"Ialways thought you were gracious and understanding, Dave," Wohl said.
"-and said he would never forget it, etcetera, and said if there was ever anything he could do for me-"
"And he probably meant it too," Sabara said. "Anybody you want knocked off, Dave? Your neighbors playing their TV too late at night, anything like that?"
"Shit, Mike!" Pekach exploded.
"Sorry," Sabara said, not sounding overwhelmed with remorse.
"What I thought he was doing was letting me know he'd grab the tab for dinner. But on my way back to the table Baltazari handed me that matchbook and said I dropped them, and I said no, and he said he was sure, so I kept them."
"You see the name inside?" Wohl asked.
"Yeah. It didn't mean anything to me. Baltazari gave me the same line of greaser bullshit, something about 'Mr. Savarese's friends always being grateful when somebody does him a favor.' What I think he said was 'him or his family a courtesy.' By then I was beginning to wish I'd tossed the little bitch in the can."
"No you didn't." Wohl chuckled. "You really are gracious and understanding, Dave."
Pekach glared at him.
"That wasn't a knife," Wohl said.
"So, anyway, when I got home, I called Records and got a make on this guy. Sort of a make. Black male. He's supposed to be a gambler, but what he really is, is a pimp. He runs an escort service."
"Marvin P. Lanier," Sabara said, reading the name inside the matchbook. "I never heard of him."
"Misterioso," Wohl said.
"I figured I better tell you about it," Pekach said.
"Yeah," Wohl said thoughtfully. "Neither of them gave any hint why they gave you this guy's name?"
"Nope," Pekach said.
One of the phones on Wohl's desk rang. Wohl was in his customary position, on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. Pekach, who was leaning on Wohl's desk, looked at him questioningly. Wohl nodded. Pekach picked up the phone.
"Captain Pekach," he said, and listened, and then covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "There's a Homicide detective out there. Wants to see you, me, or Dave. You want me to take it?"
"Bring him in," Wohl said.
"Send him in, Sergeant," Pekach said to the phone, and put it back in its cradle. He went to the door and pulled it open.
Detective Joseph D'Amata walked in.
"Hey, D'Amata," Wohl called. "How are you?"
"Good morning, Inspector," D'Amata said. "Am I interrupting anything?"
"Captain Pekach was just telling Captain Sabara and me about his dinner last night," Wohl said. "What can we do for Homicide?"
"You hear about the pimp who got himself blown away last night?"
"I haven't read the overnights," Wohl said.
"Black guy," D'Amata said. "Lived on 48^th near Haverford."
"His name wouldn't be Marvin P. Lanier, would it?" Wohl asked.
"Yes, sir, that's it," D'Amata said, obviously pleased. "I sort of hoped there'd be something for me here."
"I don't think I follow that," Wohl said.
"I got the idea, Inspector, that you-that is, Highway- knows something about this guy."
"Why would you think that?"
"You knew the name," D'Amata said, just a little defensively.
"That's all?"
"Sir, an hour before somebody shot this guy there was a Highway car in front of his house. With him. Outside the crime scene, I mean."
"You're sure about that?"
"Yes, sir. Half a dozen people in the neighborhood saw it."
"Dave?" Wohl asked.
Pekach threw up his hands in a helpless gesture, making it clear that he knew nothing about a Highway involvement.
"Fascinating," Wohl said. "Moremisterioso."
"Sir?" D'Amata asked, confused.
"Detective D'Amata," Wohl said, "why don't you help yourself to a cup of coffee and then have a chair while Captain Pekach goes and finds out what Highway had to do with Mr. Lanier last night?"
"Inspector, this is the first I've heard anything about this," Pekach said.
"So I gathered," Wohl said sarcastically.
Pekach left the office.
"How did Mr. Lanier meet his untimely demise, D'Amata?"
"Somebody popped him five times with a.38," D'Amata said. "In his bed."
"That would suggest that somebody didn't like him very much," Wohl said. "Any ideas who that might be?"
D'Amata shook his head.
"Have you learned anything that might suggest Mr. Lanier was connected with the mob?"
"He wasa pimp, Inspector," D'Amata said.
"Then let me ask you this: Off the top of your head, would you say that Mr. Lanier was popped, in a crime of passion, so to speak, by one of his ladies, or by somebody who knew what he was doing?"
D'Amata thought that over briefly. "He took two in the head and three in the chest."
"Suggesting?"
"I don't know. Some of those whores are tough enough. A whore could have done it."
"Have you any particular lady in mind?"
"I asked Vice"-he paused and chuckled-"to round up the usual suspects. Actually for a list of girls who worked for him, or did."
Wohl chuckled and then asked, "Whose gun?"
"We don't have that yet," D'Amata said. "Those are interesting questions you're asking, Inspector."
"Just letting my mind wander," Wohl said. "Try this one: Can you think of any reason that Mr. Lanier's name would be known to Mr. Vincenzo Savarese?"
"Jesus!" D'Amata said. "Was it?"
"Letyour mind wander," Wohl said.
"He could have owed the mob some money," D'Amata said. "He liked to pass himself off as a gambler. The mob likes to get paid."
"That would get him a broken leg, not five well-placed shots, and from someone with whom Mr. Savarese would be only faintly acquainted," Wohl said.
"Yeah," D'Amata said thoughtfully.
"What would that leave? Drugs?" Wohl asked.
There was not time for D'Amata to consider that, much less offer an answer. Pekach came back in the office.
"There's nothing in the records about a Highway car being anywhere near 48^th and Haverford last night," he said.
"You sure?" D'Amata challenged, surprised.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Pekach said sharply. "Are you?"
"Captain," D'Amata said, "I got the same story from four different people. There was a Highway car there."
There was a knock at the door.
"Not now!" Wohl called.
There came another knock.
"Open the door, Dave," Wohl said coldly.
Pekach opened the door.
Officers Jesus Martinez and Charles McFadden stood there, looking more than a little uncomfortable.
"Didn't you hear me say not now?" Wohl said. "How many times do I have to-"
"Inspector," Charley McFadden blurted, "we heard Captain Pekach asking-"
"Goddammit, we're busy," Pekach flared. "The Inspector said not now. And whatever's on your mind, go through your sergeant!"
"That was us," Charley said. "At 48^th and Haverford. With Marvin Lanier." He looked at Pekach. "That's what we wanted to see you about, Captain."
"Officer McFadden," Wohl said, "please come in, and bring Officer Martinez with you."
They came into the office.
"You have heard, I gather, that Mr. Lanier was shot to death last night?" Wohl asked.
"Just now, sir," Hay-zus said.
"Before we get started, this is Detective D'Amata of Homicide," Wohl said. "Joe, these two are Jesus Martinez and Charley McFadden, who before they became probationary Highway Patrolmen worked for Captain Pekach when they were all in Narcotics."
"I know who they are," D'Amata said.
"What is your connection with Mr. Lanier?" Wohl asked.
Charley McFadden looked at Hay-zus, then at Wohl, then at Pekach.
"What we wanted to tell Captain Pekach was that Marvin told us another guinea shot Tony the Zee," he blurted.
"Fascinating," Wohl said.
"What I want to know is what you were doing with Lanier when you were supposed to be patrolling the Schuylkill Expressway," Captain Pekach said.