Penny-"
"Obviously," Detweiler said icily.
"And in confidence I told him what we had learned about Pennyabout Penny and cocaine."
"Not thinking, of course, that Chad would tell Daffy, and Daffy would tell her mother, and that it would soon be common gossip?" Brewster Payne said coldly.
"And that's all it is, isn't it?" H. Richard Detweiler said angrily, disgustedly. "Gossip? Filthy supposition with nothing to support it but your wild imagination? What were you trying to do, Matt, impress Chad with all the inside knowledge you have, now that you're a cop?"
"Where did you hear this, Matt? From that detective? The black man?" his father asked.
"Mr. Detweiler," Matt said, "I can't tell you how sorry I am you learned it the way you have, but the truth is that Penny is into cocaine. From what I understand, she is on the edge of being addicted to it."
"That's utter nonsense!" Detweiler flared. "Don't you think her mother and I would know if she had a problem along those lines?"
"No, sir, I don't think you would. Youdon't, Mr. Detweiler. "
"I asked you the source of your information, Matt," his father said.
"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that," Matt said. "But the source is absolutely reliable."
"You mean youwon't tell us," Detweiler said. "Did it occur to you that if there was any semblance of truth to this that Dr. Dotson would have been aware of it and brought it to my attention?"
"I can't believe that Dr. Dotson is not aware of it," Matt said. " Mr. Detweiler, I don't pretend to know anything about medical ethics-"
"Medical ethics or any other kind, obviously," Detweiler snapped.
"But Penny is twenty-one, an adult, and it seems to me that Penny wouldn't want you to know."
"Russell Dotson has been our family doctor for-for all of Penny's life and then some. Good God, Matt, he's a friend. He's outside right now. If he knew,suspected, something like that, he would tell me."
"I can't speak for Dr. Dotson, Mr. Detweiler," Matt said.
"Maybe we should ask him to come in here," Detweiler said. "I think I will. Let the two of you look each other in the eye."
"I wish you wouldn't do that, Mr. Detweiler," Matt said.
"I'll bet you do!"
"Dick, Matt may have a point," Brewster C. Payne said. "There is the question of doctor-patient confidentiality."
"Whose side are you on?" Detweiler snapped.
"Yours. Penny's. Matt's," Brewster C. Payne said.
/>
Detweiler glowered at him for a moment, then turned to Matt. "How long did you say you have been aware of this situation?"
"Since I saw Penny in the hospital this morning," Matt said after having to think a moment.
Christ, was that only this morning?
"In other words, when you and that detective came to the house, you knew, or thought you knew, that Penny was a drug addict?"
"Yes, sir."
"In other words, then, when I allowed you, because I thought you were trying to find out who shot Penny, to paw through her drawers, you and that black detective were actually looking for evidence to support your notion that Penny's taking drugs?"
"No, sir," Matt said. "That's not so."
"Yes, it is, goddamn you! You took advantage of our friendship! That's despicable!"
"Dick, take it easy!" Brewster C. Payne said.
"You better get him out of here before I beat him up," H. Richard Detweiler said.
"Mr. Detweiler-" Matt said.
"Get out of my sight, goddamn you! I never want to see your face again!"
"You can believe this or not, Mr. Detweiler, but we're trying to help Penny," Matt said.
Detweiler stepped menacingly toward Matt.
"Goddamn you!"
Oh, Christ, I don't want to hit him! Matt thought.
His father stepped between them and kept them apart. He motioned with his head for Matt to leave.
Matt felt sick to his stomach. He fled the house and after some difficulty found his car. It was blocked in by several limousines, and he had to find their chauffeurs and get them to move them.
As he started down the drive he saw his father, obviously waiting for him. There was a temptation to pretend he didn't see him, but at the last moment he braked sharply and stopped and rolled down the window.
"You had better be sure of your facts," Brewster C. Payne said, leaning down to the window. "Dick Detweiler is looking for Dr. Dotson right now."
"And if Dotson won't tell him, then what?"
"All I'm saying is that you had better be sure of your facts," his father said.
"There seems to be some doubt in your mind, Dad," Matt said.
"I know that you don't have very much experience as a policeman," his father said. "If you had, you wouldn't have run off at the mouth about any of this to Chad. A lot of damage has been done."
"To whom, Dad?" Matt's mouth ran away with him. "To Penny? Or to your cozy relationship with Nesfoods International?"
"That," Brewster C. Payne said calmly, "was a despicable thing for you to say."
"You think so?" Matt said, his mouth now completely out of control. "Then try this on for size: Our information, as we cops are prone to say, is that Penny Detweiler was not only a coke junkie but was fucking that guinea gangster who got himself blown away. Nice girl, our precious Penny."
Brewster C. Payne looked at Matt intently for a moment, then straightened, turned, and started to walk back to the house.
Matt drove down the driveway and, after one of the rent-a-cops had carefully examined him and the car, was passed out the gate.
A hundred yards down the road he pulled the car to the curb, got out, and took several deep breaths. The technique, alleged to constrain the urge to become nauseous, didn't work.
****
Matt took Lancaster Avenue, which is U.S. Highway 30, into Philadelphia, driving slowly, trying to think of some way he could explain, in the morning, his runaway mouth to Jason Washington. Then it occurred to him that he had to tell Peter Wohl, not Washington, and he had to tell him tonight, not wait until morning.
The worst possible, and thus the most likely, scenario was that the trouble I am going to cause for having confided, like a fourteenyear-old-which, it may be reasonably argued, I am, intellectually speaking-in Chad Nesbitt is going to start tonight. Mr. Detweiler will find Dr. Dotson. Dr. Dotson will either deny outright, or downplay, Penny's coke problem. Mr. Detweiler will then naturally construe Brewster C. Payne's best legal advice, to cool it, as being based on Brewster C. Payne's paternal loyalty to his son, Boy Cop, Ye Olde Blabbermouth. He will then express his displeasure, his outrage, to the nearest official ear he can find. Which will be that of His Honor Mayor Jerry Carlucci, last seen in the striped tent on his lawn.
There was a cheese-steak joint at 49^th and Lancaster. He pulled the Porsche to the curb and walked across Lancaster to it. There was a 19^th District RPC at the curb, and two cops at the counter drinking coffee.
The cops looked at him with unabashed curiosity, reminding him that he was wearing formal evening wear.
Be not concerned, Officers. While my unbelievable stupidity has just brought down upon the Police Department generally, and on two of its best, who have been both holding my hand to keep me out of trouble, and have so foolishly placed an entirely unjustified faith in my common sense, the completely justified wrath of a very powerful man, what you have here is not some rich kid in a monkey suit who will disturb the peace of this establishment, but, incroyable, one of you, a police officer, complete to gun, badge, and out in the Porsche, handcuffs and everything.
Matt walked to a pay phone mounted on the wall and fished change from his pocket. He had just received a dial tone when his eye fell on a stack on newspapers, apparently just delivered, on the counter. It was theLedger. At first glance there seemed to be a three-column photograph of His Honor Mayor Jerry Carlucci just about in the act of either punching or choking someone.
Curiosity overwhelmed Matt. He hung the phone up and went to the counter. On closer examination the photograph on the front page of thePhiladelphia Ledger was indeed of the mayor, and he did indeed look as if he were about to either choke someone or punch him out. The caption, simply "The Honorable Jerry Carlucci, mayor of the City of Philadelphia," provided no explanation.
The explanation came in the story below the picture.
SOCIALITES MARRY UNDER HEAVY POLICE GUARD: HEIRESS' SHOOTING CONTINUES TO BAFFLE POLICE
By Charles E. Whaley,
Ledger Staff Writer
Phila-The wedding of socialites Daphne Elizabeth Brown and Chadwick T. Nesbitt IV went on as scheduled at 7:30p.m. at St. Mark's Church last evening, minus one bridesmaid, and with a heavy force of police and private security personnel evident at the church.
Penelope Detweiler, 23, whose father, H. Richard Detweiler, is president of Nesfoods International and who was to have been a bridesmaid, instead laid in Hahneman Hospital after having suffered multiple shotgun wounds at the hands of an unknown assailant in a downtown parking garage the previous day.
As the Right Reverend Wesley Framingham Kerr, Protestant Episcopal Bishop of Philadelphia, united in marriage the daughter of financier Soames T. Browne and the son of Nesfoods International Chairman, C.T. Nesbitt III, police and private detectives scattered among the socially prominent guests in the church nervously scanned them and the church itself in a manner that reminded this reporter of Secret Service agents guarding the president.
It was reported that the police were present at the orders of Philadelphia Mayor Jerry Carlucci, himself a guest, who is reported to be grossly embarrassed both that Miss Detweiler was shot in what appears to have been a Mafia-connected incident, and that the Special Operations Division of the Philadelphia Police Department, which was organized with his enthusiastic support, and which he personally charged with solving the crime, has been so far unable to identify any suspects in the shooting. The presence of private detectives at the church, reportedly from Wackenhut Security, Inc., was taken by some as an indication that the Browne and Nesbitt families had little faith in the Philadelphia Police Department to protect them and their guests.
Mayor Carlucci, outside the church, refused to discuss that issue with this reporter, and a scuffle ensued during which aLedger photographer was knocked to the ground and his camera damaged.
(See related stories, "No Clues" and "Gangland War Victim," p.3a.)
"Oh, Jesus!" Matt said aloud.
&nbs
p; His Honor must know about this. That's going to have put him in a lovely frame of mind so that when Mr. Detweiler says, "Jerry, old pal, let me tell you about this blabbermouth cop of yours," he will be understanding and forgiving.
He turned to page 3a and read the other stories.
"NO CLUES" SAY POLICE IN POLICEMAN'S MURDER; FUNERAL OF SLAIN OFFICER SCHEDULED FOR TODAY
By Mary Ann Wiggins
Ledger Staff Writer
Police Officer Joseph Magnella will be buried at three this afternoon, following a Mass of Requiem to be celebrated by John Cardinal McQuire, Archbishop of Philadelphia, at Saint Dominic's Church. Internment will be in the church cemetery, traditional last resting place for Roman Catholic police officers slain in the line of duty.
Officer Magnella, 24, of a Warden Street address in South Philadelphia, was found shot to death beside his 23rd Police District patrol car near Colombia and Clarion Streets just before midnight two nights ago.
A Vietnam veteran, he was unmarried and made his home with his parents. He had been on the police force less than a year and was engaged to be married.
Police Captain Michael J. Sabara, deputy commander of the Special Operations Division of the Police Department, which has been charged by Mayor Jerry Carlucci with solving his murder, admitted that so far the police "don't have a clue" as to who shot Magnella or why.
Mayor Jerry Carlucci, who was interviewed briefly as he left the Stanley Rocco amp; Sons Funeral Home, where he had gone to pay his respects, seemed visibly embarrassed at the inability of the police to quickly solve what he called "the brutal, cold-blooded murder of a fine young officer." He refused to discuss with this reporter the murder of Anthony J. DeZego, an alleged organized crime figure, and the wounding of socialite Penelope Detweiler, which occurred the same night Officer Magnella was shot to death.
Several thousand police officers, both fellow Philadelphia officers and police from as far away as New York City and Washington, D.C., are expected to participate in the final rites for Officer Magnella.
GANGLAND WAR VICTIM WAS "GOOD SON, HUSBAND AND FATHER" SAYS MOTHER OF ANTHONY J. DEZEGO
By Tony Schuyler,
Ledger Staff Writer
The Victim boh-3 Page 24
