"Where are we going?"
"The State Troopers found Miss Woodham," Washington said. "Mutilated. Dead, of course. In the sticks."
Matt edged into the intersection, saw that it was clear, and went through the stop sign.
My God, I'm actually driving a police car with the siren going, on my way to a murder!
"Are you sure you'd rather not drive, Mr. Washington?" Matt asked.
"You have to start somewhere, Payne. The first time I was driving and my supervisor turned on the light and siren, I was sort of thrilled. I felt like a regular Dick Tracy."
"Yeah," Matt Payne said, almost to himself, as he pulled the LTD to the left and, swerving into and out of the opposing lane, went around a UPS truck and two civilian cars.
Sergeant Ed Frizell stood in Inspector Wohl's doorway and waited until he got off the telephone.
"Sir, am I going to get Payne back? Detective Washington just took him off somewhere, and I have all those-"
"You'll get him back when Washington's through with him. You better find Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson and tell them Payne might not be back by the time he's supposed to be at the Peebles residence."
"Yes, sir," Frizell said, disappointed, and started to leave.
"Wait a minute," Wohl said. "There's something else." He had just that moment thought of it.
"Yes, sir."
"Get somebody on the Highway Band and ask them to get me a location on Mickey O'Hara. I mean me, say 'W-William One wants a location on Mickey O'Hara.' "
"He might be hard to find, sir. Wouldn't it be better to put it out on the J-Band? And have everybody looking for him?"
"I think Mickey monitors Highway," Wohl said.
"Can I ask what that's all about, Inspector?"
"Put it down to simple curiosity," Wohl said. "Thank you. Sergeant."
And then, as Frizell closed the door, Wohl thought of something else, and dug out the telephone book.
"Dr. Payne," Amelia Alice Payne's voice came over the line.
"Peter Wohl," he said.
"Oh," she said, and he sensed that her voice was far less professional, more-what?girlish- than it had been a moment before.
"I called to break our date," he said.
"I wasn't aware that we had one," she said, coyly.
"We had one for dinner," he said. "Iremember."
"So do I," she confessed. "I was waiting for you to call."
"The State Police called," he said.
"They found the Woodham woman," Amy said. "Oh, God!"
"They found the mutilated body of a woman who may be Miss Woodham," he said.
"Where?"
"In the sticks. Bucks County. Near the Delaware River. Way up."
"Mutilated? How?"
Now she sounds like a doctor again.
"I don't know that yet," Wohl said. "I just sent a detective up there."
I did not mention MattPayne, he decided, because her next question would probably be a challenging "why?"
"This is another of those times I hate having to say, 'I told you so,' " Amy said.
"It'll take him an hour, an hour and a half to get there and have a quick look. I've been reminded that the State Troopers aren't always as cooperative as they could be. I may have to go up there myself and wave a little rank around. So that blows our dinner, I'm afraid."
"I'd like to see the body," Amy said.
I know she's a doctor, a shrink, so why did that shock the shit out of me?
"How was she killed?" Amy went on, without waiting for a reply.
"I don't know that, either," Wohl said. "Or even where. All I know is what I told you."
"Where did they find the body?"
"In a summer cottage," he said.
"Maybe if I could look around," Amy said. "Oh, I don't know. I might just be butting in and getting in the way. But you have to find that man, Peter."
"If this body is Miss Woodham," he said.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked, sharply.
"I think it's going to prove to be her," Wohl said. "I have nothing to back up that feeling, of course. It very well could be someone else."
"And thanks but no thanks, huh? Peter, you came to me! I didn't ask to become involved in this."
"Could you get off to go up there with me? Presuming I have to go? In say an hour and a half?"
"I don't want to butt in."
"I'm asking for your help," Wohl said. "Again."
"Yes, I could," she said. "I'll just cancel my appointments, that's all."
"I'll get back to you," he said, "as soon as I hear from Washington."
"From Washington!"
"That's the detective's name," Wohl said.
"Oh." She chuckled.
"There's a flock of nice restaurants up there," he said. "We can have dinner in the country, if you'd like."
"Are they run by gangster men of honor, or would you actually have to pay for it?"
"Jesus, you're something," he said. "There goes my other phone. I'll call you."
His caller was an indignant Inspector from the Traffic Division who had wrecked his car, sent someone to get him another from the motor pool, and been informed that Peter Wohl's Special Operations Division had, in the last three days, taken all the available new cars. Peter's explanation that they had drawn what cars the motor pool had elected to give them did not mollify the Inspector from Traffic.
The next call, which came in while the Traffic Inspector was still complaining, was from Mickey O'Hara.
"I understand that you're looking for me," Mickey said. "What's up, Peter?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit, I heard the call."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Wohl said. "I thought you had called to demand to know what, if anything, has developed in the Woodham kidnapping."
There was a pause.
"Okay," Mickey said. "What if anything has developed in the Woodham case?"
"Well, since you put that to me as a specific question, which is not the same thing as me volunteering information to one favored representative of the press, I suppose I am obliged to answer it. The State Police have found a body near Durham, Bucks County, 4.4 miles west of US 611 on US 212, which they feel may be that of Miss Woodham."
"When?"
"They reported the incident to the Philadelphia Police less than an hour ago," Wohl said.
"Anybody else have this?"
"Since no one has come to me, as you did, Mr. O'Hara, with a specific question that I am obliged to answer, I have not mentioned this to anyone outside the Police Department."
"Thanks, Peter," Mickey O'Hara said, "I owe you one."
The line went dead.
Wohl broke the connection with his finger and dialed first Chief Coughlin's number and told him what had happened and what (minus Mickey O'Hara) he had done about it. And then he called Commissioner Czernick and told him the same thing.
Then he called Sergeant Frizell in and told him to have a Highway Patrolman take one of the new cars over to Inspector Paul McGhee in Traffic with the message that he could have the use of it until a car was available to him from the motor pool.
Then he settled down to deal with the mountain of paperwork on his desk until such time as Washington checked in.
A mile the far side of Willow Grove, Jason Washington switched off the siren.
"If this is Miss Woodham," he said. "And we won't know until we get a look at the body-maybe not even then, maybe not until we get her dental records, they didn't say how badly she was mutilated, only that she had been-this may be the first break we've had in this job."
"I don't understand," Matt said. He had been thinking that it was suddenly very quiet in the car, even though the speedometer was nudging eighty.
"Well, maybe somebody saw a van drive in. The site is supposed to be a summer cottage on a dirt road; in other words, not a busy street. People might have noticed. Maybe we can get an identification on the van, at least the color and make. If it's a dirt road, or there's a lawn, or some soft dirt, near the cottage, maybe we can get a cast and match it against the casts on Forbidden Drive-do you know what I'm talking about?"