The Assassin Part 40

"I'll need the registration too, please, sir."

Matt took out the leather folder holding his badge and photo ID and handed that over.

"That's what I do for a living. How fraternal are you feeling tonight? "

The State Policeman examined the photo on the ID card carefully, then handed it back.

"Being a Philly detective must pay better than they do us. That's quite a set of wheels."

"The wheels belong to the lady."

The State Policeman took a long look at Penny, who, resting her chin on her hands on the back of her seat, was looking back at them, smiling sweetly.

"I don't think I'd have given her a ticket, either," he said. "Very nice."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," the State Policeman said, and turned back to his car.

Matt got back in the Mercedes.

"We're not going to jail?"

"I told the nice officer that I was rushing you to the hospital to deliver our firstborn," Matt said.

"You would do something like that too, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Penny said, laughing. "But that's an interesting thought. I wonder what our firstborn would look like?"

The question made Matt uncomfortable.

"I didn't have any lunch," Penny went on. "You're going to have to get me something to eat, or you're going to have to carry me into wherever you're taking me."

"I'm taking you to a restaurant, can't you wait?"

"How far?"

"About an hour from here, I suppose."

"Then no. But I will settle for something simple."

I don't have dinner reservations for this place, Matt suddenly thought. For that matter, I don't even know if it's open to the public for dinner. I better find a phone and call. For that matter, I don't even know if it's open to the public for dinner. I better find a phone and call.

Ten minutes later, just south of Easton, he saw the flashing neon sign of a restaurant between the highway and Delaware River. Penny saw it at the same time.

"Clams!" she cried. "I want steamed clams! Steamed clams and a beer! Please Please, Matthew!"

"Your wish, mademoiselle, is my command."

Inside the restaurant, they found a cheerful bar at which a half dozen people sat, half of them with platters of steamed clams before them.

Penny hopped onto a bar stool.

"Two dozen clams and an Ortlieb's for me," she ordered, "and two dozen for him. I don't know if he wants a beer or not. He may be on duty."

The bartender took it as a joke.

"Two beers, please," Matt said.

Two frosted mugs and two bottles of beer appeared immediately.

"And while I'm waiting for the clams, I'll have a pickled egg," Penny said.

"Two," Matt said.

"You're being very agreeable. That must mean you want something from me."

"Not a thing, but your company," Matt said.

"Bulls.h.i.t," Penny said. "I am not quite as stupid as you think I am. You didn't invite me to dinner in the sticks because you love food or drives through the country, and you've made it perfectly clear that you're not l.u.s.ting after my body, so what is going on?"

Her eyes were on him, over the rim of her beer mug.

"I want to take a look at the Oaks and Pines Lodge," he said.

"In your line of work, you mean, not idle curiosity?"

Matt nodded.

"You going to tell me why?"

He shook his head, no.

"What I thought was that I would attract less attention if I had a girl, a pretty girl, with me."

She considered that for a moment.

"Okay," she said. "I'm using you, too. I would have gone to watch the Budapest Quintet with you-and you know how I hate fiddle music-if it had gotten me out of the house."

"Pretty bad, is it, at home?"

"Mother's counting the aspirin," Penny said.

"I'm sorry."

"I think you really are," Penny said. "So tell me, is there anything I can do to help you do whatever it is you're not going to tell me you're doing?"

The answer came immediately, but Matt waited until he had taken the time to take a long pull at his beer before he replied.

"I don't even know if this place is open to the public for dinner. Some of them aren't. And I don't have reservations."

"You never were too good at planning ahead, were you?"

"I thought I'd call from here and ask about reservations. . . ."

"But?"

"It would be better, it would look better, if I called and asked for a room."

She smiled at him.

"This is the first time that anyone has proposed taking me to a hotel room, said he did not have s.e.x in mind, and meant it. But okay, Matthew."

"Thank you, Penny," Matt said.

"Why is that, Matt? Because I was on drugs? Because of Tony DeZego? Or is it that you simply don't find me appealing?"

"I find you appealing," Matt blurted. "I just think it would be a lousy idea."

Before she had a chance to reply, he got off his bar stool and went to the pay phone he had seen in the entrance.

When he returned, having learned that he was in luck, the Oaks and Pines Lodge, having had a last-minute cancellation, would be able to accommodate Mr. and Mrs. Payne in the Birch Suite, the clams had been served, and Penny was playing airhead with the bartender, who was clearly taken with her.

Charley Larkin, jacket off, tie pulled down, was sitting behind the very nice mahogany desk and SAC Joseph J. Toner was sitting on the couch with Wohl.

Mr. H. Charles Larkin, Wohl thought, has taken over the office of the supervisory agent in charge of the Secret Service's Philadelphia office. has taken over the office of the supervisory agent in charge of the Secret Service's Philadelphia office.

Is it a question of priorities or rank? Certainly, keeping the Vice President from being disintegrated has a higher Secret Service priority than catching somebody who prints his own money or other negotiable instruments, and it would follow that the guy in charge of that job would be the one giving the orders. But it might be rank too. Larkin has been in the Secret Service a long time. He probably outranks Toner too. What difference does it make?

One of the telephones on Toner's desk rang. Larkin looked to see which one it was, and then picked it up.

"Larkin," he said, and then a moment later, "Ask them to come in, please."

Lieutenant Jack Malone, in plainclothes, and Sergeant Jason Washington, in a superbly tailored, faintly plaided gray suit, came into the office.

"Charley, you know Jack," Wohl said. "The slight, delicate gentleman in the raggedy clothes is Sergeant Jason Washington. Jason, Charley Larkin. Watch out for him, he and my father and Chief Coughlin are old pals."

Larkin walked around the desk to shake Washington's hand.

"You know the line, 'your reputation precedes you'?" he asked. "I'm glad you're working with us on this, Sergeant. Do you know Joe Toner?"

"Only by reputation, sir," Washington said. He turned to Toner, who, obviously as an afterthought, stood up and put out his hand.

"How are you, Sergeant?"

"Pretty frustrated, right now, as a matter of fact, Mr. Toner," Washington said.

"I'm Joe Toner, Lieutenant," Toner said, and gave his hand to Malone.

"You mean you didn't come here to report we have our mad bomber in a padded cell, and we can all go home?" Wohl asked.

"Boss, we laid an egg," Washington replied. "We've been through everything in every file cabinet in Philadelphia, and we didn't turn up a looney tune who comes within a mile of that profile. "

"And we just checked the Schoolhouse. There has been no, zero, zilch, response from anybody to the profiles we pa.s.sed around the districts."

"Who's holding the phone down?" Wohl asked.

"Lieutenant Wisser," Malone replied. "Until two. Then a Lieutenant Seaham?"

"Sealyham?" Wohl asked.

"I think so. Captain Sabara arranged for it. He'll do midnight to eight, and then O'Dowd will come back on," Malone said. "We stopped by the Schoolhouse, and talked to them. Sealyham Sealyham on the phone. If they get anything that looks interesting, they're going to call either Washington or me." on the phone. If they get anything that looks interesting, they're going to call either Washington or me."

Wohl nodded his approval.

"You've had a busy day," he said.

"Spinning our wheels," Jason said.

"I don't offer this with much hope," Charley Larkin said, "but this is the profile the FBI came up with. Did you stumble on anyone who comes anywhere near this?"

He handed copies to both Washington and Malone.

"There's coffee," Larkin said. "Excuse me, I should have offered you some."

Both Malone and Washington declined, silently, shaking their heads, but Washington, not taking his eyes from the sheet of paper, lowered himself onto the couch between Wohl and Toner. The couch was now crowded.

"This is just about what Matt's sister came up with," Washington said.

" 'Matt's sister'?" Toner asked.

"Dr. Payne, sir," Washington said. "A psychiatrist at the University of Pennsylvania. She's been helpful before. Her brother is a detective, Matt Payne."

"Oh," Toner said.

"The FBI says that this guy is probably a 's.e.xual deviate,' " Malone quoted, "Dr. Payne says he's 'as.e.xual.' What's the difference? "

"Not much," Washington replied. " 'Celibacy is the most unusual of all the perversions,' Oscar Wilde."

Larkin and Wohl chuckled. Toner and Malone looked confused.

"And anyway," Washington went on, "Jack and I went through the files in s.e.x Crimes too. Same result, zero."

"Who's Oscar Wilde?" Malone asked.

"An English gentleman of exquisite grace," Washington said. "Deceased."

"Oh."

"Sergeant Washington," Larkin said. "Would you mind if I called you 'Jason'?"