"And you're hoping that somebody will show up at his house for the suitcase?" Payne asked.
Wohl nodded. "We may get lucky."
"Why didn't he take it with him? Isn't that woman involved?"
"I don't know how much she's involved, and I don't know why he left the suitcase at his house. These people are very careful."
Payne nodded.
"And now that Malone has gone home, and I don't have to be officially outraged-as opposed to personally admiring-at your roofjumping escapade, are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"
"Jesus, does it show?"
"Yeah, it shows."
Matt looked at him for a moment, and then at his drink for a longer moment, before finally saying, "Penny Detweiler is in the psycho ward at University Hospital."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Wohl said.
But not surprised. A junkie is a junkie is a junkie.
"I put her there," Matt said.
"What do you mean, you put her there?"
"You really don't want to hear this."
You 're right. I really don't want to hear this.
"I'm not trying to pry, Matt. But, hell, sometimes if you talk things over, when you're finished, they don't seem to be as bad."
It was quarter to two when Inspector Wohl, not without misgivings, installed Detective Payne behind the wheel of the unmarked Ford and sent him home with the admonition to try not to run any stoplights or into a station wagon full of nuns.
I believed what I told him, that if it hadn't been the other woman showing up at his apartment, that it would have been something else. That being turned loose from a drug addiction program does not mean the addiction is cured, just that, so far as they can tell, it's on hold.
But clearly, if the horny little bastard wasn't fucking every woman in town, it would not have happened. Taking the Detweiler girl to bed was idiotic. He has earned every ounce of the weight of shameful regret he's carrying.
But his wallowing in guilt isn't going to do anybody any good.
Sometimes, Peter Wohl, you are so smart, so Solomon-like, I want to throw up.
He started home to Chestnut Hill, then suddenly changed his mind, got on first Roosevelt Boulevard and then the Schuylkill Expressway and headed for Ritner Street.
I don't want to go to bed. I don't want to delegate authority. I want to put that dirty cop and the Mafioso he's running around with away. And right now there's nobody who can tell me to butt out.
Wohl drove slowly down Ritner Street, saw where Sergeant O'Dowd was parked, and made a left at the next corner and parked the car.
O'Dowd had been alone when he had driven past, but as he walked up to the car now, he first saw another head, and then recognized it as that of Detective Tony Harris, sitting beside O'Dowd.
Wohl opened the rear door and got in.
"I thought that was you driving by," O'Dowd said. "Something come up?"
"I got curious, is all," Wohl said. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood."
"There's somebody in the house," Tony Harris said. "I was out in back. You know how these houses are laid out, Inspector? With the bathroom at the back of the house?"
"Yeah, sure."
"First a dull light, which means a light on in one of the bedrooms, shining into the hall. Then a bright light. Somebody's in the bathroom. I figure it's his mother, taking a piss. Then the bright light goes out, and then the dim light, and I figure she's back in bed."
"Okay. So what?"
"So nothing. So that's what's been going on here."
'There's more, Tony. What are you thinking?"
"I don't think Paulo Cassandro or Ricco Baltazari or any other Mafioso is going to come waltzing down Ritner Street tonight to pick up that suitcase. Those bastards aren't stupid. There's been half a dozen cars come by here, any one of who could have been taking a look, and if they were, they saw us."
"Oh, ye of little faith!" Wohl said.
Why did you say that? Jesus, that was dumb! Three drinks and your mouth gallops away with you!
"You're the boss. You say sit on the house, we'll sit on the house."
"Tell me what you think is going to happen, Tony," Wohl said.
"I'll tell you what Idon't think is going to happen," Harris said.
"Okay. Tell me what's not going to happen."
"I don't think we're going to catch anybody but this dirty cop. The Mob is going to come up with some pretty clever way to get their hands on that suitcase without us catching them at it."
"Okay. So what would you do if you were me?"
"Let's say we catch Lanza actually handling the suitcase to, say, Ricco Baltazari. We arrest them. They have the best lawyers around. They say we set them up. They ask all kinds of questions of how come we were watching Lanza in the first place. The guy has a spotless record, et cetera. And Lanza is not, I'll bet my ass on it, going to pass the suitcase to anybody. If they send somebody for it, or they tell Lanza to carry it someplace and give it to somebody, we arrest him, it will be some jerk we can't tie to Baltazari or anybody else. And Lanza pleads the Fifth and won't help either. He takes the fall. He pleads guilty to stealing a suitcase. He doesn't know anything about drugs, he just stole a suitcase. First offense, what'll he get?"
"What I asked, Tony, is what you would do if you were in charge?"
"You really want to know, or are we just sitting here killing time bullshitting?"
"I really want to know."
"I go up to the door, I say 'Sorry to bother you this time of night, Mrs. Lanza, but Vito brought my suitcase here, and I'm here to collect it.' She gives me the suitcase, while you and O'Dowd watch, and O'Dowd takes pictures, and then we bust her for possession of cocaine, or whatever shit is in the suitcase. And then we go get Vito out of his girlfriend's bed and tell him he better go down to Central lockup and see what he can do for his mother, who's charged with possession with the intent to distribute. And the Mob is out however much shit they was trying to ship in."
There was a long silence.
"Not you, Tony," Wohl said, finally. "Martinez. In uniform."
"Martinez, the little Spic? What's he got to do with this?"
"DetectiveMartinez, Detective Harris, has been working undercover at the airport, trying to catch whoever has been smuggling drugs."
"No shit?"
"If Mrs. Lanza asked him questions about the airport, he would know the answers," Wohl said.
"Yeah," Harris said thoughtfully.
"That saloon is closed," Wohl said, after looking out the rear window. "Where can I find a telephone around here?"
"There's a pay station on Broad Street. If somebody hasn't ripped it off the wall."
"Hello?"
"You awake, Matt?"
"Yes, sir. What's up?"
"You know Martinez's home phone and where he lives?"
"Yes, sir."
"Call him up. Tell him to put his uniform on, then pick him up, and meet me at Moyamensing and South Broad."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
The door to the apartment of Mrs. Antoinette Marie Wolinski Schermer opened just a crack. It was evident that she had the chain in place.
"What is it?" Mrs. Schermer asked, her tone mingled annoyance and concern.
"It's the police, Mrs. Schermer," Captain Swede Olsen said. "We're here to talk to Corporal Lanza."
When there was no immediate response, Captain Olsen added, "We know he's here, Tony. Open the door."
The door closed. It remained closed for about a minute, but it seemed much longer than that. And then it opened.