barely adequate Homicide detective who, realizing his inadequacies, left Homicide for the far less challenging arena of supervision, and then mocks his mentor.”
“Commissioner,” Wohl said. “I think he’s talking about you.”
“I thought he was talking about Frank,” Coughlin said.
Now the suppressed laughter could not be contained.
“Is there no one at this table except for Olivia and myself over the mental age of fourteen?” Amy demanded angrily.
“Probably not, Doctor,” Washington said. “But I will nevertheless continue.”
He waited until everyone was looking at him.
“Despite serious doubts that any or all of you has the mental capacity to follow this reasoning, I submit the following possible scenario: In the presumption that this fellow (a) is everything Dr. Payne believes him to be and (b) has done something like this-possibly, probably, without fatal results-several times before, and inasmuch as we have no record of a similar modus operandi here… Were they positive about having nothing similar at Special Victims, Olivia?”
“Yes, sir.”
He called me by my first name.
“The reasonable inference may be drawn that the previous incidents were in another large city.”
“Why large city, Jason?” Coughlin asked.
“I have added to Amy’s hypothesis (a) he is intelligent and (b) he was probably not known to the victim; that he stalked, so to speak, Miss Williamson because she represented the type of nice young female he wished to humiliate. His pool of potential victims would obviously be in proportion to the population of a city-”
“And he would not be known in-could hide easier in-a large city not his hometown,” Wohl interjected.
“Perhaps you did learn something from your mentor after all, Peter,” Washington said. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” Peter said. “Yes, I’d love another.”
He signaled to the bartender for another round of drinks.
“I will not rise to that,” Washington said. “You are not very bright, but you knew precisely what I meant.”
“I want somebody here to be sober enough,” Coughlin said, “to check the NCIC database tonight, and maybe to send wires to every large-”
“I’ve already checked with the FBI, Denny,” Washington said. “They have nothing. And I have very little faith in the efficacy of a teletype message to other police departments. They probably pay as little attention to them as we pay to theirs.”
He met Coughlin’s eyes for a moment and then, when Coughlin said nothing, turned to Matt.
“Sergeant Payne, I suggest that starting first thing in the morning, whenever she is not occupied with the Williamson family, you have Detective Lassiter make two telephone calls to every major city police department in the country. One to their Homicide bureau and the second to whatever they have elected to dub their sex crimes unit.”
“Yes, sir.”
“While you’re at it, Olivia,” Amy said, “get their fax numbers, and tell them you’re going to fax them the DNA makeup of this guy. If they have any unidentified rapists where the only positive identification factor is the DNA, they can run theirs against ours to see if there is a match.”
“I didn’t know that really worked,” Olivia said. “We can really do that?”
“Sure,” Amy said. “DNA markers are a series of unique, really unique, identifiers, according to scientific standards used around the world. No two are alike; they’re much more difficult-almost impossible-to challenge in court.”
“And as my contribution to the general fund of knowledge,” Washington said, “let me add that two months ago, in federal court right here in Philadelphia, a defense lawyer successfully challenged the scientific validity of fingerprints-the admission thereof as evidence-arguing that the standards for fingerprint identification vary from state to state, and even other countries. I’m really glad Amy brought that up.”
“Good thinking, honey,” Coughlin said.
“That’s my big sister,” Matt said with mock pride.
“And as for you, Sergeant Payne,” Washington said quickly, to keep Amy from replying to the sarcasm, “whenever you can tear yourself from the supervision of the other detectives working this investigation, it would be useful for you to lend Detective Lassiter a hand in that endeavor. Perhaps fortune will smile on us.”
“Yes, sir.”
What he’s saying, Matt decided, is that the two people least likely to make any other substantial contribution to this investigation, Mother and me, will spend all day tomorrow-or for however long it takes-with a telephone stuck in our ears.
Well, what the hell, sergeant or not, I am the rookie in Homicide, and that’s what rookies do, whatever jobs will release someone who knows what he’s doing to do it.
Olivia thought: Well, however politely put, that was a kick in the teeth, wasn’t it, Sergeant Hotshot? You and the temporary employee from Northwest get to work the telephones, while the real detectives do their thing.
And you really deserved a kick in the teeth to bring you down to size, so why do I feel sorry for you?
The bartender began distributing drinks, starting with Doctor’s Specials for Dr. Payne and Detective Lassiter. She was surprised that the first martini glass was empty. She looked at the fresh one.
I don’t need that. I don’t want that. I’m going to make a fool of myself.
“How are you going to get home, Olivia?” Amy asked.
“I’m riding with Matt… Sergeant Payne.”
Like just now.
“Are you all right to drive, Matt?” Amy asked.
“Hey, fight with Peter all you want, but lay off me.”
“I was thinking of Olivia,” Amy replied, “and what makes you think I’m fighting with Peter?”
“Your claws are showing.”
Washington stood up, holding his glass.
“I am leaving before these adorable, loving siblings enter the violent stage,” he said. “But not before I take aboard sufficient liquid courage to face the unsheathed claws I fear I will myself find at home.”
He took a healthy swallow of his drink.
“You will drop by the lab, Frank?”
“Just as soon as I drop the boss off,” Hollaran said.
“I was going to say Frank could take Lassiter home,” Coughlin said, “but his going by the lab is important.” He looked at Matt. “You drive very carefully, Matt. I don’t want to hear on Phil’s Philly that you ran into a school bus.”
“I’m all right, Uncle Denny,” Matt said.
“Okay, Frank,” Coughlin said. “Let’s call it a night.”
He stood up, finished his drink, and walked to the door. Hollaran followed him. Washington finished his drink and followed them.
“What Slayberg and I are going to do tomorrow, Matt,” D’Amata said, “is run down the known acquaintances and ring some doorbells. If anything turns up, we’ll let you know.”
“Fine,” Matt said.
That was really nice of him, Olivia thought. He picked up on Matt getting kicked in the teeth and was trying to make him feel better.
D’Amata and Slayberg left.
“You want to go, Mother?” Matt asked.
She stood up, picked up her glass, met his eyes, and drained it.
He shook his head in resignation and gestured toward the door.
“You were lucky in there, Mother,” Matt said when they were in the Porsche.
“I’m not your Mother, goddamn it!”
“You were lucky, Mother,” Matt went on, “that your mouth didn’t run away with you any more than it did. Nobody likes a drunken woman. Last warning.”
