"O'Hara? What about O'Hara?"
"He was here earlier, sir."
"He was here? How is it, Peter, that every sonofabitch and his brother but the police commissioner and me knew where you were?"
"I wasn't aware you were looking for me, sir."
"Czernick was looking for you, and he couldn't find you. Or so he told me."
"Chiefs Coughlin and Lowenstein knew I was here, sir. And so did Captain Sabara."
"I don't like it a goddamn bit the way the three of you treat Czernick like the enemy," Carlucci said. "It has to stop. You understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now, what about O'Hara?"
"Mr. O'Hara led me to believe he was going to ask Mr. Goldblatt and the nephew, Katz, about how they felt about these people going to walk with Monahan dead."
"You got him to do that?"
"It was Mickey's idea, sir."
"Bullshit," the mayor said.
The telephone rang again, and Matt answered it.
"Is that you, Matty?" Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin asked.
"Yes."
"Is the mayor there? Lowenstein?"
"Chief Lowenstein is on his way here from the district at-torney's office."
"Who is that?" the mayor asked suspiciously.
"Chief Coughlin, sir."
"Give me the phone," he ordered sharply. Matt handed it over.
"What the hell is this all about, Denny?"
Matt couldn't hear what Coughlin replied.
"If the both of you aren't here in ten minutes, we will ad-journ this meeting to the commissioner's office. Capisce?" Carlucci said, and hung up.
He turned to Wohl.
"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what the hell is going on around here?"
"I'd prefer to wait until Chief Lowenstein is here, sir."
"In numbers, there is strength, huh?" Carlucci said un-pleasantly. "Where the hell is that coffee, Al?"
"It's almost through, sir," Sergeant D'Angelo said.
"Let me ask you something else, Peter," Carlucci said. "Are you conducting an investigation of Bob Holland?"
"No, sir."
"Strange. The FBI thinks you are. Davis called Czernick and asked him. Czernick told him he would ask you about it. You better have a goddamn good answer when he does. Auto theft is none of your business.
"That sonofabitch!" Charley McFadden said.
The mayor looked at him. McFadden, realizing that his mouth had run away with him, looked stricken.
"What sonofabitch is that, son?" Carlucci asked softly, menacingly. "The police commissioner or Mr. Davis of the FBI?"
"There was an FBI agent here last night, Mr. Mayor," Matt said. "We took-"
"What was he doing here? Friend of yours, what?"
"I met him yesterday," Matt said. "He came to confirm rumors that I'm going to be investigated by the Justice De-partment."
"For what?"
For shooting Stevens.
"Did you know about this, Peter?"
"Yes, sir."
"How come I don't?"
"I sent a memorandum to Commissioner Czernick, sir."
Carlucci turned back to Matt Payne.
"What about the FBI agent who was here last night?"
"We went to the FOP," Matt said. "During the conversa-tion, when he said that he was working interstate auto theft, I asked him some questions about how that works."
"Me too. I did too," Charley McFadden said.
"What Officer McFadden is suggesting is that Matthews, the FBI guy, reported our interest to his superiors," Matt ex-plained.
"'Our interest'?" Carlucci snapped. "Just what is 'our in-terest'?"
"We think Mr. Holland is involved in at least the sale of stolen automobiles," Matt said.
" 'We'? Who's 'we'?"
"Officer McFadden and myself," Matt said.
"On one hand, coming from two rookies with an exagger-ated opinion of themselves, that's probably bullshit," the mayor said. "But on the other hand, the FBI wouldn't be trying to tell us to butt out unless they were onto something. Peter, you sure you don't know anything about this?"
The door buzzer went off, sparing Wohl having to reply.
"Who's there?"
"Lowenstein."
"Be right there."
"Peter," the mayor said. "I think it would be very embar-rassing to the Police Department if the FBI came up with a case against Bob Holland that we didn't know anything about. You take my meaning?"
"No, sir."
"I mean I want you to find out what these two hotshots of yours think they know."
"And give it to Major Crime?
"No. Give it to me," Carlucci said, "either these two are imagining things, or Major Crime isn't doing their job."
He then turned his attention to the stairwell, in which a moment later Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein's head and shoulders appeared.
"Matt," the mayor greeted him, "There better be a god-damn good reason for all this goddamn mystery."
***
Thirty minutes later, the mayor said, in quiet fury, "What you're telling me is that both the guy who killed Monahan with the stun gun, and two guys with him, and the miserable sonofabitch out of Bustleton and Bowler are going to get away with it? Everything?"
"We can't go to court with this, Jerry," Lowenstein said. "You can see that."
"On the bright side," Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin said, "the Grand Jury will return a true bill against the doers of the Goldblatt job. And Tom Callis is convinced that he can get convictions."
"On the dim side, there is nothing lower than a cop who would do something like this, and the sonofabitch is going to get away with it!"
He glowered, in turn, at Chief Inspectors Lowenstein and Coughlin and Staff Inspector Wohl, all of whom, in turn, shrugged.
"Jesus Christ!" the mayor said in frustration.
"Or," Peter Wohl said. "We could just leave him where he is and watch him."
The mayor considered that a moment before replying. "No. Go ahead with this. I'll clear it with Czernick."
"Yes, sir," Wohl said.
"Maybe that's not smart, but I can't stand the thought of this bastard walking around in a Highway uniform," the mayor said. "Highway means something to me."
"It means something to me too," Peter Wohl heard himself say.
Jesus, he realized with genuine surprise, I really meant that.
***
Sergeant Jason Washington sat slouched behind the wheel of his car until he saw Sergeant Wilson Carter pull into the park-ing lot. Then he sat up and watched as Carter parked his car. He got out of his car and walked toward the side entrance of the building, timing himself so that he arrived there a few seconds before Carter.
"I was hoping to run into you," he said to Carter.
"Well, hey, Brother. How they hanging? What's on your mind?"
"Let's have a beer," Washington said.
"One," Carter said, after a just perceptible hesitation. "I have plans."
"Sure. I understand. But there's a couple of questions I'd like to ask you."
"What kind of questions?"
"More like advice questions, about what I should do about something."
"Well, then, hell, yes."
"I thought Hellman's? They have booths in the back."
"Give me thirty minutes to check out and I'll meet you there."
"Thanks, Carter, I appreciate it," Washington said, touched Carter's arm, and walked back to his car.
When Sergeant Carter walked into the back room of Hell-man's Restaurant, he found Sergeant Jason Washington already there, sitting alone in a booth, his massive hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey.
"You must have a problem," Carter said as he slipped into the bench across from Washington. "Beer, little problem, whiskey, big problem."
"Big problem," Washington agreed.
Carter glanced around the room, looking for a waitress. He couldn't see one, but he saw a familiar face
in another booth.
"Richard Kallanan's over there," he said, waving.
Kallanan took his hand from his glass of whiskey long enough to wave back.
A waitress appeared from the barroom. Carter waved to catch her attention.
"Cutty Sark, on the rocks," Carter ordered. "You ready, Jason?"
"Might as well."
"I thought Kallanan was one of those straight home to the wife and kiddies types," Carter said. "I don't think I've ever seen him in here before."
"I don't think he comes in here often," Washington said. "Tonight's sort of special."
"What?"
"You want to know what Kallanan's thinking right now, Carter?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"He's thinking, 'Christ, why didn't I recognize Carter in that car?' "
"What car would that be, Washington?"
"The car normally driven by Foster Lewis's boy, the kid we call 'Tiny,'" Washington said. "The one you drove to Mon-ahan's house."
"That sounds like an accusation, Washington."
"Statement of fact. We picked your prints off the plastic behind the front seat. You know where I mean? Where it's flat on top? You must have touched it when you got in. Or maybe when you reached for the seat belt. We got a match on your pinky, ring and index fingers."
"I don't know what the fuck you're up to, but you could probably find my prints on half the unmarked cars in the park-ing lot."
"We also got your prints, heel of the hand and four fingers, on the hood of Matt Payne's pretty little Porsche."
"I must have rested my hand on it when I looked down at the tire."
"More likely when you stabbed the tires," Washington said.
"You don't really believe that?"
"Yes, I do."
"You're out of your fucking mind, Washington!"
"Kallanan is a very interesting man," Washington said. "Did you know that he's a lay reader in the Episcopal Church?"
"So what?"
"So he told me that he has to be very careful about not bearing false witness."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning he's worried about the power of suggestion. In other words, he's afraid that when I asked him if it could have been you driving that car, and he said, 'Oh, yes. That's who it was,' he's afraid that the reason he now recognizes you is be-cause I asked him if it could have been you."
"What the hell is going on here? Are you that fucking des-perate? You come up with a couple of matched prints-How many other prints matched?"
"Four sets," Washington said. "And there were prints from two people in that car that don't match any of anybody in Special Operations. We're now running them against every cop in the Department. That'll take a long time, there's six thousand odd cops. I frankly will be surprised if we get a match, but you never know."
"I think I've had enough of this bullshit conversation," Carter said, and stood up and took a wad of money from his pocket.
"How do you think you're going to like it in the 6th Dis-trict?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're being transferred, tomorrow, to the 6th District. Where you will work for Lieutenant Foster H. Lewis, Sr."
"I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, or who the hell you think you are, Washington, but I will not take a transfer to the 6th Division or anywhere else."
"You could resign, of course. That would make a lot of people happy. But if you stay on the job, you're going to the 6th, tomorrow."
"Because you have this nutty idea that I trashed Payne's car? Or that I was involved in what happened to Monahan?
"There is no question in my mind that you trashed Payne's car, drove the car to Monahan's house the morning he was shot, shot Monahan with a stun-gun, and told your friends when I was going to pick Monahan up at Goldblatt's so they could throw a gasoline bomb at me."
"You know how far you would get with this in court? They'd laugh you out of City Hall."
"Did I say anything about taking you to court? All I said was that you were going to the 6th District."
"You try to get me transferred, transferred anywhere, and I'll have the Black Police Officer's Association all over your ass!"
"You know how a complaint gets acted on by the Black Police Officer's Association?" Washington asked, and then went on without waiting for a reply. "It goes to the Executive Committee. The Executive Committee is composed of former officers. Like me, for example. And Richard Kallanan. I really don't think, Brother, that you're going to get a hell of a lot of sympathy from the Black Police Officer's Association."
"Fuck you, Washington!" Sergeant Carter said, tossed a five-dollar bill on the table, and walked away.
As he approached the booth occupied by Officer Richard Kallanan, their eyes met and Kallanan stood up.
Carter stopped at the booth.
"You're still the white man's slave, motherfucker!" he said.
Officer Kallanan thereupon struck Sergeant Carter in the face with his fist, causing him to fall to the floor.
Sergeant Washington rushed from his booth to restrain Of-ficer Kallanan, but this proved unnecessary.
Officer Kallanan was already bending over Sergeant Carter, to assist him to his feet.
"I'm sorry I hit you, Carter," Richard Kallanan said. "I should have remembered what it says in the Bible, 'Judge not, lest ye be judged.' "
Sergeant Carter shook free of Kallanan's hand and walked out of the back room of Hellman's Bar & Grill.
***
The Philadelphia County Grand Jury returned indictments charging the seven men arrested by the police with murder in the first degree.
Between the Grand Jury indictments and the trial, Hector Car-los Estivez came to an agreement with District Attorney Thomas J. Callis under which Mr. Estivez agreed to testify against those persons charged in the robbery of Goldblatt & Sons Credit Furniture & Appliances, Inc.; the murder that oc-curred during the robbery; and others, in exchange for immu-nity from prosecution.
In sworn statements made to the district attorney, Mr. Estivez stated that it was his belief that Charles David Stevens, aka Abu Ben Muhammed, had planned the Goldblatt robbery with the advice and assistance of Omar Ben Kalif, whom he de-scribed as a black male, approximately twenty-seven years of age, with a shaven head and a full beard. Mr. Estivez stated that, in his presence, Omar Ben Kalif was identified as a mem-ber of the Philadelphia Islamic Temple.
Estivez stated that Charles David Stevens, aka Abu Ben Mu-hammed, had stated that should anything "go wrong" with the Goldblatt robbery, Omar Ben Kalif, and/or the Philadelphia Islamic Temple, would provide legal counsel, bail money, and other assistance.
The Philadelphia Islamic Temple, through its counsel, cate-gorically denied any involvement of any kind whatever in the robbery/murder that took place at Goldblatt & Sons Credit Fur-niture & Appliances, Inc. The Temple further categorically denied that there was now, or ever had been, anyone associated with the Temple by the name of Omar Ben Kalif.
In separate trials, and as a result of plea bargaining, the re-maining accused were found guilty of murder in the first de-gree, manslaughter in the first degree, assault, and armed robbery. Sentences ranged from life imprisonment to five years incarceration.
The Philadelphia County Grand Jury determined that the death by gunfire of Charles David Stevens at the hands of Officer M. M. Payne was an act of self-defense.
Following an investigation by the Justice Department, it was determined there had been no violation of the civil rights of Charles David Stevens by Officer Matthew M. Payne.
A suit for defamation of character and slander brought by Of-ficer M. M. Payne against the Coalition for Equitable Law Enforcement was settled out of court for an undisclosed sum.
Sergeant Wilson Carter resigned from the Philadelphia Police Department four weeks after being transferred to the 6th Dis-trict. He shortly thereafter had his name changed to Wilson X. He is now serving as personal bodyguard to Arthur X, and as
head of the Fruit of Islam.
PROMINENT
AUTO DEALER
W E B Griffin - Badge of Honor 04 - The Witness Page 50
