"No, sir. I'm afraid I don't know where he is at this moment."
"Have him call me the moment you see him," Commissioner Czernick said, and hung up.
"I wonder what that's all about," Sabara said to Captain David Pekach as he put the phone in its cradle. "That was Czernick, and he's obviously pissed about something. You don't know where the boss is?"
"The last I heard, he was on his way to the mayor's office."
"I felt like a fool, having to tell Czernick I don't know where he is."
"What's Czernick pissed about?"
"I don't know, but he's pissed. Really pissed."
Pekach got up from his upholstered chair and went to the Operations sergeant.
"Have you got any idea where Inspector Wohl might be?"
"Right at this moment he's on his way to see the commissioner," the sergeant said.
"How do you know that?"
"It was on the radio. There was a call for W-William One, and the inspector answered and they told him to report to the commissioner right away, and he acknowledged."
"Thank you," Pekach said. He went back in the office and told Sabara what he had learned.
Staff Inspector Peter Wohl arrived at Special Operations an hour and five minutes later. He found Officer Matthew W. Payne waiting for him in the corridor outside the Operations office.
"I'd like to see you right away, sir," Matt said.
"Have you called Captain Duffy?"
"No, sir. Something came up," Matt said, and picked up the manila envelope containing the photographs.
"So I understand," Wohl said. "Come in the office."
Sabara and Pekach got to their feet as Wohl entered his office.
"We've been trying to reach you, Inspec-" Sabara said.
"I had my radio turned off," Wohl interrupted.
"The commissioner wants you to call him right away."
"How long ago was that?"
"About an hour ago, sir," Pekach said. He looked at his watch. "An hour and five minutes ago."
"I've seen him since then," Wohl said. "I just came from the Roundhouse." He turned to look at Payne. "We were discussing you, Officer Payne, the commissioner and I. Or rather the commissioner was discussing you, and I just sat there looking like a goddamn fool."
Pekach and Sabara started for the door.
"Stay. You might as well hear this," Wohl said. "I understand you have been at Hahneman Hospital. Is that so?"
"Yes, sir," Matt said.
"I seem to recall having told you to come here and call Captain Duffy for me."
"Yes, sir, you did."
"Did anyone else tell you to go to Hahneman Hospital?"
"Inspector," Matt said, handing him the photograph on which Penelope Detweiler had written her statement. "Would you please look at this?"
"Did anyone tell you to go to Hahneman Hospital?" Wohl repeated icily.
"Those two guys weren't from the FBI," Matt said.
"Answer me," Wohl said.
"No, sir."
"Then why thehell did you go to Hahneman Hospital?"
"Sir, would you please look at the back of the picture?"
Wohl turned it over and read it.
"You're a regular little Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?" Wohl said. He handed the photograph to Sabara, who examined it with Pekach leaning over his shoulder.
"She positively identifies that man as the guy who shot her and DeZego."
"And now all we have to do is find this guy, bring him in front of a jury, convict his ass, send him off to the electric chair, and Special Operations generally and Officer Matthew Payne specifically will come across as supercops, and to the cheers of the crowd we will skip happily off into the sunset, is that what you're thinking?"
"Sir," Matt said doggedly, "she positively identified that man as the man who shot her."
"You did have a chance to buy uniforms before you came out here to Special Operations, I hope?"
"Yes, sir. I've got my uniforms."
"Good. You're going to need them. By verbal direction of the police commissioner, written confirmation to follow, Officer Payne, you are reassigned to the 12^th District, effective immediately. I doubt very much if you will be assigned plain clothes duties. You are also officially advised that a complaint, making several allegations against you involving your visit to Miss Detweiler at Hahneman Hospital today, has been made by a Dr. Dotson and officials of Hahneman Hospital. It has been referred to Internal Affairs for investigation. No doubt shortly you will be hearing from them."
"Peter, for chrissake, you're not listening to me!" Matt said. " She positively identified the shooter!"
"It's Inspector Wohl to you, Officer Payne," Wohl said.
"Sorry," Matt said.
"Matt, for chrissake!" Wohl said exasperatedly. "Let me explain all this to you. One, the chances of us catching these two, or either one of them, range from slim to none. On the way out here I stopped at Organized Crime and Intelligence. Neither of them are known by sight to anyone in Organized Crime or Intelligence-"
"You knew they weren't FBI guys?" Matt blurted, surprised.
"I have the word of the Special Agent in Charge about that," Wohl said. "They are not FBI agents. I have a gut feeling they are Mob hit men. Good ones. Imported, God only knows why, to blow DeZego away. Professionals, so to speak. We don't know where they came from. We can't charge them with murder or anything-unlawful flight or anything else, on the basis of some photographs that show them standing on a street."
"Penelope Detweiler swore that one of them is the guy who shot her and DeZego."
"Let's talk about Miss Detweiler," Wohl said. "She is a known user of narcotics, for one thing, and for another, she is Miss Penelope Detweiler, whose father's lawyers-your father, for example-will counsel her. They will advise her- and they probably should, I'm a little fuzzy about the ethics here-on the problems inherent in bringing these two scumbags before a grand jury for an indictment, much less before a jury. If I were her lawyer, I would advise her to tell the grand jury that she's really a little confused about what actually happened that day."
"Why would a lawyer tell her that?" Matt asked softly.
"Because, again presuming we can find these two, which I doubt, and presuming we could get an indictment-it isn't really true that any district attorney who can spell his own name can get an indictment anytime he wants to-and get him before a jury, then your friend Miss Detweiler would be subject to cross-examination. It would come out that she is addicted to certain narcotics, which would discredit her testimony, and it would come out that she was, tactfully phrased, romantically involved with Mr. DeZego. The press would have a certain interest in this trial. If I were her lawyer, I would suggest to her that testifying would be quite a strain on her and on her family."
"Oh, shit," Matt said. "I really fucked this up, didn't I?"
"Yeah, and good intentions don't count," Wohl said. "What counts, I'm afraid, is that Commissioner Czernick believes, more than likely correctly, that H. Richard Detweiler is going to be furious when he hears about your little escapade and is going to make his displeasure known to the mayor. When the mayor calls him, the commissioner will now be able to say that he's taken care of the matter. You have been relieved out here and assigned to duties appropriate to your experience. In other words, in a district, in uniform, and more than likely in a wagon."
"Oh, Christ, I'm sorry."
"So am I, Matt," Wohl said gently. "But what you did was stupid. For what it's worth, you probably should have gone to a district like anybody else fresh from the Academy."
"Hell, I'll just resign," Matt said.
"You think you're too good to ride around in a wagon?" Wohl asked.
"No," Matt said, "not at all. That's what I expected to do when I got out of the Academy. Denny Coughlin made sure I understood what to expect. I mean, under these circumstances. I have fucked up by the numbers, and they'll know that at the 12^th. I think it would be best all around, that's all, if I just folded my tent and silently stole away."