"Hello, Jason," he said.
"Sir, I'm ordered to report to you," Washington said, his tone of voice making it quite clear what he thought of his orders.
"Where are you, Jason?" Wohl asked.
"At the Roundhouse, sir."
"You need a ride?"
"Sir, I called to ask if you wanted me to drive my car out there."
"Wait around the rear entrance, Jason," Wohl said. "I'll have someone pick you up in the next few minutes."
"Yes, sir," Washington said.
"Is Tony Harris there, too?"
"No, sir," Washington said, and then blurted, "Him, too?"
"I'm trying to get the best people I can, Jason," Wohl said.
"Yes, sir," Washington said, dryly, making it quite clear that he was not in a mood to be charmed.
"I'll have someone pick you up in a couple of minutes, Jason," Wohl said, and hung up.
He looked at Mike Sabara. "Detectives Washington and Harris will be joining us, Captain," he said. "That was Washington. I'm going to have someone pick him up and bring him here."
"You want me to take care of that, Inspector?" Sabara asked.
"I can do it," Wohl said, and smiled at the cop. "Nice to have met you," he said. Ihope he doesn't 't take that guy.
Matt Payne was leaning on the concrete-block wall of the outside room when Wohl returned to it. When Payne saw him, he pushed himself off the wall.
"Payne, take my car again-" Wohl began and then stopped.
"Yes, sir?"
"How long did it take you to get a car out of the motor pool?"
"Just a couple of minutes," Payne said. "They have a form; you have to inspect the car for damage and then sign for it."
"Okay, let's go get another one," Wohl said, making up his mind.
As they walked to the car, Payne asked, "Would you like me to drive, sir?"
Wohl considered the question.
I liked my first ride downtown; it gave me a chance to look around. All I usually see is the stoplight of the car ahead of me.
"Please," he said, and handed Payne the keys.
Three blocks away, Payne looked over at Wohl and said, "I don't know the ground rules, sir. Am I expected to keep the speed limit?"
"Christ," Wohl replied, annoyed, and then looked at Payne. It was an honest question, he decided, and deserves an honest answer.
"If you mean, can you drive like the hammers of hell, no. But on the other hand… use your judgment, Payne." And then he added, "That's all police work really is, Payne, the exercise of good judgment."
"Yes, sir," Payne said.
Well, didn't you sound like Socrates, Jr., Peter Wohl?
But then he plunged on: "It's not like you might think it is. Brilliant detective work and flashing lights. Right now every cop in Philadelphia, and in the area, is looking for a woman that some lunatic with sexual problems forced into the back of his van at the point of a knife. Since we don't have a good description of the van, or the tag number-and, even if we had the manpower, and we don't-we can't stop every van and look inside. That's unlawful search. So we're just waiting for something to happen. I don't like to consider what I think will happen."
"My sister says rapists are more interested in dominating their victims, rather than in sexual gratification," Payne said.
"Your sister, no doubt," Wohl said, sarcastically, "is an expert on rape and rapists?"
"She's a psychiatrist," Payne said. "I don't know how much of an expert she is. As opposed to how much of an expert she thinks she is."
Wohl chuckled. "Well, maybe I should talk to her. I need all the help I can get."
"She'd love that," Payne said. "She would thereafter be insufferably smug, having been consulted by the cops, but if you mean it, I could easily set it up."
"Let's put it on the back burner," Wohl said. "What we're going to do now… Chief Coughlin gave me the authority to pick anybody I want for Special Operations. I just stole two of the best detectives from Homicide, which has grievously annoyed the head of Homicide, Chief Lowenstein, and at least one of the two detectives. I haven't talked to the other one yet. Anyway, after we pick up the car, we're going to go to the Roundhouse and pick up a detective named Jason Washington, Jr. I think he's the best detective in Homicide. The car we're going to pick up is for him. I want him to interview all the previous victims. He's damned good at that. Maybe he can get something out of them the other guys missed. Maybe we can find the rapist that way. And maybe Jason Washington would like to talk to your sister."
Payne didn't reply.
Thirty-five minutes later, Matt Payne, at the wheel of a light green Ford LTD, followed Peter Wohl's light tan LTD into the parking area behind the Roundhouse. Wohl pulled to the curb by the rear entrance and got out.
"Stay in the car," he said. "I'll be right out."
He went inside the building, waited in line behind the civilian who was talking to the Corporal behind the shatterproof glass, and then showed his identification.
"Oh, hell, Inspector," the Corporal said, "I know you."
"Thank you," Peter said.
That makes it fourteen-seven, Peter thought.
When the solenoid buzzed, he pushed the door open and entered the lobby.
Two men sitting on chairs stood up. One of them was very large, heavy, and dressed very well, looking more like a successful businessman than a cop.
Or a colored undertaker,Peter thought, wondering if that made him racist; and then decided it didn't. Jason Washington was more than colored, he was jet black; and in his expensive, well-tailored suit, he looked like an undertaker.
The other man was white, slight, and looked tired and worn. His clothes were mussed and looked as if they had come, a long time ago, from the bargain basement at Sears. His name was Anthony C. "Tony" Harris, and he was, in Wohl's judgment, the second sharpest detective in Homicide.
Neither smiled when Wohl walked over to them.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Wohl said. "I stopped by to get you a car."
"Inspector," Tony Harris said, "before this goes too far, can we talk about it?"
"Have either of you had lunch?" Peter asked.
Both shook their heads no.
"Neither have I," Peter said. "So, yes, Tony, we can talk about it, over lunch. I'll even buy."
"I'd appreciate that, Inspector," Tony Harris said.
"Where would you like to eat? The Melrose Diner okay?"
There was no response from either of them.
"Jason, I'm not sure the kid driving your car knows where the Melrose is," Wohl said. "You want to ride with him and show him? I'll take Tony with me."
"Where's the car?" Jason Washington asked. It was the first time he had opened his mouth.
"Behind mine," Wohl said, "at the curb."
Washington marched out of the lobby.
He's really pissed, Peter thought, and wondered again if he was doing the right thing. And then he felt a wave of anger. Fuck him! He's a cop. Cops do what they're told. Nobody asked me if I wanted this goddamned job, either!
"Tony," Wohl said, "aside from telling you that you can make as much overtime in Special Operations as you've been making in Homicide, what we're going to talk about at lunch is how I want you to do this job, not whether or not you like it."
Tony Harris met his eyes, looked as if he was going to reply, but didn't; then he walked toward the door from the lobby.
TWELVE
Officer Matt Payne had more than a little difficulty complying with Staff Inspector Peter Wohl's order to "Call the office, Payne; tell them where we are. And you better ask if anything's new about the abduction."
It was, he thought, as he fished the thick Philadelphia telephone book from under the pay phone in the foyer of the Melrose Diner, the first time he had ever called the Police Department.
And the phone book was not much help.
The major listing underPOLICE was thePOLICE ATHLETIC LEAGUE. A dozen addresses and numbers were furnished, none of which had anything to do with what he wanted.