“Maybe he didn’t, but if she had something to do with it, and he’s been fucking her, which is now common knowledge, it’s the same thing. You talk to her?”
“No,” Lowenstein said.
“Maybe you should,” the Mayor said.
“You’re not listening to me. I’m going out. I’m going to move to some goddamned place at the shore and walk up and down the beach.”
“We haven’t even got around to talking about that.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You haven’t even heard my offer.”
“I don’t want to hear your goddamned offer.”
“How do you know until you hear it?”
“Jesus Christ, can’t you take no for an answer?”
“No. Not with you. Not when the Department needs you.”
The kitchen door swung open.
“I thought maybe you’d need some more coffee,” Sarah Lowenstein said a little nervously.
“You still got that stuff you bought to get rid of the rats?” Chief Lowenstein said. “Put two heaping tablespoons, three, in Jerry’s cup.”
“You two have been friends so long,” Sarah said. “It’s not right that you should fight.”
“Tell him, Sarah,” the Mayor said. “I am the spirit of reasonableness and conciliation.”
“Four tablespoons, honey,” Chief Lowenstein said.
TWELVE
Brewster Cortland Payne II had stopped in a service station on City Line Avenue and called his home. Mrs. Newman had told him there had been no call from Violet, the Detweiler maid, telling him to which hospital Penny had been taken.
If she hadn’t been taken to a hospital, he reasoned, there was a chance that the situation wasn’t as bad as initially reported; that Penny might have been unconscious-that sometimes happened when drugs were involved- rather than, as Violet had reported, “gone,” and had regained consciousness.
If that had happened, Dick Detweiler would have been reluctant to have her taken to a hospital; she could be cared for at home by Dr. Dotson, the family physician, or Amy Payne, M.D., and the incident could be kept quiet.
He got back behind the wheel of the Buick station wagon and drove to West Chestnut Hill Avenue.
He realized the moment he drove through the open gates of the estate that the hope that things weren’t as bad as reported had been wishful thinking. There was an ambulance and two police cars parked in front of the house, and a third car, unmarked, but from its black-walled tires and battered appearance almost certainly a police car, pulled in behind him as he was getting out of the station wagon.
The driver got out. Payne saw that he was a police captain.
“Excuse me, sir,” the Captain called to him as Payne started up the stairs to the patio.
Payne stopped and turned.
“I’m Captain O’Connor. Northwest Detectives. May I ask who you are, sir?”
“My name is Payne. I am Mr. Detweiler’s attorney.”
“We’ve got a pretty unpleasant situation here, Mr. Payne,” O’Connor said, offering Payne his hand.
“Just how bad is it?”
“About as bad as it can get, I’m afraid,” O’Connor said, and tilted his head toward the patio.
Payne looked and for the first time saw the blanket-covered body on the stretcher.
“Oh, God!”
“Mr. Payne, Chief Inspector Coughlin is on his way here. Do you happen to know…?”
“I know the Chief,” Payne said softly.
“I don’t have any of the details myself,” O’Connor said. “But I’d like to suggest that you…”
“I’m going to see my client, Captain,” Payne said, softly but firmly. “Unless there is some reason…?”
“I’d guess he’s in the house, sir,” O’Connor said.
“Thank you,” Payne said, and turned and walked onto the patio. The door was closed but unlocked. Payne walked through it and started to cross the foyer. Then he stopped and picked up a telephone mounted in a small alcove beside the door.
He dialed a number from memory.
“Nesfoods International. Good morning.”
“Let me have the Chief of Security, please,” he said.
“Mr. Schraeder’s office.”
“My name is Brewster C. Payne. I’m calling for Mr. Richard Detweiler. Mr. Schraeder, please.”
“Good morning, Mr. Payne. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Schraeder, just as soon as you can, will you please send some security officers to Mr. Detweiler’s home? Six, or eight. I think their services will be required, day and night, for the next four or five days, so I suggest you plan for that.”
“I’ll have someone there in half an hour, Mr. Payne,” Schraeder said. “Would you care to tell me the nature of the problem? Or should I come out there myself?”
“I think it would be helpful if you came here, Mr. Schraeder,” Payne said.
“I’m on my way, sir,” Schraeder said.
Payne put the telephone back in its cradle and turned from the alcove in the wall.
Captain O’Connor was standing there.
“Dr. Amelia Payne is on her way here,” Payne said. “As is my wife. They will wish to be with the Detweilers.”
“I understand, sir. No problem.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Payne said.
“Mr. Detweiler is in there,” O’Connor said, pointing toward the downstairs sitting room. “I believe Mrs. Detweiler is upstairs.”
“Thank you,” Payne said, and walked to the downstairs sitting room and pushed the door open.
H. Richard Detweiler was sitting in a red leather chair-his chair-with his hands folded in his lap, looking at the floor. He raised his eyes.
“Brew,” he said, and smiled.
“Dick.”
“Everything was going just fine, Brew. The night before last, Penny and Matt had dinner with Chad and Daffy to celebrate Chad’s promotion. And last night, they were at Martha Peebles’s. And one day, three, four days ago, Matt came out and the two of them made cheese dogs for us. You know, you slit the hot dog and put cheese inside and then wrap it in bacon. They made them for us on the charcoal thing. And then they went to the movies. She seemed so happy, Brew. And now this.”
“I’m very sorry, Dick.”
“Oh, goddamn it all to hell, Brew,” H. Richard Detweiler said. He started to sob. “When I went in there, her eyes were open, but I knew.”
He started to weep.
Brewster Cortland Payne went to him and put his arms around him.
“Steady, lad,” he said, somewhat brokenly as tears ran down his own cheeks. “Steady.”
The Buick station wagon in which Amelia Payne, M.D., drove through the gates of the Detweiler estate was identical in model, color, and even the Rose Tree Hunt and Merion Cricket Club parking decalcomanias on the rear window to the one her father had driven through the gates five minutes before, except that it was two years older, had a large number of dings and dents on the body, a badly damaged right front fender, and was sorely in need of a passage through a car wash.
