'Coughlin,' he said. 'Yes, just a moment, he's here.' He started to hand the telephone to Peter and then changed his mind. 'Is this Dickie Lowell? I thought I recognized your voice. This is Denny Coughlin, Dickie. How the hell are you?'
Then he handed the phone to Peter.
'Peter Wohl,' he said, and then listened.
'Have you spoken with Captain Olsen?' he asked. There was a brief pause, and then: 'Thank you very much. I owe you one.'
He hung up.
'Dickie Lowell?' Chief Wohl asked as he dealt cards. 'Retired out of Headquarters Division in the Detective Bureau?'
'He got a job running security for Eastern Airlines,' Coughlin said. 'He's got his people watching our dirty cop. Peter set it up.'
'Chief Marchessi set it up,' Peter said. 'Lowell's people just saw our dirty cop take a suitcase off Eastern Flight 4302. Specifically, remove a suitcase from a baggage trailer after it had been removed from Eastern 4302.'
'So what are you going to do, Peter?' Coughlin asked.
Wohl hesitated, and then shrugged.
'Resist the temptation to get on my horse and charge out to the airport,' he said. 'Where I probably would fuck things up. I sent Sergeant Jerry O'Dowd… you know him?'
His father and Chief Coughlin shook their heads, no.
'He works for Dave Pekach. Good man. He's going to follow our dirty cop when he comes off duty. We already have people watching his house and his girlfriend's apartment.'
'Sometimes the smartest thing to do is keep your nose out of the tent,' Coughlin said. 'I think they call that delegation of authority.'
'And I think what we have there is the pot calling the kettle black,' Chief Wohl said. 'Denny was an inspector before he stopped turning off fire hydrants in the summer.'
'Go to hell, Augie!'
'What's in the suitcase?' Larkin asked. 'Drugs?'
'What else?' Coughlin said.
'I didn't know you handled drugs, Peter,' Larkin said.
'Normally, I don't,' Peter replied. 'Drugs or dirty cops. Thank God. This was Commissioner Marshall's answer to the feds wanting to send their people out there masquerading as cops. He gave the job to me.'
'Because you get along so well with we feds, right?' Larkin asked, chuckling.
'There's an exception to every rule, Charley,' Coughlin said. ' Just be grateful it's you.'
'Are we going to play cards or what?' Chief Wohl asked.
Peter Wohl was surprised to find Detective Matthew M. Payne in the Special Investigations office at Special Operations when he walked in at quarter past midnight. He said nothing, however.
Maybe Jack Malone called him in.
'How are we doing?' he asked.
'Well,' Lieutenant Malone said tiredly, 'Mr. Wheatley is not registered in any of Philadelphia's many hotels, motels, or flop houses,' Malone said. 'Nor did anybody in the aforementioned remember seeing anyone who looked like either of the two artists' representations of Mr. Wheatley.'
The Philadelphia Police Department had an artist whose ability to make a sketch of an individual from a description was uncanny. The Secret Service had an artist who Mr. H. Charles Larkin announced was the best he had ever seen. In the interest of getting a picture of Mr. Wheatley out on the street as quickly as possible, the Department artist had made a sketch of Wheatley based on his neighbor's, Mr. Crowne's, description of him, while the Secret Service artist had drawn a sketch of Mr. Wheatley based on Mr. Wheatley's boss, Mr. H. Logan Hammersmith's, description of him.
There was only a very vague similarity between the two sketches. Rather than try to come up with a third sketch that would be a compromise, Wohl had ordered that both sketches be distributed.
'Too bad,' Wohl said.
'The sonofabitch apparently doesn't have any friends,' Malone said. 'The neighbor, two houses down, lived there fifteen years, couldn't ever remember seeing him.'
'He's got to be somewhere, Jack,' Wohl said.
'I sent Tony Harris to Vice,' Malone said. 'They went to all the fag bars with the pictures.'
'We don't know he's homosexual.'
'I thought maybe he's a closet queen, who has an apartment somewhere,' Malone said.
'Good thought, Jack, I didn't think about that.'
'They struck out too,' Malone said.
'And how's your batting record, Detective Payne?'
It was intended as a joke. Payne looked very uncomfortable.
'I just thought maybe I could make myself useful, so I came in,' Payne said.
That's bullshit.
The telephone rang. Malone grabbed it and handed it to Wohl.
'Jerry O'Dowd, Inspector,' his caller said. 'I'm calling from the tavern down the corner from our friend's house. He drove straight here, with the suitcase, and took it into the house.'
'Good man,' Wohl said.
'Oooops, there he comes.'
'With the suitcase?'
'No. He doesn't have it. He's changed out of his uniform.'
'You're going to stay there, right?'
'Right. He's walking back to his car. But Captain Olsen can see him. No problem.'
'Olsen is on him?' Wohl asked, surprised.
'Yes, sir. Olsen won't lose him.'
'If anything happens, call this number, they'll know where to get me.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I'm going to send somebody to back you up,' Wohl said. 'In case somebody interesting comes to pick up the suitcase.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good job, Jerry,' Wohl said, and hung up.
If Olsen can work this job himself, why can't I? I'd love to catch Ricco Baltazari or one of his pals walking down Ritner Street with that suitcase in his hand.
Dangerous thought. No!
'Jack, can we get our hands on Tony Harris?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Get on the horn to him and tell him to go back up O'Dowd.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And then turn this over to the duty lieutenant and go home and get some sleep.'
'Yes, sir.'
'That applies to you too, Detective Payne. With all the jumping from roof to roof, and through windows, you've done today, I'm sure you're worn out. Go home and go to bed. I want you here at eight A.M., bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.'
That, to judge by the kicked puppy look in your eyes, was another failed attempt to be jocular.
'Yes, sir.'
Or is there something else wrong with him? Something is wrong.
'Jack, you want to go somewhere for a nightcap?' Wohl asked. 'The reason I am being so generous is that I
