'What was all that about? Who were you talking to?'
'That was my boss,' Matt said. 'He wants to talk to you. I told him about you.'
'Tell him to call the office and make an appointment,' Amy snapped. ' My God, you've got your nerve, Matt!'
'It's important,' Matt said.
'Maybe it is to you, Dick Tracy, to polish the boss's apple, but it's not to me. The nerve! I don't believe that you really thought I would go along with this!'
'A lunatic who has already raped, so to speak, a half dozen women, grabbed another one last night, forced her into his van at knifepoint, and hasn't been seen since,' Matt said, evenly. 'Inspector Wohl thinks you might be able to provide a profile of this splendid fellow, and that might possibly help us to find him.'
'Doesn't the Police Department have its own psychologists, psychiatrists?' Amy asked.
'I'm sure they do,' Matt said. 'But he wants to talk to you. Please, Amy.'
She looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged.
'Why did you say, 'raped, so to speak'?'
'Because, so far,' Matt said, as evenly, 'there has been no vaginal or anal penetration, and the forced fellatio has not resulted in ejaculation.'
'You should hear yourself,' she said, softly. 'How cold-blooded and clinical you sound. Oh, Matt!'
It was, she realized, a wail of anguish at the loss of her little brother's innocence.
'Under these circumstances,' she added, as cold-bloodedly as she could manage, 'I don't have much choice, do I?'
'Not really,' Matt said. 'He's going to take us to dinner.'
'I can't go anywhere looking like this,' she said. 'I came here right from the hospital.'
'Well, then, we'll go someplace where you won't look out of place,' Matt said.
'The bathroom, presumably, is in there?' Amy asked, pointing toward his bedroom.
'Vanity, thy name is woman,' Matt quoted sonorously.
'Screw you, Matt,' Dr. Amelia Alice Payne replied.
Staff Inspector Peter Wohl was not what Amy Payne expected. She wasn' t sure exactly what she had expected- maybe a slightly younger version of Matt's 'Uncle Denny' Coughlin-but she had not expected the pleasant, well-dressed young man (she guessed that he was in his early thirties) who came through Matt's apartment door.
'Amy,' Matt said, 'this is Inspector Wohl. Amy Payne, M.D.'
Wohl smiled at her.
'Doctor, I very much appreciate your agreeing to talk to me like this,' he said. 'I realize what an imposition it is.'
'Not at all,' Amy said, and hearing her voice was furious with herself; she had practically gushed.
'I've been trying to figure out the best way to do this,' Wohl said. 'What I would like you to do, if you would be so kind, would be to read the file we have on this man, and then tell me what kind of man he is.'
'I understand,' Amy said.
He gave her a look she understood in a moment was surprise, even annoyance, that she had interrupted him.
He smiled.
'But that isn't really the sort of thing you want to talk about over dinner. And dinner is certainly necessary. Then there's Matt.'
'Sir?' Matt said.
There he goes again with that 'Sir' business, Amy thought. Who does he think this cop is, anyway?
'What time are you meeting McFadden and Martinez?'
'Nine o'clock, at the FOP,' Matt said.
What in the world is the Eff Oh Pee?
'I thought that was it,' Wohl said. 'So what I propose is that we go to an Italian restaurant I know on Tenth Street, and have dinner. Then I could drop you at the FOP, Matt, and take Dr. Payne to the Roundhouse, and borrow an office there where we could have our talk.'
I realty loathe spaghetti and meatballs; but what did I expect?
'Sir,' Matt said, 'why don't you come back here? I mean, she has her car in the garage here.'
'Well, I don't know…'
'How would you get in if you gave us your key?' Amy asked.
'I wouldn't give you my key,' Matt explained tolerantly. 'I would leave the door to the apartment unlocked, and you use your key to get in the building.'
'Doctor?' Peter asked, politely.
'Whatever would be best,' Amy heard herself saying.
It is absolutely absurd of me to think aboutbeing alone in an apartment with a man I hardly know. This is a purely professional situation; he's a policeman and I am a physician. I will do my professional duty, even if that entails pretending I like spaghetti and meatballs. And besides it's important to Matt.
The tailcoated waiter inRistorante Alfredo bowed over the table, holding out a bottle of wine on a napkin for Peter Wohl's inspection.
'Compliments of the house, sir,' he said, speaking in a soft Italian accent. 'Will this be satisfactory?'
Wohl glanced at it, then turned to Amy. 'That's fine with me. How about you, Doctor? It's sort of an ItalianPinot Noir. '
'Fine with me,' Amy said. She watched as the waiter uncorked the bottle, showed Wohl the cork, then poured a little in his glass for him to taste.
'That's fine, thank you,' Wohl said to the waiter, who proceeded to fill all their glasses.
'I think it will go well with thetournedos Alfredo,' the waiter said. 'Thank you, sir.'
Peter Wohl had explained to both of them that thetournedos Alfredo, which he highly recommended, were sort of an Italian version of steak with amarchand de vin sauce, except there was just a touch more garlic to it.
'You must be a pretty good customer in here, Inspector,' Amy said, aware that there was more than a slight tone of bitchiness in her voice.
'I come here fairly often,' Wohl replied. 'I try not to abuse it, to save it for a suitable occasion.'
'Excuse me?'
'Well, my money is no good in here,' Wohl said.
'I don't think I understand that,' Amy said.
'The Mob owns this place,' Wohl said, matter-of-factly. 'Specifically a man named Vincenzo Savarese-the license is in someone else's name, but Savarese is behind it-and he has left word that I'm not to get a bill.'
'Excuse me,' Amy flared, 'but isn't that what they call 'being on the take'?'
'My God, Amy!' Matt said, furiously.
'No,' Wohl said. ''Being on the take' means accepting goods or services, or money, in exchange for ignoring criminal activity. Vincenzo Savarese knows that I would like nothing better than to put him behind bars; and that, as a matter of fact, before they dumped this new job in my lap, I was trying very hard to do just that.'
'Then why does he pick up your restaurant bills?' Amy asked.
'Who knows? The Mob is weird. They operate as if they were still in Sicily or Naples, with a perverted honor code. He thinks he's a 'man of honor,' and thinks I am, too. He thought Dutch Moffitt was, too. Mrs. Savarese and her sister went to his funeral. The wake, too, I think, and when Dutch, before he went to Highway, was in Organized Crime, he tried very hard to lock Savarese up.'
Amy decided she was talking too much, and needed time to consider what she had just heard.
