Final Justice Part 42

"You want want a bandage?" a bandage?"

"What I don't want is people asking, 'What did you do to your hand, it looks ghastly? ghastly?' "

"I could paint the area with some lovely lavender antiseptic."

"Just a simple large Band-Aid, please."

"Okay. Why not?"

"Thank you."

"You mind if I ask a couple of questions, Sherlock?"

"Shoot."

"Why were you jumping over a fence?"

"I was chasing a guy who drove a stolen car through a red light and clobbered a family in a minivan."

"You get him?"

Matt nodded.

"Good for you."

"You said two questions."

"Why did the cops stand around with their thumbs up their a.s.s while that girl was being raped and murdered?"

[THREE].

Matt's gluteus maximus began to ache as he got on the Roundhouse elevator. The doctor had said that both the teta.n.u.s booster and the antibiotic would probably cause "mild discomfort."

The mild discomfort left his mind when he walked into Homicide and found that Detective La.s.siter had already reported for duty. She was sitting at a desk with a telephone to her ear.

She was wearing a skirt and a double sweater. It didn't matter. Her naked form was engraved forever in Matt's mind.

She looked at him, then away.

"Already at it, Mother?" he said.

She looked at him, nodded, and then quickly looked away again.

"Captain wants to see you, Sergeant," Detective Alonzo Kramer, a stocky, ruddy-faced, forty-three-year-old, said, pointing to Captain Quaire's office.

Matt could see through the gla.s.s enclosure that Lieutenant Gerry McGuire, the commanding officer of Dignitary Protection, was with Quaire.

I wonder what that's about?

Oh, s.h.i.t! Stan Colt! I forgot all about that!

Quaire saw Matt coming and waved him into his office. "Good morning," Matt said, politely.

"What happened to your face?" Quaire asked.

"I took a slide on a concrete driveway last night chasing a guy."

Quaire gestured give me more give me more with both hands. with both hands.

"I almost had La.s.siter home. . . ."

"From where?" Quaire asked, smiling.

"From Liberties. Lieutenant Washington had us meet him there. And afterward, I took her home. She had to give her unmarked back to Northwest."

"And what happened? Detective La.s.siter didn't do that to your face, did she, Sergeant?" Captain Quaire asked, mock seriously. He looked to see if Lieutenant McGuire shared his sense of humor. From his smile, it was obvious that he did.

"No, sir," Matt said. "As we came down Knight's Road, off Woodhaven, a fellow in a stolen Grand Am ran the Red Lion stoplight, rammed into a Dodge Caravan, and took off running."

"I saw that in the overnights," McGuire said. "I thought Highway bagged that guy. You got involved in that?"

"I saw it. I had to."

Quaire made another give me more give me more gesture with his hands. gesture with his hands.

"It happened right in front of us. La.s.siter called it in, then checked the people in the van, and I started chasing the guy."

"And he gave you trouble?" Quaire asked, now seriously. "The face?"

"No, sir. While I was chasing him, I took a dive over a wire and sc.r.a.ped my face on a driveway. Then I tried going over a fence, and bruised my hand."

"But you got the guy?"

"Yes, sir. Eighth District locked him up. But I'm going to have to go to Northeast Detectives to give a Detective Coleman a full statement. He only got the initial details for the affidavit3last night.

"Why didn't you give your statement last night?" Quaire asked.

"I wanted to get some antiseptic on my face."

"So why didn't you do the paperwork last night, after you went to the emergency room and got some antiseptic on your face?"

"I didn't go to the emergency room last night. I went to Hahnemann this morning."

Quaire nodded.

"Consider yourself as of right now on temporary a.s.signment to Dignitary Protection," he said, and added, to McGuire: "Getting Sergeant Payne to Northeast Detectives Division to give his statement is now your responsibility, Lieutenant."

"Thanks a lot," McGuire said.

"Captain, can't I get out of that?" Matt asked.

"Ask Lieutenant McGuire," Quaire said. "You are now working for him."

"I'm working the Williamson job," Matt said.

"You are now working the Stan Colt job, Sergeant Payne," McGuire said. "Mr. Colt, who will arrive at approximately three-fifteen, told Monsignor Schneider, who told the cardinal, who told the commissioner, who told me, that he's really looking forward to working with you."

"What does that mean?"

Quaire and McGuire smiled at each other.

"I think," McGuire explained, smiling broadly, "that when the monsignor-who apparently is one of your biggest fans- spoke with Mr. Colt, he told him about your many heroic exploits. I think Mr. Colt heard that when Harrison Ford was preparing to make the movie Witness Witness he came here to spend time with a real, live Philadelphia homicide detective . . ." he came here to spend time with a real, live Philadelphia homicide detective . . ."

"Jesus Christ!" Matt said.

". . . and has apparently decided that what was good enough for Harrison Ford is good enough for him."

"Harrison Ford is an actor. Colt is a G.o.dd.a.m.n joke!"

"Don't let the monsignor hear you say that," Quaire said. "Much less the commissioner."

"And for that matter, I have one day on the job in Homicide. I am hardly an experienced-"

"Lie down, shut up, and take this like a man, Matt," Quaire said. "You're dead. The commissioner has spoken."

"It's a dirty job, Sergeant, but someone has to do it," McGuire said, smiling broadly.

Quaire chuckled. Matt glared at McGuire, who didn't seem to notice.

"Mr. Colt," McGuire went on, "will arrive by private jet at North Philadelphia Airport at three-fifteen. He will be met by the commissioner-or possibly the mayor, if he can get free; or both-Monsignor Schneider, myself, four Highway Patrol bikes, two of my people, representatives of the media, and of course you. Following what that good-looking press agent- What's her name?"

"Terry Davis," Matt furnished, automatically.

Jesus, Terry! She certainly dropped off my radar screen in a hurry after Olivia, didn't she?

"-what Miss Terry Davis, Terry Davis," McGuire went on, "refers to as a 'photo op,' Mr. Colt and party will proceed-escorted by the Highway bikes-to the office of the cardinal, where there will be another photo op as the cardinal welcomes Mr. Colt back to Philadelphia . . ."

"He's just a movie actor," Matt said, shaking his head. "A lousy lousy movie actor!" movie actor!"

"Who is about to raise several million dollars for West Catholic High School," Captain Quaire said. "Which pleases the cardinal, and whatever pleases the cardinal pleases the commissioner."

". . . following which," McGuire went on, "we will proceed to the Ritz-Carlton. Highway's responsibility-the bikes- will end there. They'll provide bikes to escort his limo to the events, but aside from that, it's up to me to protect Mr. Colt from his hordes of fans, and you to keep him happy."

"What makes him happy is young girls," Matt said.

"Excuse me, Sergeant?" Quaire asked, coldly.

"Mr. Colt apparently likes young girls," Matt said. "Very young girls."

"Did you get that from one of the magazines in a supermarket checkout lane, or do you have another source of information? " Quaire asked, sarcastically.

"Terry Davis told me," Matt said. "I think she wants us to be prepared for that."

"Oh, G.o.d!" Quaire said. "She wasn't pulling your leg, Matt?"

"No, sir. I'm sure she was serious."

"That should make this interesting for you, Gerry," Quaire said.

"I don't know how to handle something like that," Matt said.

"We'll just have to sit on him around the clock," McGuire said. "If something like that gets in the papers, we'll be held responsible."

"He wants to see how real cops work," Quaire said. "Show him. Everything from school crossing guards up. Keep him busy."

"He's going to want to see what he thinks is interesting," Matt said. "Narcotics, Major Crimes, Homicide . . ."

"Vice," McGuire said, chuckling.

"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, Gerry," Quaire said. "And I don't want him around here."

"With all respect, sir, how do I tell him no?" Matt said.

Quaire thought that over before replying.

"If it happens, Matt, it happens. You know how I feel about it."

"Yes, sir."

"We're going to get some help from Special Operations?" Matt asked.

McGuire nodded.

"Sure."

"Do we know who?"

"Somebody special you wanted?"

"Detectives McFadden and Martinez," Matt said.

"Mutt and Jeff?" Quaire asked. "Dignitary Protection isn't quite their specialty, is it?"

Detective Jesus Martinez, who was of Puerto Rican ancestry, and who was five feet eight inches tall and weighed just over one hundred thirty pounds, and Detective Charles T. McFadden, who was six feet two and outweighed Martinez by a hundred pounds, had been partners since they had graduated from the Police Academy.

The first a.s.signment for nearly all academy graduates was to a district, and almost always to a district wagon, where for their first year or so on the job, they learned the nuts and bolts of being a police officer on the street by responding with the wagon to a.s.sist other officers in everything from hauling Aunt Alice to the hospital after she'd fallen in her bathtub, to hauling drunks and other violators of the peace and dignity of the City of Brotherly Love to the district lockup.

Almost routinely, however, two brand-new police officers were a.s.signed to work undercover in the Narcotics Division. McFadden and Martinez were chosen for the a.s.signment in the hope that few drug dealers would suspect either the small, intense Latino or the large, open-faced South Philadelphia Irishman of being police officers when they tried to make a buy of controlled substances.