"Whatever you say, Major," Captain Kozniski said, aware that he had just been given authority, within reason, to "make good time" between Atlantic City and Philadelphia. There were two major routes, 322 and 30, between the two cities. U.S. 30 was four-laned nearly all the way, from Atlantic City to Interstate 295, just outside Camden. Only some sections of U.S. 322 were four-laned. Consequently, 30 got most of the traffic; there would be little traffic on 322 and it would be safer to drive faster on that road.
Captain Kozniski hit sixty-five, and then seventy, and then seventyfive. The Ford seemed to find its cruising speed just under eighty. They would still be late, but unless something happened, they could still at least put in an appearance at the wake.
"Word is," Captain Kozniski said, "that Bob McGrory's going to be a pallbearer."
"Yeah. Mrs. Moffitt asked for him," Knotts said.
"Dutch Moffitt and he went way back. They went to the FBI National Academy together."
He did not add, wondering why he didn't, that the Moffitts and McGrorys, having made friends at the FBI Academy in Quantico, had kept it up. They visited each other, the Moffitts and their kids staying at the McGrory house in Absecon for the beach in the summer, and the McGrorys and their house apes staying with the Moffitts in Philly for, for example, the Mummers' parades, or just because they wanted to go visit.
The wives got on well. Lieutenant Bob McGrory had told Knotts he had heard from his weeping wife that Dutch had stopped a bullet before he heard officially. Dutch's Jeannie had called McGrory's Mary-Ellen the minute she got back from the hospital. Mary-Ellen had parked the kids with her mother and gone right to Philly.
"I met him a couple of times," Captain Stu Simons, riding alone in the backseat, said. "VIP protection details, stuff like that. He was a nice guy. It's a fucking shame, what happened to him."
"You said it," Bill Knotts said.
"They catch him yet, the one that got away?"
"I think so," Captain Simons said. "I think I heard something. They canceled the GRM (General Radio Message) for him."
"I didn't hear anything," Knotts said. "It was a busy night."
"I hope they fry the sonofabitch," Captain Kozniski said.
"Don't hold your breath," Captain Simons said. "He'll get some bleeding-heart lawyer to defend him, and they'll wind up suing Moffitt's estate for violation of the bastard's civil rights."
Major Bill Knotts suddenly shifted very quickly on his seat, and looked out the window.
Captain Kozniski looked at him curiously.
"That shouldn't be there," Knotts said, aloud, but as if to himself.
"Whatever it was, I missed it," Captain Kozniski said.
"There was a Jaguar back there, on a dirt road."
"Somebody taking a piss," Captain Kozniski said.
"Or getting a little," Simons said.
"You want me to call it in, Major?" Captain Kozniski said.
"We're here," Knotts said simply.
Captain Kozniski eased slowly off on the accelerator, and when the car had slowed to sixty, began tapping the brakes. The highway was divided here by a median, and he looked for a place to cross it. The Ford bottomed out as they bounced across the median.
"Jesus Christ, Gerry!" Simons called out. "All we need is to wipe the muffler off!"
Captain Kozniski ignored him. "Where was it, Major?" he asked.
"Farther down," Knotts said. "Where the hell are we? Anybody notice?"
"We're three, four miles east of State Fifty-four," Captain Kozniski replied with certainty.
It took them five minutes to find the car, and then another two minutes to find another place to cross the median again.
"Stay on the shoulder," Knotts ordered, as they approached the dirt road.
Captain Kozniski stopped the car, and Knotts got out. Kozniski followed him, and then Simons. There was the sudden glare of a flashlight, and then Simons walked back to the car and got in the front seat and turned on the radio.
Knotts, carefully keeping out of the grass-free part of the road so as not to disturb tire tracks, approached the car, which was stopped, headed away from the highway, in the middle of the road.
"Give me a flashlight, please," he said, and put his hand out. Kozniski handed him his flashlight. Knotts flashed the light inside the car. It was empty. He moved the beam of the light very slowly around the front of the car.
"Major!" Captain Simons called. "It's a hit on the NCIC computer. NCIC says it was reported stolen in Philadelphia."
"Bingo," Captain Kozniski said.
"Get on the radio, please, Stu," Knotts said, "and have a car meet us here. And see if Philadelphia has any more on it."
"There was another car," Kozniski said. "You can see where they turned around." He used his flashlight as a pointer.
"If it was a couple of kids who 'borrowed' it, and then had second thoughts," Knotts said, "why get rid of it out here in the sticks?"
Kozniski went to the bumper and carefully examined it with his flashlight.
"It wasn't pushed in here, either," he said. "That rubber stuff on the bumper doesn't have a mark on it. I mean, I was thinking maybe it broke down, and they had to leave it."
"If they were going to dismantle it, there wouldn't be anything left by now but the license plate," Knotts said.
Captain Simons walked up to them.
"If the driver is apprehended," he said, formally, "he is to be held for questioning about a homicide."
"Double bingo," Captain Kozniski said. "You telepathic, Major?"
"Absolutely," Major Bill Knotts said. "You mean you didn't know?"
He walked to the Ford, switched the radio frequency to the statewide frequency, established communication with state police headquarters in Trenton; and, after identifying himself and reporting they had located a car NCIC said was hot, and which the Philadelphia police were interested in for a homicide investigation, asked for the dispatch of the state police mobile crime lab van.
"And first thing in the morning, I think we had better get enough people out here to have a good look at the woods," he said. "In the meantime, I'll need somebody to guard the site. I pulled a car off patrol, but I'd like to get him released as soon as possible."
They all got back in the Ford and waited for the patrol car to come to the scene.
Captain Kozniski, without really being aware he had done it, switched on the radar. A minute or so later, it came to life, and a car headed for Atlantic City came down the highway twenty-five miles an hour faster than the posted limit.
"You want to ticket him, Major?" Kozniski asked.
"God no, if we pulled him over and a major and two captains got out of the car, we'd give him a heart attack," Knotts said.
The car was filled with chuckles and laughter.
Two minutes later, Kozniski saw in his rearview mirror the flashing lights on top of a patrol car.
"Here comes the car," he said. Knotts got out of the Ford, explained the situation to the trooper, and then got back in.
He looked at his watch as Kozniski got the Ford moving.
"Christ, we're going to be late for the wake," he said. "You better step on it, Gerry."
The Wackenhut rent-a-cop on the Arch Street entrance to the Stockton Place underground garage stooped over and looked into the Ford LTD. Recognizing Louise Dutton, he smiled, went back to his little cubicle, and pushed the button raising the barrier.
Once inside the garage, Peter Wohl parked the LTD beside her yellow Cadillac convertible, and they got out.
She met him at the back of the LTD.
"If you find the time, dear, you might do the ironing," Louise said as she dropped the keys to her apartment in his hand. "But don't wear yourself out."