The other thirty-five messages recorded on his machine were from persons unknown to him.
The voices were different (later voice analysis by police experts indicated that four individuals, three males and one female, had telephoned several times each) but the gist of the messages was that Matt Payne, variously described as a motherfucker, a honky, a pig, and a cocksucker (each noun coming with various adjectival prefixes, most commonly "fucking," "goddamn," and "motherfucking"), was going to be killed for having murdered Abu Ben Mohammed.
Patricia Payne, except to pass drinks around, stayed in the kitchen while the tape played. Amy, after the first thirty seconds or so, came and sat beside Matt on the couch, took a notebook from her purse, and made notes.
The policemen in the apartment looked either at the floor or the ceiling, and seemed quite uncomfortable. Sergeant Holloran's and Officer McFadden's faces quickly turned red with embarrassment and stayed that way, even after the tape suddenly cut off in midsentence and began to rewind.
"Nice friends you have, Matthew," Amy Payne broke the silence. "You ever hear what happens to people who roll around with the pigs in the mud?"
"I wonder how they got the number?" Matt asked. "I'm not in the book."
"There are ways to get unlisted numbers," Denny Coughlin said absently. "I'll want to take that tape with me, Matt, and see what the lab boys can make of it."
"Well, the thing to do is have Matt's number changed," Brewster C. Payne said.
"Some of that was spontaneous," Amy said thoughtfully. "But some, maybe most, seemed to me to be rehearsed, perhaps even read."
"What did you say, Amy?" Coughlin asked.
"If you know what to listen for, Uncle Denny," Amy said, "you sometimes can hear things in people's voices. I said, I think that some of those people called and said whatever came into their minds, but others, I think, seemed to be reading what they said, or at least had a good idea of what they were going to say before they said it. Oddly enough, those are the ones who sounded awkward or hesitant."
"Interesting," Coughlin said, not very convincingly. "I'd rather not have that number changed, Brewster. Maybe we can get Matt another line-that will take a day or two, probably-"
"No, it won't," Payne said.
"What won't?"
"Getting Matt another line. I think I know who to call."
"What I was saying, Brewster, is that I would like to leave that line as it is, and record what calls come in."
"Oh, I see what you mean."
"Have you got a spare tape for the machine, Matty?"
Matt considered that a minute, then replied, "No. I don't think so."
"Let's take it apart and see what we need," Coughlin said.
Matt opened the telephone recorder and removed the tape cassette and handed it to Coughlin.
Brewster C. Payne reached for the telephone and dialed a number.
"Mr. Arnold, please," he said. "Brewster Payne calling." There was a brief pause, and then he went on: "Jack, for reasons I would rather not get into, I need another telephone line installed in my son's apartment, in the Delaware Valley Cancer Society Building on Rittenhouse Square, right away." There was another pause. "No, I don't mean first thing tomorrow. In the next hour or so is what I had in mind."
Matt saw Denny Coughlin smiling.
"No, I am not kidding," Brewster Payne went on. "You told me, Jack, to call you if I ever needed something. This is that call." There was one last pause. "Two hours would be fine, Jack. His name is Matthew M. Payne and it's the apartment in the attic. Thank you very much."
He turned somewhat triumphantly from the telephone.
"Two hours, Denny."
"You are an amazing man," Coughlin said.
"How kind of you to recognize that," Payne said smugly.
Patricia Payne groaned.
"I wonder where we can get one of these?" Coughlin said, examining the tape cassette.
"I bought that in the electronics store on Walnut and 15^th," Matt said.
"Okay. We'll take Officer Martinez with us when we go, and he can bring it back. Until we get another tape in there, just don't answer the phone. Better yet, take it off the hook."
He picked up his drink and drained it.
"Patty, Brewster," he said. "Matt's in good hands. You have nothing to worry about."
"Good try, Denny," Patricia Payne said. "But not a very successful one."
"Let's go," Coughlin said. He looked at Matt Payne. "I'll check in with you later, Matty."
"Thank you, Uncle Denny."
"Have you got any special orders for me, Chief?" Sergeant Carter said.
"No. You know what to do. Do it."
"Carter, why don't you and I take a run past Mr. Monahan's house?" Malone said.
"He's at Goldblatt's, sir. I checked."
"I want to check the arrangements at his house," Malone said tartly. "I know where he is."
"Yes, sir."
"It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Payne," Malone said. "Mr. Payne."
"It was nice to meet you, Lieutenant," Patricia Payne said, "and you too, Sergeant Carter. Thank you."
"Yes, ma'am," Carter said.
In a few moments everyone but the Paynes and Charley McFadden had gone down the steep stairway.
"Are you hungry, Matt?"
"I think there's some ribs in the refrigerator," Matt said.
"There's more ribs in the refrigerator than you know," she said. "I stopped off at Ribs Unlimited-I know how you like their ribs-on my way here and got you some."
"Then take yours home with you or give them to Amy."
"Why don't I heat them all up, and we can have lunch? I haven't had anything to eat, either."
"I've got to get back to the office," Brewster Payne said.
"Can you drop me at Hahneman, Dad?" Amy asked.
He nodded.
At the head of the stairs, Amy turned and pointed her finger at Matt.
"For once in your life, Matt, do what people tell you."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, then, the three of us can eat the ribs," Patricia Payne said with forced cheerfulness.
"Four," Charley McFadden said. "Hay-zus will be back in a couple of minutes."
"The four of us, then," she agreed.
The telephone rang. Matt reached to pick it up, then stopped.
They all watched it wordlessly until, after seven rings, it stopped.
I have the strangest feeling that was Helene, Matt thought.
Charley McFadden suddenly got up from his chair and started down the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"From now on," Charley called, "I think we should keep that door locked."
Matt glanced at his mother. She looked very sad. When she sensed his eyes on her, she smiled.
"He really is large, isn't he?"
Jesus Martinez came back to the apartment almost an hour later, as Matt's mother was cleaning up the kitchen.
"They don't make that model anymore," he said. "I have been in every electronics store in Center City trying to find these."
He held up three tape cassettes.
The telephone had rung twice more while they had been eating. They hadn't answered it.
It rang again almost immediately after Matt had installed a new tape.
"What are we supposed to do?" McFadden asked. "Answer it? Or let the machine answer it?"
"Let the machine do it," Martinez said. "I think the chief wants the recording."
With the machine reconnected, it was possible to hear the caller's message.
It was a variation of the previous calls, no more scatologically obscene than the others, but enough, because of Patricia Payne-whom McFadden thought of as Matt's Mother-to cause McFadden to blush with embarrassment and his face to tighten in anger.