his professional attention. But it was far more likely that he was going to find Inspector Wohl inside the premises at 705 North Second, which was known as Liberties Bar, and was the preferred watering hole of the Homicide Bureau.
I wonder what that’s all about?
I wonder why he didn’t call me on the cell phone?
Tomorrow, I will no longer be S-Twelve.
There was a somewhat battered, three-year-old Crown Victoria parked on Second Street in front of Liberties Bar. And a last year’s Crown Victoria, three brand-new Crown Victorias, and a Buick Rendezvous.
When Matt walked into Liberties, the drivers of these vehicles were sitting around two tables pushed together along the wall, across from the ornately carved, century-old bar. They were Deputy Commissioner Coughlin, Chief Inspector Lowenstein, Inspector Wohl, Lieutenant Washington, Detective Harris, and Michael J. O’Hara, Esq.
There was a bottle of Old Bushmills Irish whiskey, a bottle of Chivas Regal, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and two bowls, one with cashews, the other with stick pretzels, on the table.
“What’s going on?” Matt asked, slipping into a chair at the table beside Harris.
“I am interrogating a witness to the Roy Rogers job,” Harris said, nodding at O’Hara. “And getting nothing out of him.”
“Jesus, Tony,” Mickey said. “The bastards took a shot at me!”
Matt poured scotch into a glass.
“It would behoove you to go easy on that tonight, Detective Payne,” Wohl said. “Which is the reason we put the arm out for you. We didn’t want you to go off somewhere and get smashed by yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said, and picked up the drink and took a sip. Then he took his father’s badge from his apartment and slipped it to Denny Coughlin.
“Mom found that, and said to give it to you,” he said.
Coughlin looked at the badge, then laid it on the table.
“What’s that?” Lowenstein asked.
“Jack Moffitt’s sergeant’s badge,” Coughlin replied. “I remember the day he got it.” He looked at Matt and said, “I don’t want to hand this to your mother a second time. You understand me?”
Matt’s mouth ran away with him.
“Color me careful.”
“Watch your lip, Matty!” Coughlin said.
“That would make a good yarn,” Mickey O’Hara said. “ ‘New Sergeant Gets Hero Father’s Badge.’ ”
“Which you won’t write, right?” Lowenstein said.
“Okay,” Mickey said, shrugging his shoulders and reaching for the bottle of Old Bushmills.
“I loved Jack like a brother,” Coughlin said. “And he had a lot of balls. But he wasn’t a hero. His big balls got him killed. He answered a silent alarm without backup…”
“I remember,” Lowenstein said. “I had North Detectives when it happened.”
“Jack knew better,” Coughlin said. “He could still be walking around if he’d done what he was trained- ordered-to do.”
“Dennis, how would you judge Dutch Moffitt’s behavior?” Jason Washington’s sonorous voice asked.
Coughlin looked at him, obviously annoyed at the question.
“Was that an excess of male ego-‘I’m Dutch Moffitt of Highway Patrol. I can handle this punk by myself’?” Washington pursued. “Or a professional assessment of the situation in which he found himself, with the same result?”
Coughlin looked at him for a long moment before deciding if and what to answer.
“Dutch said, ‘Lay the gun on the counter, son. I don’t want to have to kill you. I’m a police officer.’ Was that the right thing to do? I think so. I would like to think that’s what I would have done. I would also like to think I would have looked around for a second doer. Dutch didn’t, and the junkie girlfriend shot him.”
“I worked with Dutch,” Peter Wohl said. “I can’t believe he didn’t look for a second doer. He had trouble keeping his pecker in his pocket, but he was a very good street cop.”
“Your mother never told you, ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead,’ Peter?” Coughlin said. “Especially in front of the deceased’s nephew?”
Wohl shrugged, unrepentant. Coughlin had another thought.
“Your grandmother’s going to be in the mayor’s office tomorrow, Matty. I thought she had a right to be.”
“Oh, shit!” Matt blurted.
Coughlin glared angrily at him.
“I was going to tell her later,” Matt said, somewhat lamely. “Maybe even go by.”
“She’s your grandmother, Matt,” Coughlin said, on the edge of anger.
“I don’t like the way she treats my mother,” Matt said.
“Don’t tell me she’s still pissed that Jack’s widow married Payne?” Lowenstein asked.
“It’s a religious thing, Matt,” Coughlin said. “Patricia raised Matt as an Episcopal after Payne adopted him.”
“You Christians do have your problems, don’t you?” Lowenstein asked. “How many angels can fit on the head of a pin?”
Coughlin gave him the finger.
“I don’t agree with her, Matty,” Coughlin said. “You know that. But she’s still your grandmother.”
“Does my mother know she’s coming?”
“If your mother knew, she would, being the lady she is, not go.”
“Jesus-”
“Before you two continue with what is sure to be an indeterminable discussion of Mother Moffitt,” Washington interrupted, “may I finish with my profound observation?”
Matt realized-wondering why it had taken him so long-that while no one at the table was drunk, it was also obvious that no one was on their first-or third-drink, either. He looked at the bottles. The Chivas Regal was half empty; the Jack Daniel’s and the Old Bushmills were almost dry.
And Washington had even called Coughlin by his first name.
What the hell is this all about? Why are all these people sitting around here getting smashed?
“How could we stop you?” Mickey O’Hara asked.
Washington continued, “With the given that Sergeant Jack Moffitt was a good street cop, that Captain Dutch Moffitt was a good street cop, and that Officer Charlton had survived almost to retirement as a street cop, what mistake-indeed, what fatal mistake-did all three of them make?”
“They weren’t as good as they thought they were?” Mickey asked.
“Close, Michael,” Washington said.
“Oh, shit, not that ‘they didn’t turn over the rock under the rock’ crap again,” Tony Harris said.
“Yes, indeed,” Washington said. “That ‘turn over the rock under the rock’ crap again. If Sergeant Moffitt had looked around the gas station one more time, if Dutch had looked around the Waikiki Diner one more time, if Charlton had taken one more look…”
“I don’t think that’s such a profound observation, Jason,” Coughlin said.
“More like self-evident,” Lowenstein said.
“I was trying to make the point for Matt’s edification,” Washington said.
Coughlin looked at him, then at Matt.
“He’s right, Matty,” he said. “Pay attention.”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said.
“Would you like to see how your names will appear in tomorrow’s Bulletin?” Mickey asked. “Or shall we go back to discussing Mother Moffitt?”
He took several sheets of paper from his inside jacket pocket and swung them back and forth.
“Curiosity underwhelms me,” Wohl said, and held his hand out for the sheets of paper.
Slug-Mayor Forms Double Murder Task Force
(Jack, don’t bury this with the underwear ads. These slimeballs need catching. AND USE THE PICTURES)
