could make in private practice.
Farnsworth Stillwell did not fall into any of the three categories. He came from a wealthy, socially prominent family. He had gone from Princeton into the Navy, become a pilot, and earned the Distinguished Flying Cross and some other medals for valor flying off an aircraft carrier off Vietnam. He had been seriously injured when he tried to land his damaged aircraft on returning to his carrier after a mission.
There had been six months in a hospital to consider what he wanted to do with his future now that a permanently stiff knee had eliminated the Navy and flying. He had decided on public service. He'd gone to law school, found and married a suitable wife, and then decided the quickest way to put himself in the public eye was by becoming an assistant district attorney.
He was, in Peter Wohl's judgment, smart-perhaps even brilliant-in addition to being competent. He was tall, thin, getting gray flecks in his hair, superbly tailored, and charming. Wohl had come to know him rather well in the latter stages of the Judge Findermann investigation, and during the prosecution. There had been overtures of friendship from Stillwell. Without coming out and saying so, Stillwell had made it clear that he thought that he and Wohl, as they rose in the system, could be useful to each other.
Obviously, Stillwell was going places, and Wohl was fully aware of the political side of being a cop, particularly in the upper ranks. But he had, as tactfully as he could manage, rejected the offer.
There was something about the sonofabitch that he just didn't like. He couldn't put his finger on it, and vacillated between thinking that he just didn't like politicians, or archetypical WASPs, (and that consequently he was making a mistake) and a gut feeling that there was a mean, or perhaps corrupt, streak in Stillwell somewhere. Whatever it was, he knew that he did not want to get any closer to Farnsworth Stillwell, professionally or personally, than he had to.
He wondered now, as they waited for Stillwell to show up in Callis's office, what Matt Lowenstein thought of him.
'You wanted to see me, boss?' Stillwell called cheerfully as he strode, with an uneven gait, because of his knee, into Callis's office.
Then he saw Lowenstein first, and then Wohl, D'Amata, and Pelosi.
'Chief Lowenstein,' he said. 'How nice to see you. And Peter!'
He went to each and pumped their hands, and then turned to D'Amata and Pelosi.
'I'm Still Stillwell,' he said, putting out his hand.
'Joe D'Amata, of Homicide,' Lowenstein offered, 'and Jerry Pelosi of Central Detectives.'
'Sit down,' Callis ordered, tempering it with a smile. 'Matt's got a wild idea. I want your reaction to it.'
'Chief Lowenstein is not the kind of man who has wild ideas,' Stillwell said.'Unusual, perhaps. But not wild.'
Nice try, Wohl thought, somewhat unkindly, but a waste of effort. Matt Lowenstein wouldn't vote Republican if Moses were heading the ticket.
'Tell the man about yourunusual idea, Matt,' Callis said.
Lowenstein laid out, quickly but completely, what he had in mind.
'What do you think of the chief's idea, Peter?' Stillwell asked.
Covering your ass, Still?
'We know what we think about it,' Callis said. 'What we want to know is whatyou think about it.'
Thank you, Mr. District Attorney.
'All right. Gut reaction. Off the top of my head. I love it.'
'Why?' Callis asked.
''District Attorney Thomas J. Callis announced this afternoon that he will bring the six, eight, whatever it is, members of the gang calling themselves the Islamic Liberation Army before the Grand Jury immediately, and that he is confident the Grand Jury will return murder and armed robbery indictments against all of them.''
'Youwere listening when Lowenstein said they have just the one witness?'
'Yes. And I was also listening when he said he thought other witnesses might experience a miraculous return of memory. '
'You want to put your money where your mouth is?' Callis asked.
'Am I going to be allowed to take part in this?'
'It's yours, if you want it,' Callis said.
'I've got a pretty heavy schedule-'
'Meaning you really don't want to get involved, now that you've had ten seconds to think it over?'
'Meaning, I'll have to have some help with my present calendar.'
'No problem,' Callis said. 'That can be arranged.'
Callis, Wohl thought unkindly, but with a certain degree of admiration, has just pulled a Carlucci. If this works, he will take, if not all, at least a substantial portion of the credit. And if it goes wrong, that will be Farnsworth Stillwell's fault.
Or Matt Lowenstein's fault. Or mine.
Probably the latter. When you get to the bottom line, Farnsworth Stillwell is smarter than either Lowenstein or me. Or at least less principled. Or both.
'Keep me up-to-date on what's going on,' Callis said. 'And later today, Still, I'll want to talk to you about the municipal court judge.'
'Right, Chief,' Stillwell said. 'Gentlemen, why don't we go into the conference room and work out some of the details?'
'Thank you, Tommy,' Lowenstein said.
Callis grunted. When he gave his hand to Peter Wohl, he said, 'You'd better hope your people can protect Mr. Monahan, Peter. For that matter you'd better hope he doesn't have a heart attack.'
When Officer Matthew Payne walked into the Special Operations Office, the sergeant had given him the message that Inspector Wohl had called in at 7:12 to say that he would not be in until later, time unspecified.
Officer Payne sat down at his desk and opened theBulletin. He had just started to read Mickey O'Hara's story about the robbery and murder at Goldblatt amp; Sons Credit Furniture amp; Appliances, Inc., when, startling him, the newspaper was snatched out of his hands.
Officer Charles McFadden was standing there, looking very pleased with himself.
'Jesus Christ, Charley!'
'Gotcha, huh?'
'Why aren't you out fighting crime?'
'Need a favor.'
'Okay. Within reason.'
'Be my best man,' Charley said.
'I have this strange feeling you're serious.'
'Margaret's going to call her mother this morning; we're going to get married in six weeks.'
'Yeah, sure, Charley. I'd be honored.'
'Thank you,' Charley said very seriously, shook Matt's hand enthusiastically, and walked out of the office.
When he was gone, Matt picked up and read theBulletin and then theLedger. Both carried stories about the robbery of Goldblatt's. TheLedger story was accompanied by a photograph of a press release from the Islamic Liberation Army, claiming responsibility. Mickey O' Hara's story in theBulletin hadn't mentioned the Islamic Liberation Army.
Matt found that interesting. He allowed himself to hope that the press release was a hoax, on which theLedger had bit, and which would show them up for the assholes they were.
The society pages of both newspapers (called 'LIVING' in theLedger) carried stories of the festivities of the Delaware Valley Cancer Society on Rittenhouse Square, complete with photographs of some of the guests, standing around holding plastic champagne glasses. Matt hoped that he would find Helene's picture, and then, in the caption, her last name. He examined each of them carefully but was unable to find a picture of Helene.
