He arrived downtown at the district attorney's office with five minutes to spare, having exceeded the speed limit over almost all of the route.
As he looked at his watch, he thought the hour was odd. He didn't think the district attorney was usually about the people's business at eight A.M. Had Callis summoned Lowenstein at this time? Probably not. If Callis had wanted to see them, somebody would have called him too. The odds were that Lowenstein had called Callis and told him he had to see him as soon as possible, and then when Callis had agreed, Lowenstein had called him.
Why?
Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein, Detective Joe D'Amata of Homicide, and another man, obviously a detective, were in Callis's outer office when Peter walked in.
"I was getting worried about you," Lowenstein greeted him.
"Good morning, Chief, I'm not late, am I?"
"Just barely," Lowenstein said. "You know Jerry Pelosi, don't you?"
"Sure. How are you, Pelosi?"
They shook hands.
The mystery is over. Pelosi's the Central Detectives guy working the Goldblatt job. This is about that.
There was no chance to ask Chief Lowenstein. A large, silver-haired, ruddy-faced man, the Hon. Thomas J. Callis, district attorney of Philadelphia, swept into his outer office, the door held open for him by Philadelphia County Detective W.H. Mahoney. The district attorney had in effect his own detective bureau. Most of them, like Mahoney, were ex-Philadelphia Police Department officers. A detective bodyguard-driver was one of the perks of being the district attorney.
"Hello, Matt," Callis said. "How the hell are you?"
A real pol,Wohl thought. Wohl did not ordinarily like politicians, but he was of mixed emotions about Callis. He had worked closely with him during his investigation In those happy, happy, days when I was just one more staff inspector -of Judge Findermann and his fellow scumbags, and had concluded that Callis was deeply offended by the very notion of a judge on the take, and interested in the prosecution for that reason alone, not simply because it might look good for him in the newspapers.
"And Peter," Callis went on, "looking the fashion plate even at this un-godly hour."
"Good morning, Mr. Callis."
"Tommy! Tommy! How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"Tommy," Wohl said obediently.
"Detective D'Amata I know, of course, but I don't think I've had the pleasure-"
"Detective Jerry Pelosi," Lowenstein offered, "of Central Detectives."
"Well, I'm delighted to meet you, Jerry," Callis said, sounding as if he meant it, and pumping his hand.
Callis turned and faced the others, beaming as if just seeing them gave him great pleasure.
"Well, let's get on with this, whatever it is," he said. "Are we all going in, Matt?"
"Why not?" Lowenstein said, after a just perceptible pause. "Mahoney knows when to keep his mouth shut, don't you, Mahoney?"
"Yes, of course he does," Callis said. "Well then, come on in. Anybody want some coffee?"
"I would kill for a cup of coffee," Wohl said.
"Figuratively speaking, of course, Peter?"
"Don't get between me and the pot," Wohl replied.
"Black, Inspector?" Mahoney asked.
"Please," Wohl said.
"My time is your time, Matt, providing this doesn't last more than thirty minutes," Callis said.
"You heard about the Goldblatt job?" Lowenstein asked.
"You mean the-what was it?-'Islamic Liberation Army'? It was all over the tube. TheLedger even ran a photo of their press release on the front page of the second section. Who the hell are these nuts, Matt?"
"Between Pelosi and D'Amata we have a pretty good idea who they are," Lowenstein said.
"Good idea or names?"
"Names. On almost all of them, anyway."
"Witnesses?"
"There were twenty-odd people in Goldblatt's," Lowenstein replied.
"That's not what I asked."
"We have onegood witness," Lowenstein said carefully.
"A Goldblatt employee. Worked like sort of a doorman. Albert J. Monahan. Pelosi showed him pictures and he positively identified all of them."
"A moment ago you said there were twenty-odd people in Goldblatt's."
"They don't want to get involved. In other words, they're scared. That press release and the way the press swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker, made things worse."
"So if you catch these guys, you haveone witness?"
"There's no question of 'if' we catch them, Tommy," Lowenstein said. "The question is how, and what we do with them."
"Let's cut to the chase," the district attorney said.
"Okay. Two things bug me about this job," Lowenstein said. "First, something that's been building up the last couple of years. Witnesses not wanting to get involved. A lot of scumbags are walking around out there because witnesses suddenly have developed trouble with their memories."
Callis nodded. "They're afraid. I don't know what to do about it."
"In a minute, I'll tell you. The second thing is I don't like the idea of a bunch ofschwartzer thugs dressing up like Arabs-"
"Americans of African descent, you mean, of course, Chief?" Callis interrupted softly.
"-and announcing they're not really stick-up artists-in this case, murderers-but soldiers in some liberation army."
"And blaming the Jews for all their troubles?"
"Yeah. Blamingus Jews for all their troubles," Lowenstein said. "That bothers me personally, but I'm here as the chief inspector of Detectives of the City of Philadelphia. Okay?"
"No offense, Matt."
"I called Jason Washington last night-" Lowenstein said, and then interrupted himself. "I tried to call you, Peter, but all I got was your answering machine. Then I called your driver, and all I got there was a smart-ass message on his answering machine. So I gave up and called Washington without checking with you. I hope you're not sore. I thought it was necessary."
"Don't be silly," Wohl said. "But if you are referring to Officer Payne, he is my administrative assistant, not my driver. Only full inspectors and better get drivers."
"I don't think it will be too long, Chief," Callis said, "before Peter is a full inspector, do you?"
"What about Washington, Chief?" Wohl asked.
"He has a relationship with Arthur X," Lowenstein went on. "I asked him to call him."
Arthur X, a Negro male, thirty-six years of age, 175 pounds, who shaved his head, and wore flowing robes, had been born Arthur John Thomlinson. He had replaced Thomlinson with X on the basis that Thomlinson was a slave name. Arthur X was head of the Philadelphia Islamic Temple, which was established in a former movie palace on North Broad Street.
He had converted an estimated three thousand people to his version of Islam. The men wore suits and ties, and the women white robes, including headgear that covered most of their faces.
"And?" Tommy Callis asked.
"He told Jason he never heard of the Islamic Liberation Army."
"Did Jason believe him? Do you?"
"Yeah."
"Why?
"He and Jason have an understanding. He doesn't lie to Jason, and Jason doesn't lie to him. Jason said he had the feeling that Arthur didn't like their using the term 'Islamic' That's his word."
"He didn't volunteer who he thought these people might be, by any chance?"
"Jason didn't ask. He said if he asked, and Arthur told him- Jason said he didn't think Arthur knew, but he certainly could find out-then we would owe him one. I told you, Tommy, we already know who they are."
"So why did you have Washington call Arthur X?"
"To make sure that when we go to pick these scumbags up, we wouldn't be running into the Fruit of Islam screaming religious and/or racial persecution."