Calhoun looked up at McFadden. There were tears in his eyes.
"What the hell can I do?"
"Timmy, how the hell did you ever get into this mess?" Charley asked. "Didn't you even think what would happen to Monica when you were caught?"
"We weren't supposed to get caught!" Calhoun said indignantly. "That fucking Phebus said there was no way in the fucking world we were going to get caught!"
Bingo! Former Sergeant Anton C. Phebus! I'll be damned!
"You're going to have to give them Phebus, Timmy. Before somebody else does. It's not like you'd be ratting on another cop. He's not a cop anymore, he's a lawyer, an assistant D.A., for Christ's sake! And he got you into this."
"We weren't supposed to get caught," Calhoun said. "Shit!"
"What we're going to do now, Timmy, is get on the phone to Sergeant Washington, who is my boss, and a good guy. You're going to tell him that as soon as we get to Philadelphia you're going to give him Phebus. He already knows about Phebus, of course, but with a little luck, you'll be giving him Phebus before anybody else on the Five Squad does. That should help you."
Calhoun nodded.
"I'll be right back, Timmy," Charley said.
"Where are you going?"
Charley didn't reply.
Detective Martinez was leaning on the wall just outside the men's room.
"Anything?"
"You remember good old Sergeant Anton C. Phebus?"
"Yeah. What about him?"
"He's the brains behind the whole thing."
"No shit?"
"No shit," Charley said. "See if you can borrow an office with a phone. I want to get Calhoun on the phone, talking to Washington, before he changes his mind."
Although he scanned the lobby for her carefully, Matt Payne did not see Susan Reynolds when he returned to the Penn-Harris Hotel a few minutes after twelve.
As he got on the elevator, he decided he would call her at the Department of Social Services. Even with her line tapped, it would raise no suspicions on the FBI's part if he telephoned and asked her if she was free for lunch.
As he put the key in the door of Suite 612, he sensed movement, and glanced down the corridor. Susan was trotting toward him, obviously distraught.
"Hi!" he said. "I was just about to call you."
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"Calm down," he said, opened the door, and waved her inside ahead of him.
He closed the door and put his arms around her.
"Where the hell were you?" she asked, her voice muf fled against her chest.
"I was out arresting a dirty cop," he said. "My boss just told me I was at the head of his good-guy list."
She pushed away from him and looked up into his face.
"Say what you're thinking," she said.
"I'm not thinking anything," he said.
"Yes, you are."
"There was a certain irony in that, wouldn't you think?"
"In other words, what you're going to do for Jennie makes you feel dirty?"
"Whatever I wind up doing, honey, it's not going to be for your pal Jennie."
"I could meet her by myself, Matt, and try to reason with her. I really hate what this is going to do to you."
"That's very tempting, but for several reasons, it wouldn't work," Matt said. "And I'm a big boy. I know what I'm doing."
"Why wouldn't it work?"
"Well, I think it's entirely possible that the FBI has got somebody on you-besides that woman in your office, I mean. If they see you leaving town, they'll follow you-keeping track of a Porsche isn't hard. And the minute you meet poor Jennie, surprise, surprise! Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred bucks. I don't want you to go to jail, honey."
"You don't know the FBI is watching me. Watching me that close, I mean."
"They're tapping your phones twenty-four hours a day. Your pal keeps calling-it doesn't matter what name she gives, I told you that, they know who it is. They're under pressure to put the arm on Chenowith and Company. They may not have the manpower to do it twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but whenever they can find the people, they're on you, Susan. Believe me."
"Jennie called," Susan said. "This morning."
"And?"
"I told her I would meet her."
"She called you at your office?" Matt asked. Susan nodded. "And you went to some pay phone and called her back? Or she called you at a pay-phone number you gave her?"
"At a number I gave her."
"Okay. So the minute you left your office, we can count on your friendly coworker listening to what you and Jennie had to say to each other. We can also count on her reporting that, right then, to the Terrorist Unit. If they had somebody available, you might have been followed to the phone booth. Hell, they might have followed you here."
"And there's a microphone in the light fixture?" Susan said, pointing at the ceiling. "And they are listening to everything we're saying now?"
"I don't think so. They think I'm on their side. But there's no telling, really. I should have thought of that. I'm used to planting mikes, not having them planted on me."
"I was kidding," Susan said. "You really think they could have a microphone in here?"
"Well, if they do, we're all going to jail," Matt said.
"I never know when you're serious," Susan said.
"Tell me about poor Jennie," Matt said. "Softly. The FBI may be listening."
"She really wants to give me whatever it is she wants me to keep for her."
"The translation of that is that, to cover his ass, Chenowith wants to get rid of the bank loot," Matt said. "And what did you tell her?"
"That I would meet her the same place I met her last time," Susan said.
"The restaurant in Doylestown?" Matt asked. Susan nodded. "When?"
"I told her I couldn't take off from work without questions being asked," Susan said. "I told her I'd try to get there by seven."
"Speaking of work, you're on your lunch hour, right?"
She shook her head, "no."
"After I talked to Jennie, I didn't go back to work."
"Why not?"
"I was afraid to," Susan said.
"Did something happen? What were you afraid of?"
"I didn't like the way Veronica was looking at me."
"So, what did you do?"
"I came here, looking for you, and you weren't here, so I walked around the block, and came back, and walked around the block… The last time I came in the hotel, I saw you getting on the elevator."
"By now, Veronica is wondering where the hell you are. You didn't call up and say you were sick or anything? "
Susan shook her head, "no."
"Do it now. Tell her you felt dizzy and got sick to your stomach."
"I don't work for Veronica. I'd have to call my supervisor. "
"Whoever. Tell whoever that you got sick and felt dizzy, and are going to see your doctor at half past three, and that you'll probably be in after that."
"You want me to go back to work?"
"No. But that may stall them a little. They may-just may-decide to wait until after you don't show up at four, or four-thirty, before deciding that you've taken off."
"What are we going to do about Jennie?"
"What is she going to do, just wait for you in the restaurant? "
"There's an outside pay phone-actually, there's three of them-and she's going to start calling them at seven. When I answer, she'll know I'm there."
"Which one? You said three?"
"Whichever one rings," Susan said, and smiled. "I guess she has the numbers of all of them. If one of them is busy, she'll try another. She's good at this sort of thing."
"Call your supervisor," Matt said.
"And then what?"
"And then we go."