“I’ve got an idea about that, too,” Coughlin said. “Everybody out there is wondering what the hell we’re talking about in here. So let’s give them a little show. Matt, you open the door, and tell Sergeant McElroy to call Southwest Detectives, and get Captain Calmon down here, now, to report to Inspector Wohl.”
“You’re serious about that, aren’t you, Denny?” Eileen asked.
“Yes, I’m serious. I want to make sure everybody knows who’s in charge.”
Lowenstein left the office, called his driver over, and told him what Coughlin had told him to tell him. Then he went back into the office.
Eileen started for the door.
“Where are you going, Eileen?”
“I’m going out there and tell Al Unger to call Steve Cohen and tell him to get right down here to advise Peter,” she said. She turned to Wohl. “Steve’s pretty bright, and I think he’ll be useful. If he gets in your way, call me.”
“I know Steve. We get along. But thanks, Eileen.”
Steven J. Cohen was one of the best of the more than two hundred assistant district attorneys of Philadelphia.
Eileen McNamara Solomon left Quaire’s office, spoke with Detective Al Unger, and then came back in.
Deputy Commissioner Coughlin then left the office, called Captain Hollaran over, and told him to call the Internal Affairs Division and the Impact Unit in his name, ordering them to get a senior officer to Homicide immediately to report to Inspector Wohl. Then he went back into the office.
“Can we go now, Denny?” Eileen asked.
“One more thing,” Coughlin said. “Inspector Wohl, your orders from the commissioner are, ‘The Special Operations task force, paying cognizance to the suggestions of the District Attorney, will proceed with the investigation.’ ”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did I get that right, Eileen?”
“Verbatim,” Eileen said. “And paying cognizance to my suggestions, Inspector, means before you arrest either of these two critters, you check with me.”
“Steve Cohen won’t do?”
“With me, Inspector.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wohl said.
“Don’t ma’am me, Peter. I’m not old enough to be your mother,” the district attorney said, and left Quaire’s office. A moment later, Coughlin and Lowenstein followed her.
Even as he was pulling the unmarked Crown Victoria into one of the spaces reserved for the hotel limousine and other important cars-over the indignant, both arms waving, objections of the Ritz-Carlton doorman-Matt saw eight, ten, maybe more members of the press start to rush toward it, brandishing cameras and microphones.
“Do they always follow you around like this?” Matt asked.
“It is the price of celebrity,” Stan Colt said, solemnly, resignedly, and then added, in a normal voice, “And let me tell you, buddy, it gets to be a real pain in the ass.”
The car’s arrival, Stan Colt in the front seat, and the movement of the press had also been seen by Sergeant Al Nevins of Dignitary Protection, who had apparently stationed himself and two uniforms just inside the hotel’s door. The three of them walked quickly to the car. Nevins opened the door, and when Colt got out, the three of them made a wedge and escorted Colt into the hotel. Once he was through the door, the uniforms barred the press from following him.
Matt and Olivia got out of the car and went into the hotel.
Nevins was standing by an open elevator door.
Matt made the introductions. “Sergeant Nevins, Detective Lassiter.”
“How are you?” Nevins said, but his surprise that Olivia was a cop was evident on his face.
Stan Colt was in a rear corner of the elevator, hiding himself as best he could. Matt and Olivia got on the elevator and the door closed.
Detective Jesus Martinez was sitting on a chair outside the double doors of the Benjamin Franklin Suite, reading the Philadelphia Daily News. When he saw them, he stood up and knocked on the door.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Matt asked.
“This is where the guy inside told me to wait,” Jesus said.
“You had your dinner?”
Martinez shook his head, “no.”
The suite door opened a crack, and Alex peered out, then saw Colt and opened the door all the way.
Matt signaled for Jesus to follow him into the room.
“Detective Martinez is not a rent-a-cop,” Matt announced. “He doesn’t sit in the corridor. Clear?”
Alex looked at Colt.
“What the hell is the matter with you, Alex?” Colt snapped.
“Sorry, Stan,” Alex said.
“Stan, this is Jesus Martinez, a detective from Special Operations. ”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Colt said, sounding as if he meant it.
“He’s half of your chastity squad,” Matt said. “The other half will relieve him at midnight.”
Colt chuckled, and held out his hand to Martinez.
“If you can get rid of these two,” he said, “I’ve got some phone numbers and we could have a party.”
Matt shook his head.
“Hay-zus,” he said. “This is Olivia Lassiter from Northwest. ”
They briefly shook hands. It was obvious from the surprise on Alex’s face that he had taken one look at Olivia and assumed Stan Colt’s trolling for companionship had been successful.
Eddie the photographer and Jeannette the secretary were in the room.
“Have you made a decision about dinner?” Jeanette asked.
“Yeah. Here. You’re not invited,” Colt said. “Just me and the detectives. You’ve got a menu?”
She went to a sideboard and returned with a menu and handed it to him. He handed it to Olivia.
“Does Jesus get to stay?” Colt asked.
“Yes, he does,” Matt said.
“Good. Okay. Thank you. That’s all. I’ll see you in the morning,” Colt said.
They all filed out of the suite.
Matt noticed that they had not-except for the surprise on Alex’s face-acknowledged the presence of him, Hay-zus, or Olivia at all.
“They’re necessary,” Colt said when they were gone. “And they do what they’re supposed to do well, but sometimes, having them around my neck all the time is worse than the goddamn press.”
Colt lay down on the couch and gestured for the others to sit down.
“I was about to ask you if they have a cheese steak sandwich on there, Olivia. But it has now occurred to me that if they do, it’ll be a Ritz-Carlton cheese steak, not a real one. Like from D’Allesandro’s on Henry Avenue?”
“I can’t believe these prices,” Olivia said.
“Well, don’t worry about them, everything’s on the studio, ” Colt said. “I wonder, could we send out for a cheese steak?”
“It would be cold by the time it got here,” Matt said.
“Well, maybe later on,” Colt said.
Olivia handed the menu to Matt.
“Inspire me,” she said.
“I think you already do, baby,” Colt said. “Give me the menu.”
Matt handed him the menu.
He glanced at it quickly.
“Anybody doesn’t like shrimp cocktails?”
No one spoke.
“Anybody morally or intellectually opposed to filet mignon?”
No one spoke.
