"No problem, I had to answer the phone anyway," Wohl said, pleased with his wit.
"I just had a call from a friend of mine on the Atlantic City vice squad," McGrory said. "Two gentlemen were in an establishment called the Black Banana earlier this evening. They paid for their drinks with a Visa credit card issued to Jerome Nelson. The manager called it in. I understand he needs a friend-several friends-in the police department right now."
"The Black Banana?" Wohl asked. "If it's what it sounds like, we've got one of those in Philly."
"Maybe it's a franchise," McGrory said, chuckling.
"They still there?"
"No. The cops are checking the hotels and motels. They have what may be a name from the manager of the Black Banana, and they're also checking to see if anyone is registered as Jerome Nelson. They have a stakeout at the Banana, too."
"Interesting," Peter said.
"I told my friend I'd call him back and tell him if you wanted to be waked up if they find them."
"Oh, yes," Peter Wohl said. "Thank you, Bob."
On his fifth day in Atlantic City, when Peter Wohl walked into the state trooper barracks, Lieutenant Robert McGrory told him that he had just that moment hung up from talking with Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin.
" 'Almost all is forgiven, come home' is the message, Peter," Lieutenant McGrory said.
"Thank you," Peter said. "Thanks for everything."
"Any time. You going right back?"
"Yeah," Peter said. "My girl friend's probably finally given up on me."
"The one at the church? Very nice."
"Her, too," Peter said.
There was a Mayflower moving van parked on the cobblestone street before Six Stockton Place.
It is altogether fitting and proper, Peter Wohl thought, that I should arrive here at the exact moment they are carrying out Louise's bed.
But he got out of the LTD anyway, and walked into the building and rode up in the elevator. The door to Louise's apartment was open, and he walked in.
There were two men standing with a packing list.
"Where are you taking this stuff?" Peter asked.
"What's it to you?"
"I'm a police officer," Peter said, and took out his ID.
The man handed him a clipboard with forms on it. The household furnishings listed below were to be shipped to 2710 Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois, Apartment 1705.
"Thank you," Peter said.
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing at all," Peter said, and left the apartment and got in the LTD and drove to the Roundhouse.
He parked the car and went in and headed for the elevators, then turned and went to the receptionist's desk.
"Let me have that phone, will you please?" Peter asked.
He knew the number of WCBL-TV by memory now.
They told him they were sorry, Miss Louise Dutton was no longer connected with WCBL-TV.
He pushed the phone back to the officer on duty and walked toward the elevators.
When the door opened, Commissioner Taddeus Czernick and Sergeant Jankowitz got out. Jankowitz's eyes widened when he saw Wohl.
"Good afternoon, Commissioner," Peter said.
"Got a minute, Peter?" Czernick said, and took Wohl's arm and led him to one side.
"I think I owe you an apology," Czernick said.
"Sir?"
"I should have known you weren't the one with diarrhea of the mouth," Czernick said.
"No apology is necessary, Commissioner," Peter said.
Czernick met his eyes for a moment, and nodded.
"Well, I suppose you're ready to go back to your regular duties, aren't you, Peter?"
"Yes, sir."
"Give my regards to your dad, when you see him," Czernick said. He smiled at Peter, patted his shoulder, and walked away.
Peter got on the elevator and rode up to Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin's office.
"Well, good afternoon, Inspector," Sergeant Tom Lenihan said, smiling broadly at him. "How nice to see you. I'll tell the chief you're here."
Dennis V. Coughlin greeted him by saying, "I was hoping you would walk in here about now. You can buy me lunch. You owe me one, I figure."
"Yes, sir. No argument about that."
They went, with Tom Lenihan, to Bookbinder's Restaurant. Coughlin ate a dozen cherrystone clams and drank a bottle of beer before he got into the meat of what he wanted to say.
"Commissioner Czernick happened to run into Mickey O'Hara," Coughlin said. "And the subject somehow turned to the story Mickey wrote quoting an unnamed senior police officer to the effect that we were looking for a Negro homosexual in connection with the Nelson murder."
"You set that up, didn't you, Chief?" Peter said.
"Mickey wouldn't tell him who the unnamed police officer was, but he did tell him, swearing by all that's holy, that it wasn't you."
"And the commissioner believed him?"
"I think so. I'd stay out of his way for a while, if I were you."
"I ran into him getting on the elevator in the Roundhouse," Peter said.
"And?"
"He apologized, I said none was necessary, and then he said he thought I would be happy to be getting back to my regular duties, and that I should give his regards to my dad."
"Okay," Coughlin said. "Even better than I would have hoped."
"I'm off the hook, then?"
"You weren't listening. I said that if I were you, I'd stay out of his sight for a while."
"Yes, sir."
"Since it wasn't you, who had the big mouth? That wasn't hard to figure out. DelRaye. So DelRaye has been transferred from Homicide to the Twenty-Second District-in uniform-and he can kiss away, for good, his chances, not that there were many, to make captain. And then, I understand, Hizzoner the Mayor called Mr. Nelson, and told him what had happened, that he had found out who had the big mouth, and taken care of him, and that, proving our dedication to finding the murderers of his son, we sent you to Atlantic City where you did in fact assist the local police in apprehending the men we are sure are the murderers of his son, and couldn't we be friends again? Whereupon, Mr. Nelson let the mayor have it. I have it on reliable information that they said some very unpleasant things to each other."
"Oh, Christ!"
"I don't know what that will do to the mayor in the election, but right now he thinks that Nelson is crazy. I mean, really. He thinks Nelson is out of his mind, which gets you off the hook with him. I mean, it's you and him against the crazy man at theLedger."
Wohl's eyebrows rose thoughtfully, but he didn't say anything.
Coughlin looked around for the waitress, found her, and ordered another beer and broiled swordfish.
"Same for me, please," Wohl said.
"I think I'll have some steamers," Lenihan said. "I'm trying to lose a little weight."
"That little bowl of melted butter will sure help, Tom," Coughlin said, and then turned to Peter. "Your friend Miss Dutton has left town."
"I know."
"That going to bother you, Peter?" Coughlin asked.
"Yeah," Peter said. "Yeah, it will. How did you know about that?"
Coughlin chuckled, but didn't answer.
"You'll get over it," Coughlin said. "It happens to everybody, and everybody gets over it, sooner or later."
"How late is later?" Peter asked.
"Find some nice girl, a nurse, for example, and take her out. You'd be surprised how quickly some things pass when there's a nice girl around."
Staff Inspector Peter Wohl didn't reply. But he picked up his beer glass and raised it to Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin. He smiled, and then took a deep sip.