Daughter Happy as of tomorrow morning, Matt,” Washington said seriously, “she would have found some other excuse to seek narcotic euphoria. The addiction was out of her control. It had nothing to do with you. You’ve got to believe that, for the simple reason that it’s true.”
“I’ll never know now, will I?”
Washington met his eyes, then set his drink down.
“Let’s go bar-crawling.”
“What?” Matt asked, surprised at the suggestion.
“How long have you been up here in the garret?”
Matt thought about that before replying.
“I got here about one-thirty.”
“Twelve hours in a smoke-filled room. That’s enough. Get your coat.”
“Where are we going?”
“The Mall Tavern. At Tenth and Cherry. When I was an honest Homicide detective, I used to go there for a post-duty libation. Let’s go listen to the gossip. Maybe we’ll hear something interesting.”
FOURTEEN
He doesn’t look like a cop, Amy thought when she saw Peter talking to the night manager in the lobby of her apartment building. Mr. Ramerez has put the well-cut suit and the Jaguar together and decided Dr. Payne is carrying on with a lawyer or a stockbroker.
“Good evening, Doctor,” Peter said.
“Thank you for coming at this hour,” Amy replied. “Shall we go up?” She smiled at Mr. Ramerez. “Good evening, Mr. Ramerez.”
It is obviously important to me that Mr. Ramerez understand that I am not carrying on with him, cop or stockbroker.
They rode in silence and somewhat awkwardly to Amy’s apartment. She unlocked the door, and entered. He followed her.
“Coffee? Or a drink?” she asked.
“Neither, thank you. You said you wanted to talk about Matt.”
“I think it important that he not be left alone.”
“Tiny Lewis-he’s a police officer…”
“I know who he is,” Amy interrupted.
Peter nodded and went on: “…will be at Matt’s apartment at seven-fifteen in the morning. If you think he should not be alone tonight, I can go back.”
“I think he’ll be all right tonight,” she said. “Can you keep him busy? Especially for the next few days?”
Wohl nodded.
“He blames himself for Penny,” Amy said.
“Yes, I know.”
“I don’t know if you appreciate it, but he is actually rather sensitive.”
“I know.”
“You know what he did tonight?” she asked, and went on without waiting for a reply. “He put his arms around me and asked who holds my hand when I need it.”
“There has been at least one applicant for that job that I know about. As I recall, you didn’t seem interested.”
“Damn you, Peter, you’re not making this easy.”
“I don’t know if you appreciate it, but I am actually rather sensitive,” Wohl mockingly paraphrased what she had said about Matt.
“You bastard!” she said, but laughed. “Honest to God, Peter, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He shrugged.
“I lied,” Amy said.
“Not returning calls, not being in, having ‘previous plans’ when I finally got you on the phone is not exactly lying.”
“I mean tonight,” Amy said. “Certainly to you, and probably to myself. I knew that you, the Ancient and Honorable Order of Cops, were going to gather protectively around Matt and do more for him than I could.”
Wohl looked at her, waiting for her to go on.
“I wanted somebody, to hold my hand. Penny Detweiler was my patient. I failed her.”
He looked at her a moment.
“Somebody? Anybody? Or me?”
“I knew you would be there,” Amy said.
Peter held his arms open. She took several hesitant steps toward him, and ultimately wound up with her face on his chest.
“Amy, you did everything that could be done for that girl,” Peter said, putting his hand on the back of her head, gently caressing it. “Some people are beyond help. Or don’t want it.”
“Oh, God, Peter! I feel so lousy about it!”
He felt her back stiffen under his hand, and then tremble with repressed sobs.
“Tell you what I’m going to do, Doc,” he said gently. “On one condition, I will accept your kind invitation to breakfast.”
She pushed away from him and looked up at his face.
“I made no such invitation.”
“That I cook breakfast. The culinary arts not being among your many other accomplishments.”
“You think that would help?”
“I don’t think it would hurt.”
“I don’t even know if there’s anything in the fridge.”
“So I’ll open a can of spaghetti.”
Amy tried to smile, failed, and put her head against his chest. She felt his arms tighten around her.
“Would you rather tear off my clothes here, or should we wait until we get into the bedroom?”
It was half past seven when the ringing of his door buzzer woke Matt Payne.
He fumbled on his bedside table for his wristwatch, saw the time, muttered a sacrilege, and got out of bed.
The buzzer went off again, for about five seconds.
“I’m coming, for Christ’s sake,” Matt said, although there was no possibility at all that anyone could hear him.
There was ten seconds of silence as he looked around for his discarded underpants-it being his custom to sleep in his birthday suit-and then another five seconds of buzzer.
He was halfway through the kitchen when the buzzer sounded again.
He found the button that activated the door’s solenoid, pushed it, and then continued through the kitchen and the living room to the head of the stairs. When he looked down, the bulk of Officer Foster H. Lewis, Jr., attired in a nicely cut dark-blue suit, nearly filled the narrow stairway.
“Tiny, what the hell do you want?” Matt asked, far less than graciously.
“What I want to do is be home in my bed,” Tiny Lewis replied. “What I have been told to do is not let you out of my sight.”
“By who?”
“Wohl,” Tiny said as he reached the head of the stairs. “God, are you always that hard to wake up? I’ve been sitting on that damned buzzer for ten minutes. I was about to take the door.”
“I didn’t get to bed until three,” Matt said.
Tiny looked uncomfortable.
“Matt, I don’t think booze is the solution.”
