He erupted from the swimming pool, called "Wait a minute, I'll be right there!" and dried himself hastily. He grabbed his bathrobe from where he had left it on the bed, and ran through the apartment to the door.
"Sorry," he said, as he pushed the door closed so that he could unfasten the chain lock. "I was taking a goddamned bath."
He pulled the door open.
He found himself looking at a smallish, dapper, intense, middle-aged man.
"I'll just bet," Stanford Fortner Wells III said, "that your name is Peter Wohl."
Louise Dutton let herself into her apartment, and then turned to fasten the dead-bolt lock and door chain.
"Peter, don't tell me you're asleep," she called, and then walked into her living room, where she found her father and Staff Inspector Peter Wohl standing by the couches and coffee table. There were glasses; a bottle of scotch; a cheap glass bowl half-full of ice; and an open box of Ritz crackers on the table. They were both smoking cigars.
"Hello, baby," her father said.
"Oh,God! " Louise said.
"You called," Stanford Fortner Wells III said, "and I came."
"So I see," Louise said, and then ran across the room to him, and threw herself in his arms. "Oh, Daddy!"
When she let him go, she took a handkerchief from her purse and blew her nose loudly in it.
She looked at Peter. "Is my mascara running?"
He shook his head no.
She walked to him, and took the glass from his hand and took a large swallow.
"Peter and I have been having a pleasant chat," Wells said.
"I'll bet you have," Louise said, as she handed the glass back. She pointed to the bowl of ice. "What's with that?"
"It's a bowl, with ice in it," Peter said.
"What do you think that is?" she said, pointing to a large, square heavy crystal bowl on a sideboard.
Both Peter and her father shrugged.
"That'san ice bowl," she said. "I paid two hundred dollars for it. Where did you get that one?"
"Under the sink in the kitchen," her father said.
"That figures," she said. She went to the crystal bowl, moved it to the coffee table, dumped the ice from the cheap bowl into it, and then carried it into the kitchen. She returned in a moment with a small silver bowl full of cashews and a glass.
"Where were they?" her father asked. "All we could find was the crackers."
"In the kitchen," she said. She made herself a drink and then looked at them. "Gentlemen, be seated," she said.
They sat down, Wells on the couch, Peter Wohl in an armchair.
"Well," Louise said. "Now that we're all here, what should we talk about?"
Wohl and her father chuckled.
"I thought the standard scenario in a situation like this was that the father was supposed to thrash the boyfriend within an inch of his life," Louise said. "What happened, Daddy, did you see his gun?"
"No," Wells said. "I just decided that a man who takes bubble baths can't be all bad."
"Bubble baths?" Louise asked.
"Oh, shit," Peter said.
"When he answered the door, he had bubbles in his ears, all over his head," Wells said. "You really don't want to thrash a man with bubbles on him."
Peter, grimacing, laughed deep in his throat. Wells grinned at him.
They like each other,Louise realized, and it pleased her.
"Tell me about the champagne in the sink," Louise said.
Her father threw up his hands, signaling his innocence about that.
"I'm a scotch drinker, myself," he said.
"Ooooh," Louise cooed, "champagne for little ol' me, Peter?"
"At the time, it seemed like a splendid idea," Peter said.
"That was before he answered the door," Wells said.
"Surprise! Surprise!" Peter said.
The two men laughed.
"You should have seen his face," Wells said.
"How long have you been here, in Philadelphia, I mean?" Louise asked.
"Since late this afternoon," Wells said. "I just missed you at WCBL."
The telephone rang.
"I wonder who that can be?" Louise said. "Oh, God! My mother?"
"For your sake, Peter, I hope not," Wells said.
"Jesus!" Wohl said, as Louise went to the telephone.
"Hello?" Louise said to the telephone. Then her face stiffened. "How did you get this number? Who is this?"
Then she offered the telephone to Wohl.
"Lieutenant DelRaye for you,Inspector Wohl," she said, just a little nastily.
As Wohl got up and crossed the room, Wells asked, "DelRaye? Is that the cop you had trouble with?"
"Yes, indeed," Louise said.
"This is Peter Wohl," Wohl said to the telephone. Then he listened, asked a few cryptic questions, then finally said, "Thank you, Lieutenant. If anything else comes up, I'll either be at this number or at home."
He hung up.
"'I'll either be at this number or at home,'" Louise parroted. "What did you do, Peter, thumbtack my number, myunlisted number, to the bulletin board?"
"I don't even know your number," Peter said, just a little sharply. " He must have gotten it from Jason Washington."
"What did he want?" Louise asked quickly. She had seen her father's eyebrows raise in surprise to learn that Peter didn't know her number.
"They found Jerome Nelson's car," Wohl said. "Actually, a New Jersey state trooper major found it as he was driving here for Dutch's wake. In the middle of New Jersey, on a dirt road off U.S. Three Twentytwo."
"What does that mean?" Wells asked.
"One of Nelson's cars, a Jaguar, was missing from the garage downstairs," Peter said. "It's possible that the doer took it."
"The 'doer'?" Wells asked.
"Whoever chopped him up," Wohl said.
"I love your delicate choice of language," Louise said. "Really, Peter!"
"Does finding the car mean anything?" Wells asked.
"Only, so far, to reinforce the theory that the doer took it. As opposed to an ordinary, run-of-the-mill car thief," Wohl said. "The New Jersey State Police sent their mobile crime lab to where they found the car, and, in the morning, they'll search the area. With a little luck, they may turn up something."
"Such as?" Wells pursued.
Wohl threw his hands up. "You never know."
"Why do you look so worried, Peter?" Louise asked.
"Do I look worried?" he asked, and then went on before anyone could reply: "I'm trying to make up my mind whether or not I should call Arthur Nelson. Now, I mean, rather than in the morning."
"Why would you call him?" Wells asked.
"Commissioner Czernick has assigned me to stroke him," Peter said. " To keep him abreast of where the investigation is going."
"Until just now, I thought they liked you on the police department," Wells said. "How did you get stuck with that?"
"He can be difficult," Peter said, chuckling. "You know him?"
"Sure," Wells said. "Which is not the same thing as saying he's a friend of mine."
"He's not willing to face the facts about his son," Peter said. "I don't know whether he expected me to believe it or not, but he suggested very strongly that Louise was his son's girl friend."
"Obviously not knowing about you and Louise," Wells said.
"Nobody, with your exception, knows about Louise and me," Wohl said.
"The two of you have developed the infuriating habit of talking about me as if I'm not here," Louise said.
"Sorry," her father said. "Are you going to call him- now, I mean?"
"Yeah," Peter said. "I think I'd better."
"I was going to suggest that," Wells said. "Better to have him annoyed by a late-night call than sore that you didn't tell him something as soon as you could."
They like each other, Louise thought again. Because they think alike? Because they are alike? Is that what's going on with me and Peter? That I like him because he's so much like my father? Even more so than Dutch?