In the ten minutes Peter Wohl had been in his car en route from his apartment to Special Operations, there had been three calls for WWilliam One.
That meant, he believed, that the police radio operator had been instructed, most likely by the Hon. Taddeus Czernick, commissioner of police, but possibly by the Hon. Jerry Carlucci, mayor of the City of Philadelphia, to keep trying to locate Staff Inspector Peter Wohl until you find him.
He had not responded to the calls for W-William One because he was absolutely sure that the message for him would be to immediately report to the commissioner. It was bad enough that Monahan had been killed while he was charged with his protection; he didn't want to face Czernick and/or the mayor and have to tell him that although Mrs. Monahan said she saw a cop shoot him, there were no wounds in the body, or that the two groups of cops who were supposed to be sitting on Monahan told conflicting stories and he wasn't sure who was telling the truth.
There had also been two calls on the Supervisor Band that he had listened to with half a mind. They were not intended for him. Someone was trying to reach I-Isaac Seventeen. The only reason he paid any attention to the calls at all was because, in the happy, happy days of yore when he had not been W-William One, commanding officer of the Special Operations Division, he had been I-Isaac Seventeen, just one more simple staff inspector.
I wonder who I-Isaac Seventeen is now, and I wonder why W-William Seven wants to talk to him.
Jesus H. Christ! As far as turning my brain back on is concerned, that shower didn't do me a goddamn bit of good.
He grabbed the microphone.
'W-William Seven, I-Isaac Seventeen.'
'Isaac Seventeen, can you meet me at the medical examiner's?'
Even with the frequency clipped tones of the radio, Jason Washington' s deep melodic voice was unmistakable.
'Isaac Seventeen, on the way.'
Wohl tossed the microphone onto the seat beside him, braked sharply, and then made a wide sweeping U- turn, tires squealing in protest, and headed for the medical examiner's office.
Jason wouldn't want me there unless he has learned something.
The ME probably found the bullet puncture that damned redhead couldn' t find. It's not much, but it's something!
Jason Washington was sitting in his car outside the medical examiner' s office when Wohl pulled into the parking lot. There was a space next to him. Wohl pulled into it, and then got in Washington's car.
'I suspect when you walk in there,' Washington said, 'there will be a message for you to call the commissioner immediately. So let's take a minute here.'
'They've been calling me on the radio every three minutes,' Wohl said. 'That Isaac Seventeen business was clever, Jason, thank you.'
'It will prove to be clever if Czernick, or somebody else who remembers you used to be Isaac Seventeen and will run to Czernick, wasn't listening to the radio.'
'I thought of that too. I owe you another one, Jason.'
'I talked to the cops who were sitting on Mr. Monahan,' Washington said, cutting him off. 'I think they're all telling the truth.'
'How can that be?'
'A guy named Kallanan was taking his turn walking around the house just before six. I happen to know him. When I did my civic duty in the Black Police Officer's Association, I worked with him. I was treasurer when he was secretary. Good man.'
'Okay. I'll take your word.'
'He said it was a couple of minutes before six when he came out of the alley and started down Sylvester Street. He said that the relief RPC was already there. He said he couldn't see into the relief RPC clearly-the side windows were mostly frozen over-but he remembers that two of the guys inside were wearing-what do you call those hats with earflaps?'
'I know what you mean.'
'Okay. Two guys were wearing winter hats, for lack of a better word. And that the driver was black. He could see that well.'
'He didn't recognize anybody?'
'No. It was still pretty dark. The windshield was fogged over. He saw what I just told you.'
'Okay.'
'The other two guys in the car getting relieved didn't say anything except that there was a car. When Kallanan got in the car, they drove off. They're either all much better liars than I think is credible, or they're telling the truth.'
'And the relief car?'
'The guy driving was John Wilhite. He said they were a little late-'
'Why? Did he say?'
'They stopped at a McDonald's to get their coffee thermoses filled. They had to wait until they made coffee. He said it was five, six minutes after six when they got to the scene. And there was no car there.'
Wohl shrugged.
'The other two guys in the relief car were a guy named McPhail and a guy named Hennis. They're white. So is Wilhite.'
'And Kallanan said the guy driving the relief car was black?'
'Right.'
'And he said it was a couple of minutesbefore six when the relief car got there? And Wilhite says he was five, six minuteslate getting there? Which means we have ten minutes that needs explaining.'
'Scenario, Peter: The doers show up at five minutes to six, pretending to be the relief RPC. The guys on the job, who are expecting relief, see an RPC and think they're relieved and drive off. When they are around the corner, somebody gets out of the RPC, rings Monahan's doorbell, shoots him, gets back in the car, and they drive off. A couple of minutes after that, the real relief RPC shows up.'
'W-William Seven,' the radio went off.
Washington looked at Wohl, who gestured for him to reply.
'William Seven,' Washington said to his microphone.
'William Seven, have you a location on William One?'
Washington again looked at Wohl for instruction. Wohl nodded yes.
'I'm at the medical examiner's. William One is en route to this location.'
'William Seven, advise William One to contact C-Charlie One by telephone as soon as possible.'
'Will do,' Washington said. 'I expect him here in about ten minutes.'
'W-William One. W-William One,' the radio said. Washington reached to the controls and turned it off.
'Was it an RPC?' Wohl asked. 'Or did Kallanan just presume it was an RPC because it was a four-door Ford or whatever?'
'He says there was no question in his mind that it was an RPC,' Washington said. 'A new one. One of ours. I think, consciously or subconsciously, he would have picked up on it if it wasn't a bona fide
RPC.'
'Jesus, you know what we're saying, Jason?' Wohl said.
'I'm not saying anything yet,' Washington said.
'Mrs. Monahan said she saw acop shoot her husband,' Wohl said.
'Yeah, but the doctor said she could find no puncture wounds. Let's find out about that first, before we start
