By Michael J. O’HaraBulletin Staff Writer
Photos by Jack WeinbergBulletin Photographer
Philadelphia-Mayor Alvin W. Martin, surrounded by the heavy hitters of the Philadelphia Police Department, and standing not far from where the body of Officer Kenneth Charlton lay in state in the Monti Funeral Home in the 2500 block of South Broad Street, this afternoon announced the formation of a special police task force to bring the two men who murdered Charlton and Mrs. Maria M. Fernandez during the robbery Sunday evening of the Roy Rogers restaurant on South Broad Street.
“Both a citizen-a single mother of three-and a police officer have lost their lives as a result of a brutal attack that affects not only their grieving survivors but every citizen of Philadelphia,” the mayor said, adding: “This sort of outrage cannot be tolerated, and it will not be.”
(Photo 1 L-R, Lowenstein, Mariani, Martin, Coughlin) Flanked by Police Commissioner Ralph J. Mariani, Deputy Commissioner Dennis V. Coughlin, and Chief Inspector of Detectives Matthew Lowenstein, Martin announced that Inspector Peter F. Wohl, the highly regarded commanding officer of the Special Operations Division, would head the task force.
(Photo 2 L-R, Washington, Wohl, and Harris) Speaking to this reporter later, Inspector Wohl said it was not his intention to take over the investigation from Lieutenant Jason Washington, “who is beyond question the most skilled homicide investigator I know of,” but rather to “ensure that Lieutenant Washington and his able team leader, Detective Anthony Harris, get whatever assistance they need from not only Special Operations, but the entire police department, so these criminals can be quickly removed from our streets.”
(Photo 3 L-R, Sabara, Wohl, Pekach, Sgt M. M. Payne, and Capt F. X. Hollaran) Wohl’s deputy, Captain Michael J. Sabara, and Captain David R. Pekach, commanding officer of the elite Highway Patrol, nodded their agreement with both Wohl’s cold determination and with his explanation of the difficulty sometimes encountered-as now-in identifying the perpetrators of a crime.
“The patrons of the Roy Rogers restaurant were terrorized by the cold brutality of these criminals. Shots were fired. Two people were killed, and everyone else’s life was in danger. It’s regrettable, but I think very understandable, that the horrified witnesses can’t really agree on a description of the men we seek.
“This is not to say that we won’t apprehend them, and soon, but that it will take a bit longer than we like.”
Wohl went on to say that “it’s only in the movies that a fingerprint lifted from the scene of a crime can be quickly matched with that of a criminal whose identity is unknown. There are hundreds of thousands of fingerprints in our files, millions in those of the FBI, and the prints we have in our possession will have to be matched to them one at a time until we get a match.”
Wohl went on to explain that once the people sought are in custody, their fingerprints can be used to prove they were at the scene of the crime, “but until that happens, fingerprints won’t be of immediate use to us.
“And once we have these people in custody, and can place them in a police lineup, there is no question in my mind-experience shows-that the witnesses to their crime will be able to positively identify them. This crime will not go unpunished.”
Wohl said that police are already running down “a number of leads,” but declined to elaborate. End
Wohl slid the two sheets of paper across the table to Coughlin. Lowenstein leaned over so that he could read it, too.
“Magnificent story, Mickey,” Wohl said. “There’s just one little thing wrong with it. All those quotes from me are pure bullshit.”
“Is the Black Buddha the most skilled homicide investigator you know of, or not?” O’Hara challenged.
“Of course I am,” Washington said. “Let me see that when you’re finished, Dennis, please.”
“He is, but I didn’t tell you that,” Wohl said.
“But if I had asked, you would have said so, right? And I’m right about the fingerprints, right?”
“But I didn’t even talk to you at the goddamn funeral home!”
“But if you had, you would have said what I said you said, more or less, right?”
“This’ll be in the paper tomorrow, Mick?” Lowenstein asked.
“It will, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was on page one.”
“Pity you couldn’t have put in there that we had a late-night conference,” Lowenstein said. “Martin would have loved that.”
“I didn’t know about the ‘late-night conference’ until I walked in here,” O’Hara said. “When I heard on the command band that everybody was headed to the 700 block of North Second, I thought there was a war on here.”
“Commissioner Coughlin and myself were conferring privately with Inspector Wohl,” Lowenstein said, “when these underlings coincidentally felt the need for a late-night cup of coffee at this fine establishment.”
There were chuckles.
“Nice story, Mickey,” Coughlin said.
“Presuming the conference is over,” Wohl said, as he got to his feet, “I am going home.” He looked at Matt. “And so are you.”
Coughlin stood up.
“Are we square with the tab here?”
“I’ll get the tab,” Mickey O’Hara said. “My pleasure.”
“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and at the mayor’s office at quarter to nine, Matty,” Coughlin ordered. “And I expect you to be nice to your grandmother.”
“I have, as always,” Jason Washington said, getting to his feet, “thoroughly enjoyed the company of my colleagues. And I am sure you have all profited greatly from the experience. ”
Detective Harris shook his head, then chuckled, then giggled, and then laughed. That proved contagious, and each of them was smiling, or chuckling, or laughing as they filed out the door onto North Second Street.
SIX
The Hon. Alvin W. Martin looked up from his desk when his executive assistant, Dianna Kerr-Gally, a tall, thin, stylish, thirtyish black woman, slipped into his office. thin,
'It’s ten past nine, Mr. Mayor.”
“Is everybody in the conference room?”
“Just about, but Commissioner Mariani has someone he wants you to meet.”
She nodded toward the outer office.
“Sure, send him in,” the mayor replied, with an enthusiasm he really didn’t feel. He had things to do, and the less time spent on the promotion ceremony the better.
It wasn’t only Commissioner Mariani. He had with him Deputy Commissioner Coughlin and a tall, lean, stern- faced, gray-haired woman in a simple black dress and the young detective who had scored number one.
“Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” Mariani said.
“Good morning, Ralph.”
The mayor smiled at the woman, who returned it with a barely perceptible curling of her lips.
She looks like that farmer’s wife in the Grant Wood painting.
What’s that on her dress? Miniature police badges. Three of them.
“Mr. Mayor,” Coughlin said. “I thought before the program begins that you’d like to meet Mrs. Gertrude Moffitt…”
“I’m delighted. How do you do, Mrs. Moffitt?”
She nodded, her lips curled slightly again, but she didn’t say anything.
“Mrs. Moffitt is the widow of a police officer, and two of her sons died in the line of duty as police officers…,” Coughlin said.
