Then she watched until it drove out of sight.
"I'll need the gun and the badge, Mrs. Calhoun," Detective Martinez said.
"And if you know where the key to the box is, Monica, " Charley McFadden added.
"You're supposed to be his friend, Charley!" Monica said. "How could you do this to him?"
"He done it to himself, Monica," Charley said. "Let's go get his gun and badge."
"You stay here! I'll go get it."
"I can't let you do that, Monica," Charley said. "I'll have to go with you."
When Harrison J. Hormel, Esq., first among equals of the assistant district attorneys of Philadelphia, arrived at work, he heard the sound of an electric razor coming from the office of the Hon. Thomas J. "Tony" Callis, the district attorney of Philadelphia.
He looked at his watch. It was 8:35, a good hour or hour and a half earlier than Callis's usual appearance.
He turned and knocked at the unmarked private door to Callis's office. When there was no answer, he tried the knob, and it turned, and he was able to push the door slightly open.
Callis, in a sleeveless undershirt, his suspenders hanging loose, was standing at the washbasin in his small private bath.
Hormel walked to the door. Callis saw his reflection in the mirror and took the electric razor from his face.
"What's up, Harry?" he asked.
"I was about to ask you the same thing."
"It's a long story," Callis said. "One I'm not really ready to pass on right at this moment."
"What's the big secret?"
"I'll give you a thumbnail, but no questions, okay?"
"You're the boss."
"Dirty cops. Lots of them."
"Doing what?"
"I said no questions. The arrests are not finished yet. There's an incredible amount of ifs in this one, Harry. If this happens, then that will. If that doesn't happen, then this will. You follow?"
Hormel shook his head, "no."
"I've been up since half past three," Callis said. "Coughlin sent a Highway Patrol car for me. What I need now is to finish my shave, put on a clean shirt, have a couple of cups of coffee and thirty minutes to settle my thoughts."
"Since when is Denny Coughlin investigating dirty cops?"
"Since Carlucci-who they got out of bed at six thirty, by the way-told him to."
"And he's found some, I gather?"
"There's going to be a meeting in Carlucci's office at half past nine. There's a couple of things supposed to happen before then."
"What kind of things?"
"Jesus, Harry, don't you understand 'no questions'?"
"Sorry, I'm just trying to be useful. You say Coughlin sent a Highway car after you?"
"Nice try," Callis said. "Yeah, Coughlin sent a Highway car for me. Period, that's all I can give you now. When the meeting is over, I'll probably be able to tell you what's going on."
"Okay."
"Now let me finish my shave and get a fresh shirt."
"Nothing I can do right now?"
"Not a thing," Callis said.
Harry had almost made it to the door when Callis had another thought, tangentially connected with the Five Squad.
"Harry?" he called.
"Yes, sir?"
"Tell Phebus I'll want to see him sometime this morning. I don't give a damn what else he's got on his plate, I want him around here this morning where I can lay my hands on him in ten seconds. Capisce?"
"Yes, sir."
"If he asks why, tell him I want to know what's going on with the Leslie case."
"Yes, sir."
Assistant District Attorney Hormel went immediately to the office of Assistant District Attorney Anton C. Phebus. He had not yet come to work.
He walked back down the corridor thirty minutes later and found that Mr. Phebus had come to work, and to judge by the briefcase in his hand was about to leave it.
"Where are you headed?"
"For a conference with the Goddamned Nun."
"What does she want?"
"Haven't the faintest. Some deal, certainly. She's determined to see that Leslie gets no more than a slap on the wrist."
"Well, you're going to have to postpone it."
"Why?"
"Because Tony said he wants you around here all morning where he can lay his hands on you in ten seconds."
"Did he say why?"
"He said he wants to talk to you about the Leslie case. He's in his Mr. Super-DA-Man role. Coughlin, he announced like a happy child, had sent a Highway car for him in the middle of the night, and he's on his way to a meeting in the mayor's office."
"What's that all about?"
"He said something about dirty cops, but what I think it is, is that he thinks Carlucci is liable to ask him about the Leslie case."
Anton C. Phebus, who was not a stupid man, felt a sudden pain in the pit of his stomach.
"Okay," he said. "I hear and obey."
As soon as Hormel had left his office, he called the Goddamned Nun's office and left a message for her to the effect that an emergency situation had arisen that would preclude his meeting with her as scheduled. He would call her later in the day and attempt to schedule another meeting at a mutually convenient time.
Then he dialed the home telephone number of Officer Joe Grider. Mrs. Grider informed him that Joe hadn't come home yet.
He dialed the home number of Officer Herbert Prasko, and there was no answer. He remembered that Prasko's wife had a job, which would explain why nobody answered the phone, particularly if Prasko, like Grider, had worked until the wee hours and then had a couple of belts afterward. There wasn't much sense-unless all you wanted to do was sleep-in going home if the old lady was out working.
There was one way of finding out for sure, of course. Call the Narcotics Unit and talk to somebody and find out what had happened the previous night. He dialed the number of the Narcotics Unit, but changed his mind and hung up before it was answered.
He was letting his imagination run away with him. He had thought this whole thing through very carefully. Nothing had gone wrong because nothing could go wrong.
"Well, good morning!" Vice President James C. Chase of the First Harrisburg Bank amp; Trust Company cried cheerfully when he saw Lieutenant Paul Deitrich and Detective Matt Payne walk into his outer office. "You wanted to see me?"
"We'd appreciate a few minutes of your time, Mr. Chase," Deitrich said.
"Anytime, Paul, you know that," Chase said. "Come on in."
They went into the inner office.
"Actually, Matt," Chase said, "I was hoping to catch you before you went across the floor. Our Mr. Hausmann is back from Boston, and we're going to have to find you another desk somewhere."
"I won't be needing a desk anymore, Mr. Chase," Matt said.
Chase picked up on something in Matt's voice, or perhaps his demeanor.
"That sounds, forgive me, a little ominous, Matt. Is something wrong?"
"I'm afraid so, sir," Matt said. "I'm afraid I was right when I thought I saw someone I recognized going into the safe-deposit area yesterday, Mr. Chase."
"But Adelaide, Mrs. Worner, had no record-"
"We just arrested him, Mr. Chase," Matt said. "On charges of misprision of office as a Philadelphia police officer. We have reason to believe that Mrs. Worner has been making a safe-deposit box available to him off the records."
"That's hard to accept," Chase said, somewhat coldly. "Paul?"
"We could, of course, be wrong, Mr. Chase," Deitrich said. "But I don't think so."
"To what end? You're not trying to tell me Adelaide could possibly have any involvement with a call girl ring in Philadelphia?"
"We believe the box is being used to hold money-and maybe drugs-acquired illegally by Philadelphia police officers," Matt said.