"Who else? Not only does it smell like one of his friendly suggestions for general improvement of departmental operations, but who else would dare challenge the collective wisdom of Lowenstein and Coughlin-and my dad, by the way-that the best place for you to learn how to be a detective was to send you to East Detectives?"
He turned on the stairs and looked back at Payne.
"I'd say five thousand dollars," Matt said. "I understand the price goes up if the guy to be hit is known to go around armed."
Mayor Carlucci was known to never feel completely dressed unless he had a Smith amp; Wesson Chief's Special.38 caliber snubnose on his hip.
"Maybe we could take up a collection," Wohl said. "Put a pickle jar in every district."
He pushed open the door to his apartment and went inside.
"I need a shower," he said. "If you haven't already drunk it all, help yourself to a beer, and then call the tour lieutenant and tell him I'll be at Pekach's…Martha Peebles's."
"Yes, sir," Matt said.
He sat down on the white leather couch and pulled the telephone to him. There were lipstick-stained cigarette butts in the ashtray.
"You forgot to conceal the evidence," he called. "How did you do with whoever likes Purple Passion lipstick?"
"And clean the ashtrays," Wohl called back. "And not that it's any of your business, but she told me she was not that kind of girl. She was deeply annoyed that I thought she would do that sort of thing on the fifth date."
Matt chuckled and dialed, from memory, the number of the lieutenant on duty at Special Operations.
"Special Operations, Lieutenant Wisser."
Must be somebody new. I don't know that name.
"Lieutenant, Inspector Wohl asked me to call in that until further notice, he'll be at the Peebles's residence in Chestnut Hill. The number's on the list under the glass on his desk."
"Who is this?"
"My name is Payne, sir. Detective Payne."
"I've been trying to reach the inspector. Is he with you?"
Matt could hear the sound of the shower.
"No, sir. But I can get a message to him in a couple of minutes."
'Tell him that Chief Wohl has been trying to get him. That he's to call. He said it was important."
"Yes, sir, I'll tell him."
"Do I know you, Payne?"
"I don't think so, sir."
The phone went dead in Matt's ear.
He replaced the telephone in its cradle, carried the ashtray into the kitchen, emptied it, took another Ortlieb's beer from the refrigerator, and sat on the couch with it and the current copy ofPlayboy until Wohl reappeared.
"Your dad wants you to call," Matt reported. "Lieutenant Wisser said he said it was important."
Wohl sat on the couch beside him and dialed the telephone.
Matt could only guess at what the conversation was, but there was no mistaking that Wohl's attitude changed from concern to annoyance, and then resignation.
"Okay, Dad. Six-thirty, maybe a little later. Okay. Six-thirty,no later," he concluded, and hung up, and turned to Matt: "If you can find the hit man, tell him the mayor will probably be at 8231 Rockwell Avenue from about half past six."
"Oh?"
"It may just be for a friendly evening with old friends, and then again, it may not be," Wohl said.
Matt waited for more of an explanation, but none was forthcoming.
ELEVEN
There was a light-skinned black man in a white coat standing under the portico of the Peebles's turn-of-the-century mansion when Wohl drove up.
"Good afternoon, sir. I'll take care of your car. Miss Peebles is at the barbecue pit."
He gestured toward a brick path leading from the house to a grove of trees.
Peter Wohl did not permit anyone else to drive his car. He had spent three years and more money than he liked to remember rebuilding it from the frame up, and had no intention of having it damaged by someone else.
"I'll park it, thank you. Around the back?"
"Beside the carriage house, if you please, sir."
Matt, who had followed him to the estate, now followed him to the carriage house.
There were two cars already parked there. One, a nearly new Ford four-door sedan both Matt and Wohl recognized as the unmarked Department car assigned to Captain Mike Sabara, Wohl's deputy. The other was a four-year-old Chevrolet with a Fraternal Order of Police sticker in the rear windshield.
They each noticed the other looking at it, and then shrugged almost simultaneously, indicating that neither recognized it.
They walked across the cobblestones past the carriage house (now a four-car garage) to the brick walk and toward the barbecue pit. They were almost out of sight of the house when they heard another car arrive.
It was a Buick Roadmaster Estate Wagon, and at the moment Matt decided that it looked vaguely familiar, there was proof. The Buick wagon stopped at the portico of the mansion and Miss Penelope Detweiler got out.
"Shit," Matt said.
"Someone you know, I gather?" Wohl said.
"Precious Penny Detweiler," Matt said.
"Really?" Wohl sounded surprised.
"Before we send the hit man to the mayor's house, do you suppose he'd have time to do a job on Pekach's girlfriend?"
They reached the barbecue pit. It was a circular area perhaps fifty feet across, with brick benches, now covered with flowered cushions, at the perimeter. There were several cast-iron tables and matching chairs, each topped with a large umbrella. Each table had been set with place mats and a full set of silver and glassware.
A bar had been set up, and another black man in a white jacket stood behind that. A third black man, older and wearing a gray jacket, whom Matt recognized as Evans, Martha Peebles's butler, was, assisted by Captain Pekach, adjusting the rack over a large bed of charcoal in the grill itself, a brick structure in the center of the circle.
"God," Wohl said softly, "ain't getting back to simple nature wonderful?"
Martha Peebles came up to them when they stepped inside the circle.
"I'm so glad you could come," she said. "David is fixing the fire."
She gave her cheek to Matt, who kissed it, and then to Wohl, who followed suit.
"I think I should warn you, Martha," Matt said. "That when he's at work, we don't let the captain play with matches."
"Penny Detweiler's coming," Martha said. "She should be here any minute."
"She's here."
"I ran into her and her mother at the butcher's, and I asked them to join us…"
Matt smiled insincerely.
"And Grace said she and Dick were tied up, but Penny…"
"Would just love to come, right?" Matt said.
"And I told Grace you would drive her home, afterward. Is that all right?"
The bartender approached them.
"Can I get you gentlemen something?"
"How are you fixed for strychnine?"
"I'm beginning to suspect that wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done," Martha said. "If I did the wrong thing, Matt, I'm sorry. It was just that I knew she is just home…"
"I don't think you're capable of doing the wrong thing, Martha," Matt said. "On the other hand, I'm famous for being ill-mannered. Sure, I'll take her home." He turned to the bartender: "I'll have a beer, please. Ortlieb's, if you have it."
"The same for me, please," Wohl said.
Officer Paul T. O'Mara, holding a bottle of Pabst, walked up. He was in civilian clothing, a sports coat, and slacks.
"Hello, Paul," Wohl said.
Matt decided Wohl was surprised and not entirely pleased to see whoever this guy was.
"Inspector, would you please call your father?"