Final Justice Part 6

When business had not rushed to the a.r.s.enal, the city had given its permission for two units of the police department to occupy some of the buildings. One was the s.e.x Crimes Unit, and the other the far larger Special Operations Division, which previously had been operating out of a building at Castor and Frankford Avenues. Built in 1892, the Frankford Grammar School had rendered the city more than a century of service before being adjudged uninhabitable by the Bureau of Licenses Inspections.

It had then served as Special Operations Division Head-quarters-with Inspector Peter Wohl installed in what had been the princ.i.p.al's office-until s.p.a.ce had "become available" in the a.r.s.enal Business Center. Just as soon as funds became available, the city intended to demolish the old school. Unless, of course, it really really died of old age and fell down by itself, thereby saving the city that expenditure. died of old age and fell down by itself, thereby saving the city that expenditure.

Matt drove through the collection of old and mostly unused a.r.s.enal buildings until he came to one of the "newer" buildings-the cornerstone was marked 1934-and drove around it, looking for a place to park. There were none. Even the spot reserved for COMMISSIONER was occupied.

He finally parked a block away and then trotted to the Special Operations headquarters building. Inspector Wohl was now housed in the ground-floor office of what had once been the office of the a.r.s.enal's commanding officer.

He pushed open the door from the corridor to Wohl's outer office.

Officer O'Mara pushed a lever on his intercom.

"Sir, Detective Payne is here."

"Send him in."

Matt knocked politely at the door and waited for permission to enter.

"Come in, please," Inspector Wohl called.

Matt pushed the door open.

There were five people in the room. Inspector Peter Wohl, sitting behind his desk; Captain Michael J. Sabara, fortyish, a short, barrel-chested Lebanese, who was Wohl's deputy; Captain David Pekach, the weasel-faced, fair-skinned, small, wiry thirty-seven-year-old commanding officer of the Highway Patrol; and, sitting side by side on Wohl's couch, two white shirts Matt was really surprised to see in Wohl's office: Deputy Commissioner (Patrol) Dennis V. Coughlin and his Executive Officer, Captain Francis X. Hollaran.

What the h.e.l.l is going on?

"I'm delighted, Detective Payne," Inspector Wohl said, sarcastically, "that you have managed to squeeze time for us into your busy schedule."

"There's one b.a.s.t.a.r.d I would really like to see shuffling around in shackles," Captain Hollaran said, handing something to Captain Pekach.

"You'd like to see him in shackles?" Captain Sabara replied. "I'd like to see him fry. I'd strap him in the chair myself."

Despite his somewhat menacing appearance, Captain Michael Sabara was really a rather gentle man. Matt was surprised at his vehemence.

"Fry"? "I'd strap him in the chair myself"?

Who are they talking about?

"You were saying, Detective Payne?" Inspector Wohl went on.

"Sorry, sir. I had to change my clothes," Payne said.

"When was the last time you got a postcard, Dave?" Commissioner Coughlin asked.

"I get one every couple of months," Pekach replied. "The one before this was from Rome. This one's from someplace in France."

"Probably from where he lives," Coughlin said, shaking his head. "The sonofab.i.t.c.h knows the French won't let us extradite him."

"Unless it had something to do with Monsignor Schneider, I don't think I want to hear why you had to change your clothes," Inspector Wohl said.

"Nothing to do with the monsignor, sir."

"Good," Inspector Wohl said. "I presume everything went well at the meeting?"

"Everything went well at the meeting," Matt said. "I e-mailed you, sir."

"So you did," Wohl said. "And I was delighted to hear that you think you're in love, but wondered why you thought you should notify me officially."

"You're in love, are you, Payne?" Captain Pekach asked.

"No, sir, I'm not."

"Then why did you tell Inspector Wohl you were, and as part of your official duties?" Commissioner Coughlin asked.

"It was a little joke, sir," Matt said.

Jesus, why the h.e.l.l did I do that?

And d.a.m.n it, I sent it to his personal e-mail address, so it wasn't official.

"You have to watch that sort of thing, Matty," Commissioner Coughlin said, his tone suggesting great disappointment in Matt's lack of professionalism.

"Who are you in love with, Payne?" Captain Sabara asked.

"There was a girl at the meeting," Matt said. "I . . ."

"The sort of girl you could bring home to dinner with your mother?" Sabara pursued.

"Or to dinner with my Martha?" Captain Pekach asked.

Martha was Mrs. Pekach.

"Sir?"

"More important," Sabara asked, "what makes you think this female is in love with you?"

I am having my chain pulled. Just for the h.e.l.l of it? Or is there more to this?

"Actually, sir, I knew she was in love with me from the moment she saw me. I seem to have that effect on women."

There were smiles, but not so much as a chuckle.

"Let me put it to you this way, Matty," Commissioner Coughlin said, very seriously. "The one one thing a detective-or a newly promoted sergeant- thing a detective-or a newly promoted sergeant-doesn't need is a reputation as a ladies' man . . ." need is a reputation as a ladies' man . . ."

What did he say-"or a new sergeant"?

". . . it tends to p.i.s.s off the wives of the men they're working with," Coughlin finished.

Now there was laughter.

"Congratulations, Matty," Coughlin said. "You're number one on the list."

He stood up, went to Matt, shook his hand, and put his arm around his shoulders.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," Matt said.

"d.a.m.ned? Probably, almost certainly," Wohl said. "But for the moment, we're all proud of you."

"Yeah, we are, Matt," Pekach said. "I don't think even our beloved boss was ever number one on a list."

"Yeah, he was," Coughlin corrected him. "Peter was number one on the lieutenant's list."

Officer O'Mara appeared at the door with a digital camera, lined them all up, with Matt in the middle, and took four pictures of them.

"There's a dark side to this," Pekach said. "Matt, you know Martha's going to have a party for you."

"She doesn't have to do that," Matt said.

"She will want to," Pekach said.

"I've got to go back to work," Coughlin said. He looked at Hollaran. "Frank and I would have been out of here long ago if Detective Payne hadn't found it necessary to take a bath in the middle of the morning."

"It was a matter of absolute necessity," Matt said.

"So we'll leave just as soon as Matty calls his father and mother and lets them have the good news."

"Sir?" Wohl asked, confused.

"You don't mind if I borrow him for a couple of hours, do you, Peter?"

"No, sir."

"I'll wait for you outside, Matty," Coughlin said.

"Yes, sir."

There was a round of handshakes, and in a moment Matt and Wohl were alone in the office.

"Sit down, have a cup of coffee, and call," Wohl said. "You seem a little shaken."

Matt said aloud what he was thinking.

"I thought I was going to pa.s.s," he said. "Not number one, but pa.s.s. But now that it's happened . . . Sergeant Sergeant Payne?" Payne?"

"You'll get used to it, Matt," Wohl said, poured him a cup of coffee, and pointed to the couch, an order for him to sit down.

"Coughlin will wait," he said. "Prepare yourself for another 'what you need is a couple of years in uniform' speech."

"Another? You know about the first?"

Wohl nodded. "And for the record, Matt, I think he's right."

"I don't want to be a uniform sergeant," Matt said.

"You need that experience," Wohl said. "End of my speech."

"Thank you," Matt said, sat down, took out his cellular, and started pushing autodial b.u.t.tons.

It didn't take long.

Mrs. Elizabeth Newman, the Payne housekeeper, said: "I thought you knew, Matt, your mother went to Wilmington overnight."

G.o.dd.a.m.n it, I did know!

"Thanks, Elizabeth. I did know. I forgot."

On the second call, Mrs. Irene Craig, Executive Secretary to Brewster Cortland Payne, Esq., founding partner of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo & Lester, arguably Philadelphia's most prestigious law firm, said, a certain tone of loving exasperation in her voice, "I left two messages on your machine, Matt. Your dad went to Washington on the eight-thirteen this morning, and is going to spend the night with your mother in Wilmington."

And I got both of them, too, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Craig. Forgive me."

"No, I won't. But I love you anyway."

On the third call, a nasal-voiced female somewhat tartly informed him that Dr. Payne would be teaching all day, and could not be reached unless it was an emergency.

"Thank you very much. Tell Dr. Payne, please, that unless we have her check within seventy-two hours, we're going to have to repossess the television."

"Amy always teaches all day on Monday," Inspector Wohl said.

Inspector Wohl knew more about Dr. Payne's schedule than her brother did. They were close friends, and on-and-off lovers.

Matt looked at him but said nothing.

"Low-ranking police officers should not keep Deputy Commissioners waiting," Wohl said. "You might want to write that down."

"Yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir."

Deputy Commissioner Coughlin was standing on the stairs to the building waiting for him.

"You drive, Matty," he ordered. "Frank had things to do. You can either drop me at the Roundhouse later, or I'll catch a ride somehow."

"Yes, sir. Where are we going?"

"The Roy Rogers at Broad and Snyder," Coughlin said. "You heard about that?"

"Yes, sir. I ran into Tony Harris at the Roundhouse this morning. Did they get the doers?"

"Not yet," Coughlin said. "We will, of course. We should have already. I'd like to know why we haven't."