hung up.
He tossed the cellular onto the seat.
So he’s a little pissed that I won’t tell him.
Better that than to tell him, get his hopes up, and then get kicked in the teeth again when this doesn’t work.
Matt arrived at the North Philadelphia Airport at half past two, to find that he was ahead of Lieutenant McGuire, but not of the Eighth District captain, who was supervising more than a dozen of his uniforms in setting up barriers to keep what looked like sixty or seventy-maybe more-of Stan Colt’s fans under control.
Matt looked closer and saw that there were two barriers, one for the fans-a surprising number of whom were gray-haired adults-and a second for the press.
He was wondering if he should at least identify himself to the Eighth District captain when Lieutenant McGuire arrived, got out of his car, waved at Matt, and then went to talk to the captain.
Four Highway bikes arrived next, in a roar of engines, under a sergeant. McGuire pointed out where they should park, and when they had, the Highway sergeant took off his helmet and hung it on his handlebar. Matt then recognized him as the sergeant who had been on Knight’s Road the night before.
The night before? That seems like two weeks ago.
He walked over to Matt.
“How’s the face?” he asked.
“It’s sore, and I went to Hahnemann this morning and they gave me shots and now my ass hurts.”
The sergeant chuckled.
“You did get to see Detective Coleman at Northeast, right?”
“Just came from there. I appreciate the help last night. All of it.”
“I know guys on the job wouldn’t have done what you did,” the sergeant said. “They’d say, Fuck it, I’ve had a couple of drinks, why take the chance of getting my ass in a crack?”
“I wasn’t being noble. I just did it.”
“You were being a good cop,” the sergeant said. “Good cops take care of each other.”
Detective Charley McFadden walked up to them.
“What happened to your face?” he asked.
“Where’s Man Mountain Martinez?” Matt asked, ignoring the question.
“He took a dive onto a concrete driveway running down the guy in the hot Grand Am who smacked the van on Knight’s Road,” the Highway sergeant offered, helpfully.
“That was you?” Charley asked.
“Where’s Martinez?” Matt asked again.
“He’ll be here in a minute.”
“What have Mutt and Jeff got to do with this nonsense?” the Highway sergeant asked.
“Sergeant,” Charley said, “that’s what I’ve been trying to get Sergeant Payne to explain.”
A white Lincoln stretch limousine rolled up. McGuire signaled to the driver to put it behind the Highway bikes.
“Our hero’s chariot, I guess,” the Highway sergeant said.
“That’s a Classic Livery limo,” Matt said. “I wonder if we should tell our hero he’s being ferried around by the mob?”
The Highway sergeant and McFadden, who knew that Classic Livery was one of Philadelphia mob boss Vincenzo Savarese’s legitimate businesses, chuckled.
A black Cadillac, a black Crown Victoria, and a black Buick Park Avenue rolled onto the tarmac.
“The mayor and the commissioner,” the Highway sergeant said. “I think that’s one of the cardinal’s cars, but there’s no one in it.”
That mystery was immediately explained when both the Hon. Alvin W. Martin, mayor of the City of Philadelphia, and Monsignor Schneider climbed out of the Cadillac. Police Commissioner Ralph J. Mariani got quickly out of the passenger’s front seat of the Crown Victoria and walked up to them.
“I guess I better start looking busy,” the Highway sergeant said, and started to walk back to the Highway bikes. As he passed the mayor and party, he saluted. Commissioner Mariani waved him over.
A moment later, the Highway sergeant pointed to Matt, and a moment after that, started to walk quickly- almost trot-back to where Matt and McFadden were standing.
“The commissioner wants to see you,” the Highway sergeant said.
“Oh, shit,” Matt muttered, and walked over.
“Good morning, Mr. Mayor, Commissioner, Monsignor,” Matt said.
“My goodness,” Monsignor Schneider said, “what happened to your face?”
“I lost my footing chasing a fellow last night, Monsignor.”
“How was that, Sergeant?” the mayor asked.
“I was chasing a car thief, sir.”
“The one on Knight’s Road?” Commissioner Mariani asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Sergeant,” the commissioner said. “But it was a little more than that, wasn’t it? The fellow ran a light, slammed into a family in a van, and sent them all to the hospital? And then left the scene?”
'Yes, sir.”
“I saw that in the paper,” the mayor said.
“Did you catch him?” Monsignor Schneider asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“You really do get around, don’t you, Sergeant?” the monsignor said, admiringly.
“What’s with the hand?” the commissioner asked.
“I bruised it on the driveway, sir.”
“And still managed to catch this fellow?” the monsignor asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you do, walk up on it, Sergeant?” Mariani asked.
“Yes, sir. I was taking… a detective-we were working on the Williamson job-home. And it happened right in front of us.”
“And how is that going?” Schneider asked. “The Williamson ’job,’ I think you said?”
“Well, sir, we have a pretty good psychological profile of the doer that should help us find him, and we have some pretty good evidence to put him away once we do-”
“For example?” the monsignor interrupted.
“With all respect, Monsignor, I’m not supposed to talk about details of an ongoing investigation.”
“And that’s a good rule, and I’m pleased to see you’re paying attention to it,” Commissioner Mariani said. “But I’d like to know, and I think the mayor would, and neither the mayor nor me is about to ask Monsignor Schneider to give us a moment alone. I’m sure he understands why.”
“My lips are sealed, Sergeant,” the monsignor said.
“Yes, sir,” Matt said. “There was sperm at the scene, sir. They are already doing the DNA. Once we catch this fellow, get another DNA sample from him, and match it, it’ll prove conclusively that he was at the scene.”
“The certainty of a DNA match is on the order of several million to one, Monsignor,” Commissioner Mariani pronounced.
“Absolutely fascinating,” the monsignor said. “I was just telling the commissioner and the mayor, Sergeant, that when I last spoke with Stan, he made it pretty clear that while he’s here-and we don’t have him occupied-he’d like to spend some time watching the police-specifically you, Sergeant- at work. I confess I hadn’t thought about what you just said about your having to be closemouthed about details of an ongoing investigation.”
“I don’t think that would be any problem with Mr. Colt,” the mayor said. “Do you, Commissioner?”
“The problem, Mr. Mayor,” Mariani replied, “would be making sure that Mr. Colt understood that whatever he saw, or heard, when he was with Sergeant Payne couldn’t go any further.”
“I don’t think that would be a problem at all,” Monsignor Schneider said. “I’m sure Stan would understand. After all, he’s played a detective on the screen so often.”
