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 this," 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.