to get involved with their fair-haired boy. And I will not. Not. Not.
TEN
Matt more or less obeyed the speed limits crossing New Jersey. It was a temptation not to, but he was driving the Porsche, and from painful experience he had come to believe that so far as the New Jersey State Police were concerned, ticketing a Porsche often was the high point of their tour, giving them great joy and satisfaction.
As he came out of the Lincoln Tunnel, he looked at his watch. It was half past two, which explained why his stomach was telling him he was hungry. He turned uptown, and ten minutes later turned onto West Forty-second Street toward Times Square. Just before he got there, he saw Times Square Photo.
Now the question was finding someplace to park, someplace where the parking attendants might not find great joy and satisfaction in seeing how deeply they could scratch the glistening silver paint of a Porsche.
He moved through the crowded streets, and a few minutes later found himself entering Times Square again from the north. The only parking places he had found had SORRY, FULL signs in front of them.
He noticed, at first idly and then with great interest, an automobile-a somewhat battered black Ford Crown Victoria-parked on the right curb between Forty-third and Forty-fourth Streets, right beside a sign reading NO PARKING NO STOPPING AT ANY TIME. There were several antennae mounted on it, and it rode on black heavy- duty tires. The fenders were battered, and there were no wheel covers.
If that’s not an unmarked car, my name is not Sherlock Holmes.
Matt pulled the Porsche to the curb in front of the Ford, then backed up until their bumpers almost touched.
The Ford’s horn blew imperiously, and the driver put his arm out the window and gestured for him to move on.
Matt instead got out of the car.
Now he could see the driver and the man sitting beside him. The driver was heavyset and looked to be in his forties. His ample abdomen held his tweed sports coat apart and strained the buttons of his shirt. The man beside him was younger. He was wearing a leather jacket and a black turtle-neck sweater. Matt thought he was in his mid-twenties.
Matt found his leather wallet with the badge and photo ID and took it out. He decided that standing on the sidewalk and speaking to the young man in the passenger seat would be safer than speaking to the driver, and went to that side of the car. The other choice would most likely have seen him rolled through Times Square under the wheels of a bus.
The young man rolled the window down.
“I’m Sergeant Payne, and-”
“Get in,” the older man said, pointing to the rear seat.
Matt got in.
“Let me see that,” the older man said, and Matt handed him his badge and photo ID.
“What can we do for you, Sergeant Payne?” the older man said, and then passed the ID to the younger one.
“I’m on the job, working a homicide,” Matt said.
“You’re not trying to tell me they kill people in the City of Brotherly Love?” the younger one said.
The older one chuckled.
“The doer left his camera at the scene,” Matt said. “Kodak tells me they shipped it to Times Square Photo.”
“Take the next right. It’s right around the corner,” the older one said.
“I called them before I came here,” Matt said. “They spoke just enough English to make it clear they are not very cooperative. ”
“Welcome to New York,” the younger one said. “Only a few of us speak English, and even fewer are cooperative.”
The older one chuckled.
“The doer-”
“By ‘doer,’ you mean ‘the suspected perpetrator’?” the younger one interrupted.
“Right. He’s a real sicko-”
“By which you mean he’s ‘psychiatrically challenged,’ right?” the younger one asked. “Has difficulty accepting the common concept of right and wrong as the modus operandi for his life?”
“Yeah, you could put it that way,” Matt said. “I want to get this guy before he does it to another young woman.”
“A noble thought,” the young one said. “How could we be of assistance?”
“It would help me a hell of a lot if one of you would go into the store with me. I really need to have a look at their sales records.”
“Presumably, Sergeant,” the young one said, “this fishing expedition of yours has been cleared by the New York police department’s Office of Inter-Agency Cooperation?”
Oh, shit!
“No. I haven’t cleared anything with anybody. I just got in my car and drove here. This happened early today, and right now this is our best lead. I just acted on my urge.”
The young man considered this a moment.
“Charley, take us out of service for ten minutes. I’m going to take a little walk with Sergeant Payne.”
“Right, Lieutenant,” the older one said, reaching for an under-the-dash microphone.
Lieutenant?
The young one got out of the passenger seat, then opened the rear door and motioned Matt out. Then he walked to the Porsche and got in.
Matt carefully watched the traffic and then quickly got behind the wheel.
“Do all the sergeants in Philadelphia get wheels like this?” the young man asked. Before Matt could reply, he ordered, “Two blocks down and make a right.”
Matt got into the flow of traffic.
“I usually say it’s something we took away from the drug industry,” Matt said. “But the truth is, it’s mine.”
“They must pay better, one way or another, in Philadelphia, ” the young man said.
“My lieutenant borrowed my brand-new unmarked car,” Matt said. “So I drove this, instead of taking the train.”
“If one of my sergeants had a brand-new unmarked, I’d do the same,” the young man said. “There’s a parking garage on the left.”
Okay, that makes you a lieutenant. What’s a lieutenant doing sitting in an unmarked in the middle of Times Square?
“It says full.”
“Some of us can read,” the young man said. “Although I will admit we do have a number of people on the job who are literacy-challenged.”
Matt pulled into the parking lot, nose to nose with a Mercedes. There was no room. He was blocking half the sidewalk.
The attendant came out, waving his hands, “no.” He was wearing a beard and a turban.
“I think sign language is going to be necessary,” the young lieutenant said, “and not because this fellow is aurally challenged.”
He got out of the Porsche, took his badge from his pocket, and held it two inches from the bearded man’s face. Then he signaled with arm gestures that the attendant was to move the Mercedes elsewhere so the Porsche could take its space.
