'Henry, why don't you get a cup of coffee or something?' Lowenstein suggested.
Captain Quaire, as he rose to his feet, said 'I'll call you right back' to the telephone and hung it up. When he passed Peter Wohl, he shook his head. Wohl wasn't sure if it was a gesture of sympathy, or whether it meant that Quaire too was shocked, and pissed, by what he had done.
'Peter,' Lowenstein said, as he closed the door after Quaire, 'it's not that I don't think that you are one of the brightest young officers in the department, a credit to the department and your father, but when I want your assistance, the way I would prefer to do that is to call Denny Coughlin and ask for it. Not have you shoved down my throat by the Polack.'
'Frankly, Chief,' Wohl said, smiling, 'I sort of expected you would ask me in here, thank me for my services, and tell me not to let the doorknob hit me in the ass on my way out.'
'Don't be a wiseass, Peter,' Lowenstein said.
'Chief, I hope you understand that what I did at the diner was at the commissioner's orders,' Wohl said. He saw that Lowenstein was still angry.
'The implication, of course, is that everybody in Homicide is a fucking barbarian, too dumb to figure out for themselves how to handle a woman like that,' Lowenstein said.
'I don't think he meant that, Chief,' Wohl said. 'I think what it was was just that I was the senior supervisor at the Waikiki Diner. I think he would have given the same orders, would have preferred to give the same orders, to anyone from Homicide.'
'The difference, Peter, is that nobody from Homicide would have called the Polack. They would have followed procedure. Why did you call him?'
'A couple of reasons,' Wohl said, deciding to stand his ground. ' Primarily because he and Dutch were close.'
'And the woman?'
'And the woman,' Peter said. 'I'm sorry if you're angry, but I don't see where what I did was wrong.'
'Was Dutch fucking her?'
'I don't know,' Peter said. 'I thought it was possible when I called the commissioner, and that if they had something going on between them, what I should do was try to keep anybody from finding out.'
'Maybe the Polack was already onto it,' Lowenstein said.
'Excuse me?'
'Just before you came in, Peter, I talked with the Polack,' Lowenstein said. 'I was going to call him anyway, but he called me. And what he told me was that he wants you in on this, to deal with the Dutton woman from here on in.'
'I don't understand,' Wohl said.
'It's simple English,' Lowenstein said. 'Whatever Homicide has to do with that woman, they'll do it through you. I told the Polack I didn't like that one damned bit, and he said he was sorry, but it wasn't a suggestion. He also said that I shouldn't bother complaining to the mayor, the mayor thought it was a good idea, too. I guess that Wop sonofabitch is as afraid of the goddamned TV as the Polack is.'
'Well, it wasn't my idea,' Wohl said, aware that he was embarrassed. 'I went to Nazareth, and went through Dutch's personal possessions, and then I went to the medical examiner's office. I was going to come here to tell you what I found-which is nothing-and then I was going to call the commissioner and tell him.'
Lowenstein looked intently at him for a moment.
'And go back to where I belong,' Peter added.
'Yeah, well, that's not going to happen,' Lowenstein said. 'I was going to give you a little talk, Peter, to make it clear thatall you' re authorized to do is keep the TV lady happy; that you're not to get involved in the investigation itself. But I don't think I have to do that, do I?'
'No, sir,' Wohl said. 'Of course you don't.'
'And I don't think I have to ask you to make sure that I hear anything the Polack hears, do I?'
'No, sir.'
'The trouble with you, Peter, you sonofabitch, is that I can't stay mad at you,' Lowenstein said.
'I'm glad to hear that,' Wohl said, smiling. 'What do you think I should do now?'
'I suspect that just maybe the assigned detective would like to talk to the witness,' Lowenstein said. 'Why don't you find him and ask him? Where's the dame?'
'At her apartment,' Peter said. 'Who's got the job?'
'Jason Washington,' Chief Inspector Lowenstein said. 'I expect you'll find him outside, just a titter with excitement that he'll now be able to work real close to a real staff inspector.'
'There's a rumor going around, Chief,' Wohl said, 'that some people think staff inspectors are real cops.'
'Get your ass out of here, Peter,' Lowenstein said, but he was smiling.
There were twenty-one active homicide investigations underway by the Homicide Division of the Philadelphia Police Department, including that of Captain Richard C. Moffitt. An active homicide investigation being defined unofficially as one where there was a reasonable chance to determine who had unlawfully caused the death of another human being, and to develop sufficient evidence to convince the Philadelphia district attorney that he would not be wasting his time and the taxpayers' money by seeking a grand jury indictment and ultimately bringing the accused to trial.
Very nearly at the bottom of the priority list to expend investigatory resources (the time and overtime of the homicide detectives, primarily, but also including certain forensic techniques, some of which were very expensive) were the cases, sometimes occurring once or twice a week, involving vagrants or junkies done to death by beating, or stabbing. The perpetrator of these types of murders often had no motive beyond taking possession of the victim's alcohol or narcotics, and if questioned about it eight hours later might really have no memory of what had taken place.
There were finite resources. Decisions have to be made as to where they can best be spent in protecting the public, generally, or sometimes an individual. Most murders involve people who know each other, and many involve close relatives, and most murders are not hard to solve. The perpetrator of a murder is often on the scene when the police arrive, or if he has fled the scene, is immediately identified by witnesses who also have a pretty good idea where he or she might be found.
What many homicide detectives privately (certainly not for public consumption) think of as agood case is a death illegally caused during the execution of a felony. A holdup man shoots a convenience-store cashier, for example, or a bank messenger is shot and killed while being held up.
That sort of a perpetrator is not going to be found sitting in the toilet, head between his hands, sick to his stomach with remorse, asking to see his parish priest. The sonofabitch is going to run, and if run to earth is going to deny ever having been near the scene of the crime in his life.
It is necessary to make the case against him. Find his gun, wherever he hid it or threw it, and have the crime lab make it as the murder weapon. Find witnesses who saw him at the scene of the crime, or with the loot. Break the stories of witnesses who at first are willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that the accused was twenty miles from the scene of the crime.
This is proper detective work, worthy of homicide detectives, who believe they are the best detectives in the department. It requires brains and skills in a dozen facets of the investigative profession.
And every once in a great while, there is a case just like cop stories on the TV, where some dame does in her husband, or some guy does in his business partner, on purpose, planning it carefully, so that it looks as if he fell down the cellar stairs, or that the partner got done in by a burglar, or a mugger, or a hit-and-run driver.
But something about it smells, and a good homicide detective starts nosing around, finding out if the done-in husband had a girl on the side, or a lot of insurance, or had a lot of insurance and thewife was running around.
Very near the top of the priority list are the homicides of children, and other sorts of specially protected individuals, such as nuns, or priests.
And at the absolute top of the priority list is the murder of a police officer. There are a number of reasons for this, some visceral (that could be me lying there with a hole in the back of my head) and some very practical:You can't enforce the law if the bad guys think they can shoot a cop and get away with it. If the bad guys can laugh at the cops, they win.
Technically, the investigation of the murder of Captain Richard C. Moffitt would be handled exactly like the murder of any other citizen. The case would be assigned to a homicide detective. It would be his case. He would
